Tag Archives: love

“Would you like me to sit with you?”

A little Turkish girl that lives close by had rushed home, having refused to wait for her mother to collect her from a friend’s house, a short distance from where they live. She wailed, knowing this to inspire the approach of her most loved person. Commitment to tears turned her cheeks red and the despair in her eyes unearthed an unrelenting desperation for her mother’s arms; a showering of kisses and cuddles from the Creator’s catalyst. Her efforts bore no fruit. Normally, I ignore outside noises. Anything that cannot be annexed to an action I have performed or word I have spoken, I will likely dismiss as being outside my area of concern. This time, however, hearing the loud cries, I stepped out to make sure she was okay. Although she did not speak, the locked grill door and her attempt to force it open with her little hands revealed the reason for her distress. Her mother was out and the house was impenetrable.

‘Sitting in Silence’ Sketch by Kanyiha Mbogori

“Would you like me to sit with you?” I asked.

She nodded her head, wiping her tears with her right sleeve and sitting on a step with her backpack still strapped to her shoulders. I moved to occupy a space next to her. In a world that tells us not to love without caution, a world that endorses a fear of what is different, we were breaking all the rules. Muslim and a Jesus lover, curly, soft hair and dreadlocks, child and young adult, Turkish and black African; irrespective of our differences we found comfort in each other’s presence. So the heart of a child will conquer the weight of any villain, with no more than the innocence that drives them to see the sparkle in an ogre’s eye. We just sat… on a step… quiet.

Sometimes our differences cause us to abandon a higher standard of humanity. But when we get it right, my God, is it spectacular.

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What if… we bled?

The poetry our hearts can speak is often imprisoned by our reservations. Overflowing cells guarded by the fear that we won’t be heard, won’t be loved, won’t be wanted. What bravery it takes to bleed so openly as to sing against the score of our prescribed existence. To feel something in a world that asks us to be numb. Feel something. For someone. A refugee. A friend. A parent. A lover. Someone.

“I see the changes in your eyes
The spark that’s in your smile
Just ain’t the same no more
The way you hold me close
The heaven in your hello
Just ain’t the same no more
What if I gave you everything
Would we be okay 
If I gave my love to you
Would we be okay
If I gave you everything 
Would we be okay
If I gave my love to you
Would we be okay” – Jacob Banks

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“Infatuation Station!”- Mind your step.

When I was about fourteen, I developed the biggest crush of my life. I became infatuated with this boy- every time I was close enough to hear him speak, laugh, sigh or even cough, it was permanently etched in my mind and stored for a rainy day. And did I see many rainy days. I was a very unhappy teenager. I felt oppressed in high school and emotionally and creatively crippled, for reasons better saved to discuss another hour. So he, this boy, became my escape. He was the safe haven I would retreat to in effort to keep me from self-destructing. I would make him the hero in every scenario I’d created in my mind because even though I knew he was just a teenage boy, somehow he was also so much more than I’m sure his actual persona would have been able to lend any truth to. I would orchestrate romantic lines in a rendition of how I’d heard him speak. When I was inconsolable he would share my pain and every sigh I let out would be an echo of his own disappointment in his failure to protect me from all the ills of the world. What I would do with a cough, I don’t know.

Photo Credit: Gerry Balding

Photo Credit: Gerry Balding

Over the years, I’d forgotten him. As the walls that guard me have thickened and my ambition taken priority, curiosity about the man he might have actually become hasn’t preyed on my mind- until about a year ago. He has begun to enter the odd dream, but even so, this apparition hasn’t grown, and I haven’t grown, and so I know it’s a retreat into my safe haven- a way to shallowly heal septic wounds. My brokenness is finding a way to blame him for everything I have failed to become, as I ponder why he rejected me. My mind is finding a way to mark him as the inception of my low-self esteem and bitterness. He is the knife that has penetrated my back, though I only intended it to scratch a surface level itch. My escape, the alternate reality I needed, has become a way for me to derogate my progress because, once again, he has become an impossible goal. So why has he returned to me? I have a tough few weeks ahead; a lot of hard work I fear may be beyond the scope of my capabilities. I’m not in love, dating, or interested in dating, because at this stage of my life, my career goals take precedence over my personal desires. But life is scary, and I’m beginning to doubt myself and in so doing, regressing to old habits. Indeed he is an old habit. Only now, retreating to my safe haven doesn’t make me feel safe anymore. Just stupid. It makes me feel like a coward and it validates my feelings of inadequacy. All those years, I burdened a stranger who was unaware of the weight he was carrying. I don’t think it’s necessarily that I don’t want to burden him anymore, I think it’s that I want him to become aware of the weight and to be okay with its inconvenience. Of this I am ashamed. How can I still be running? Furthermore, how can I still be running to him?

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#np Younger- Seinabo Sey

There is gold in deep waters; heart and soul in speech; strength in anger. And we sing of all we have and are and fear we will become. So here’s a song for the night and with it lyrics to contemplate. We’re not getting any younger. We’re just not.

(Metro Lyrics)
“There’s a conclusion to my illusion
I assure you this
There’s no end to this confusion
If you let it wish you well
Soul to sell
Highest bidders, can’t you tell what you’re getting?
There is a light to all this darkness
I will tell you this
There’s redemption in you asking them just why it is
Some answers are better left unspoken when you know you ain’t getting any
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?”

“Why we fight to get on loving I’ve been wondering
How your mind will leave you hanging your heart lingering
Stay lost
Then found by whoever stays around, forgetting
There is a way to be yourself, I assure you this
There’s a way to catch your dreams without falling asleep
You might as well get it while you can, babe
’cause you know you ain’t getting any
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?”

There is a light to all this darkness if only we
Fight against them telling us how we should be
I refuse to have you break me
When you know you ain’t getting any
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?

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21/02/2015 · 12:30 am

Surely He Lives

“Whoso has felt the spirit of the Highest,
Cannot confound nor doubt Him, nor deny,
Yea, with one voice, O world, though thou deniest,
Stand thou on that side, for on this am I!” – F.W.H. Myers

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I very rarely get it right. Most days I grapple with the idea that a Being so great would live and love us so completely as to let us choose. Most mornings, I wonder why I have to endure the task of a day’s worth of everything that goes against the rationale that God could exist. But He must. For me to live, He must. And if the day should ever come when I find He doesn’t, so my life will reach its end.

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To Love Her

I’m in love with the written word. It is the amplifier of my soul and when I walk, it is the principle by which my feet are governed. It is a scrutinized publication of thought and speech; polished armour before the war. It pains me to leave at the discretion of others an interpretation of something so sacred as my words. They are mine and will always belong solely to me.

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I wouldn’t be a Gen Y kid if I didn’t make a breakup video!

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