Heritage Day

Today is my last day


I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago

then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now

I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors

There is a headline,

my face

wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched

it says;

Heritage Day

I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:

One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core

Two: I learned how to live with being a liar

Three: I came as a foreign being full of love

Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters

Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story

Six: I inherited the art

Seven: I will never forget


I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope

After all

3 months before they expected me I was ready

13 years before I was

they weren’t

my family


The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty

I obeyed my longing eyes

past the dioors and my goodbye suit

I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why

Heritage day:

One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me

Two: It wasn’t always sunny

Three: How to fake the smile through heartache

Four: How to cause the same

Five: My clothes are cheap

Six: I am unworthychocolat_l

Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges


So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv

and on the top right hand corner of the screen

A phrase in white paint screams out at me

Heritage Day:

One: My skin colour murdered my first love

Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes

Three: My father Died of a broken heart

Four: You saved mine

Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences

Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica

Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.


Palm on palm now

My eye lids find their space

No tears left in me

My heritage day is eternal

and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!







I have not been online for a few days, but before I get to that I want to clarify a few things about the next series of blogs…

Firstly; the views on every song are my own…

Secondly; remember that these are views and not facts… I am in no way trying to take the creators’ intentions out of context.

Thirdly; please do yourself a favor if you have not heard their music; YouTube/Google/buy an album(Angus and Julia Stone)… they are worth it!


‘I blame you Hollywood,
For showing me things you never should
Show a young girl,
In a cruel world.

Because life’s not a happy ending,
I’m sure there is some,
Like Johnny and June,
And maybe other people too.’

Scapegoat… that is the name given to a certain group or person made to bear the blame in someone else’s stead.

I am not entirely sure how I want to start this blog so for now I am just going with it in the hope that eventually you’ll get the point.

I lost track of how many times I’ve looked at my best friend and I somehow manged to convince him that ‘this one is different’. I think in the end he always gives in because he knows that; each person that I have been in a relationship with and am yet to be in a relationship with will be different… but at the end of the day the way these relationships begin, develop and end is pretty much exactly the same each time.

We meet someone… we realize how uncontrollably attracted we are to this person… we get to know them, we feel like all the bad that has ever happened to us has led us to this point; we delude ourselves with the possibility of “Happily Ever After.” We spend a few weeks holding hands; taking walks; kissing so that everyone can see how happy we are (although half the time people just wish it would be alright to throw us with a rotten egg and continue walking with a delighted smirk on their face)…

We “make love” like it is the most sacred of all things (or so we think)…

Then one day we find ourselves walking down the path of that very park… dreaming of the next stranger who would one day turn up to sweep us off our feet;

…that to an extent is Hollywood’s fault.

Hollywood keeps our hope in the perfect love alive… the films and love stories warm our hearts and cuddle them even when pain threatens to eat us from the inside.

I understand why some people hate the media for all the romantic publicity. There are times when I do not particularly like that either… Here we are; alone… with no fairy tale to live in, no pink roses and golden hearts (broken hearts more likely?)…

“It isn’t fair.” We think to ourselves…

“There are people out there who are so genuinely happy together!” We sulk…

“Why not me?” We ask ourselves…

Problem is, we do not focus on this question long enough to see where the problem really begins to escalate…

‘They all would have been killed
In the sound of music,
They would have found out that
Pinocchio could never tell the truth.

She wouldn’t make it to shore,
The little mermaid. He would have married a whore
From a wealthy family, after all he was royalty.

Cinderella would have scrubbed those floors
Till her hands grew old and tired,
And nobody would look her way,
That’s the way it goes today.’

Here, Julia and Angus focus on the more pessimistic point of view on the ‘fairy tale’… Largely they are right, but not entirely.

If I had to think of all the  comparisons they make in this verse I would probably best relate to Cinderella. I am not rich, I definitely would not be the ideal choice of person for someone with wealthy and learned parents… How are they ever supposed to take me to the dad who is an engineer and the mum who is part of the UN and say; “This is the girl I love!”…?

It’s a lot tougher than we can imagine. Being poor sometimes is a blessing because we don’t have to pretend! We do not have to shut out our feelings for someone just because they cannot afford to wear a little Gucci dress or an Armani suit. We are truly free! That… cannot be bought…  It can only be treasured!

That doesn’t stop me though.

So why not ‘me’?

Maybe because ‘me’ has not yet figured out what it is that ‘me’ actually wants just yet.

As we grow, our perception of love changes as well… it’s all upside down… passion escalates to such an extent that it becomes a sort of calm, gentle and quiet driving force.

Making love becomes a more soulful act, one tends to see it as an act of spirit rather than body… fantasies become an artwork in progress with abstract figures that have no faces or shades; no gender and definitely no clothes on.

When we have grown enough to be able to appreciate the kind of love and romance, the kind of connection between souls that Hollywood bombards us with; we will know… and when this happens – Hollywood could never and would never compare to our stories.

For the simple reason that our stories are real and tangible. They are no longer a theatrical act, but a simple act of existence… one that is as easy as breathing!

And maybe other people too 
Like me and you.

 But don’t take me too seriously

After all

What do I know?