Waiting to Exhale…

“Beware of Destination Addiction – a preoccupation with the idea that happiness is in the next place, the next job and with the next partner. Until you give up the idea that happiness is somewhere else, it will never be where you are.” – Robert Holden

My favourite scene from a movie, of all time, is the scene from Waiting to Exhale where Ms Angela Bassett’s character Bernadine wakes up the morning after her husband walked out on her and gathers all his clothes and burns his car with all of his stuff in it then calls it trash.


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On 2017, Afropunk and Resolutions

I love how as a society, out of all the days we give meaning to, we have one that we decided would be our day of “starting over”. We give ourselves an imaginary refresh button or a clean slate. We take a minute to reflect on the past year, we usually call it trash (2017 really was though), pick out a couple of highlights which we are grateful for, express relief for being alive to see the new year and we make lists of all the ways we want to do better in the next year. Most of our listed resolutions never actually get resolved but the fun part of it all is that if you are alive to see the clock strike midnight on the 31st December each year, you get to make new ones and again lie to yourself that this time, you really will go the gym at least 4 times a week and cut down on the carbs (wine is a carb, my friends). I too have a list of resolutions and wishes for 2018, I’m praying to God, the universe, my ancestors, my living ancestors, the force (who else has been to watch the new Star Wars movie? It’s quite good, right?), the holy spirit, the gods of money, sex and travel and any form of higher power to help me be a better person and stick to them.

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The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.


I love the festive season. Really do. I have absolutely no relation to the Grinch, so without a doubt, this is my favourite time of the year. The reasons are endless. In the year I spent living in Thailand, this was the one time where I truly missed home (minus that time I had convinced myself that I had Dengue fever and needed my mom there to be paranoid with me. She’s worse than WebMD). Thailand is a Buddhist country so December might as well be one those useless months that no one really care for like January and July. I even had to work on Christmas and at the school assembly in the morning, all the foreign teachers had to stand in front and tell the learners how Christmas is being celebrated in our respective countries. I’ll admit I wasn’t the best ambassador for my country because all I said was that we spend the day with our families and in the evening, we go out, meet up with friends and drink. Then I walked away, I felt like I should have been given the day off. It’s Christmas, bathong. Needless to say, no teaching happened that day. What really broke my heart was when my brother video called me from my gran’s house and lord knows the fastest way to break me is to involve Mma Miesie, my Koko. She has my heart. Thank God this year, I’m home and I can’t wait to break bread with my loved ones, I know with my family it will involve loads of yummy food, liquor and loads of banter. Good Times.

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Keep going, one bottle of chardonnay at a time.

I don’t know how people manage to adult without wine. I genuinely don’t. If you are one of those who does, please leave a comment at the bottom. It must be really hard though because even with all the vino I consume, I’m still kind of luke-warming it as I go along. Case in point: my friends are getting married and acting very grown-up while I’m sitting here undecided on how to feel about Fergie and Josh Duhamel’s breakup. I’m barely recovered from Chris Pratt and Anna Farris. I mean, who’s next? Good God, please don’t let it be Remy Ma and Papoose (#Blacklove). Also, I’m still very upset from reading that in the past year the average price of books in South Africa has gone up by close to 7%, I mean, I have been saying that I like books more than people so books getting more expensive means I have to “people” more. God help me. If my life was scripted, it would now read: With a look of defeat, she quietly opens another bottle of chardonnay. Continue reading

WEAR SUNSCREEN: Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young

BY: Mary Schmich

Ladies and gentlemen of the class of ’97:

Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they’ve faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindsides you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.


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Rediscovering the joy of celebrating another free trip around the sun

“Celebrating another birthday is not an opportunity for reconciling passed failures and unfulfilled dreams, but rather a chance to appreciate what many have not been afforded…”

I used to hate celebrating my birthday.  For a good couple of years, it was one of my best-kept secrets. I didn’t particularly embrace getting older; I often felt like I was running out of time which is a bit crazy considering I am only 25.  I usually dedicated the day to refining my self-proclaimed Oscar-winning acting skills, because I spend the whole day pretending to be happy when what I really wanted was a time machine or directions to fountain youth (the one Pharell drinks from) 

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“It’s called ghosting, mom”

“Dating in 2017: Let’s be friends, friends with benefits. I’m not ready for a relationship but I expect you to do things that should only happen in a relationship. Remember, we’re not together, you can’t claim me, but you can’t be with someone else. I need you to be loyal, but I’m free to do what I want. If you get mad, I’ll remind you that we’re just friends. If you catch feelings … I’m ghost. I told you from the start I’m not ready for a relationship” – unknown

Most, if not all, of my mom’s friends, are either divorced or, like her, widowed, as a result of which they are re-entering a dating scene that looks drastically different from what it was when they left the game in the 70s and 80s. Back then, concepts like friends with benefits, ghosting and situation-ships existed but weren’t so … mainstream. So, when I overheard my mom, aunt and their friends comforting a friend of theirs who had been ghosted (the guy hadn’t called for close to four months) by telling her to be patient with him and give him the benefit of the doubt, I couldn’t help but chime in by snidely whispering quite loudly that she had been ghosted or pie’d and that she should forget about him and move on with her life.

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Thinking Out Loud: Girls. Brown Girls. Lena Dunham’s Girls. My girls. Girls.

In the past year, I have been so consumed by work that I haven’t had much of a social life. Everything was just so heavy, I didn’t think I was fun to be around (particularly when sober) and when I did  have some free time, I just wanted to sleep. I never want to be consumed by work like that again. I want to be consumed by things that set my soul on fire and to find a balance between adulting and doing all the little things that make me happy like drinking rosé in a teacup,  hanging out with my girls and eating my youth. Continue reading

So, I Asked Myself … The Proust Questionnaire

The Proust Questionnaire

1. What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Oh, God! I don’t know. What I do know is that I am constantly in pursuit of it. The happiness thing. I know that in the past a lot of the stuff I thought would bring me some form of happiness have always failed me. I guess my idea of perfect happiness is something that doesn’t leave me longing. Something Complete. Whole. Still.

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