Please consider donating a storybook for children aged 3 to 14, as well as art supplies such as crayons, sketch paper, pencils, pencil colours, playdough etc. You're also welcome to make a financial donation should you feel called to do so. Thank you so much, and may God bless you abundantly.
He pushed me to the ground and started frisking me. "What are you hiding?" My gown flew open. I felt his hand on my breast, my belly, my thigh. Now they're gonna do it.
After some time on the road, my wonderful sister cut through the taut atmosphere with a simple question, "How come I always leave before you even when you are ready first? What were you still doing?" I wanted to say, "Ironing your stupid shirt, you ungrateful psycho!" but a quick replay of events showed me the error in my logic.
When you live in a place like Zimbabwe, where things that should work don't and people that should help won't, selfishness and nihilism become your only coping mechanisms. You treat yourself poorly and you expect as much from others. And just like the person in Six MaLabel, you see no point in asking for help straight up because you know if the tables were turned, you wouldn't help either.
I wonder why God made it so we couldn't see the skin we shed over the years. A 2011 study found that we shed about half our bodyweight's worth of skin over the course of a lifetime. That's around 35kgs. Unlike snakes and crustaceans, human beings don't shed their skin in one dramatic event, but slowly and uneventfully every hour. But wouldn't it be better to see those changes? To feel them as they happen?
Perhaps life would be easier if, when the war was raging, choices stopped being presented to me. If there was a button to just pause while I do some damage control… but there’s no pause button. Choices must be made, and consequences must be faced.
I’m in my room. It’s a cloudy Thursday afternoon. I write a whole story trying to explain the relationship between potential and the imposter syndrome. As I type, I realise that I will have to live with Potential and the Imposter Syndrome for the rest of my life.
Resistance is the big dragon that hoards the gold harboured in my ideas. The dragon will do anything it takes to keep me from getting to the gold. Every time I make up my mind to get off my behind and actually start working,
My understanding of the evil twin is that it’s something that’s unpleasant, or has the potential to be, that can’t be separated from something that’s amazing, or has the potential to be.
You see, all this time I’ve been waiting to be an awesome parent “when I have kids” when really, I had a kid to take care of this whole time.