I’m done with the crying. It’s a signal that I cannot continue as I have been. That’s all. Opportunity for a fresh start.

  1. an indication of a situation.

Letter That Won’t Be Sent

I didn’t sleep. Again, because I stayed up waiting for you to reply. Tossing and turning. Fussing. You slept, I bet. You did, you always do with me.

I didn’t know that I could be cut so easily, so cheaply. Is it a self-esteem thing? If you were on the outside, I wouldn’t lose a wink on you.

I should have seen it coming, that it starts with the bee hives in my chest. That’s you. This feeling now, half anxious, half thick smokey disarray. Half waiting. Pining almost. I hate it. Distrust it. Who are you? A kid, yanking at my strings and stepping on my toes calling me beautiful in the same breath as you share your love for another. What the fuck is this? A French film? Are we doing that – in this space. I may have called it, but the bubble burst through you.

I’ve been lost at sea for the passed 2 years but I only lose sleep over what you may do to my heart pieces.

I actually stay up, all night fantasizing about what it’ll sound like when you use your mouth to … my revenge, my blase-zero-fucks-given responses, what it’ll feel like to run away… I stay up all night questioning my place in my own jungle. The first place that was my own before it had any connection to you, to any of you.

I wish you would leave me alone to myself. Even that would hurt me. Go fuck yourself.

That’s what I want to say today. Go fuck yourself. I can’t take care of the both of us today. I didn’t get any sleep.


Day 21

I read something, a trick for dealing with pain. Ask yourself where it hurts. A sore thumb doesn’t equal a sore head. A sore heart doesn’t translate to a sore stomach (except when it does :/)

.. I cried so hard yesterday. So hard. I couldn’t stop it. I’m hurting and it’s coming out; certainly did yesterday. I want to hug myself, I feel so bad. I was dissolving in the hurt and I had to ask myself where it came from. It came from inside. It hurts inside, from my chest cavity up to my throat and neck, stopping just under my chin.

Must be said though, the catalyst was my lip. I gouged a piece of lower lip out with a pole after my parallel parking lesson. Ouch.

As a kid I was on my own a lot. On my own is the only way things have happened in my myopic way. Of course I have my sisters, who are pieces of me – and shared experiences, like that time Emilomo and Salman started fighting, I share the sound of a slap with Safian who was on the couch with me. chuckle.

But for the most part it’s a solo thing. When it hurts, when it’s good, when it’s difficult, when it’s a challenge, when it’s a curiosity, when it’s a pleasure, when it’s scary, when it’s just a fucking tangled up mess. Solitary creature.

There’s no one to explain it to better than my own self. There’s no one who can comfort me or make me feel strong and able. No one else can tell me it will be all right, I wouldn’t believe them. ..maybe I would, if it was my Mother or Daddy.

If I crawled against his big belly and cried the tears, that even now want to fall. If I did that and told him that I don’t know where it hurts, would he tell me it’ll all be ok. Or would it scare him like it scares me. Would it make him too sad?

aw, what the fuck is this?

I want to disappear. Sit somewhere and not be here until I have to.

Maybe I am disappearing and that’s what’s fucking with me.

I hesitate to say depressed because I know what a pit that is. With thorns and silk strings, keeping you down down down.

I’m empty of my cinnamon; deflated like those weird dancing flotilla men, with no air in me.

Fuck. I’m fucked.

hey.. I know and all – but your worms are doing great and when the rain comes you may have a couple of tomatoes and chillis of your own.

oh, just shut up.

Day 20

I danced! Like the odd ball funky Princess that I am.

Went to Jokers and I didn’t have a crew; the sisters and Ndeshitja sat outside nursing their drinks and a pizza – while I was inside on the dance floor, fucking dancing to the music.

I only spazzed out once – when my paranoid mind told me that Phillip, Lelo and co. were involved in an orgy on his floor, and here I was being a dunce.

But, you know what Nambahu did? She danced. No brooding or pondering, the girl went on the dance floor and disrupted the status quo with her moves. She didn’t dance like other people, in the groove or even in the same beat.

I danced selfishly. Owning my moves, I didn’t even care to share. I appreciated what others were doing but my body, my mind wanted to do its own thing ..because that’s generally how I roll anyway.

I came home, because the others were “exhausted”. I could’ve dance all night long, like that time at Kokos – walking out to 7am sunlight. Not tonight though, we came home. I did a bit of dancing to Michael Jackson to spend the excess energy.

I’m tired now. Sleepy.

Inspector Frost beckons me.

Phillip didn’t have an orgy with Lelo and the other girls. He’s in bed now. I guess some time I’m going to have to have a conversation about why I think that he’ll be unfaithful to me; especially considering the type of person he is.

Not now though.

Why do today, what you can do tomorrow.

Day 19

Sitting here at the computer, (the house in Windhoek)

I’ve been writing a story. I want to finish it and send it out into the world.

I had my second driving lesson today. The driving instructor (Marvin/Marvelous) , is going to be a bit of an experience. I can almost drive, in the practical sense, I can. In the regular sense, I have a little way to go.

I drank two quarts of black label. I want to go out tonight to dance and drink more. I have no money though, so I am dependent on Pj wanting to go out, if she does, then she’ll sponsor me. If not then perhaps a dry/sober walk with Ndeshitja. It won’t be bad. I don’t need to drink any more to be honest … that’s not going to stop me from sneaking a glass from Nuusiku’s bottle of vino. It’s sweet and white.

Phillip’s at his engineering dance with Lelo (and Jeremy and a girl with a name). I wonder how long it’ll take him to message me. Midnight? 3 am? The next morning? 5 minutes from now? Soon enough to banish the thought that he’s only with me for emotional comfort?… I could play the victim but upon closer inspection…

Do I say that as a guard against vulnerability? … I’m not answering that now.

Anyway… I hope to dance tonight. I want to go out. Drink 2 shots of tequila and another beer and dance my ass off.

My sisters probably aren’t the best people to do that with though. They have their own idea of a good night out.