Cyan

A short story that I have been working on for an extended period of time.  I hope you like it and thank you for the support. Edolobheni - in town  Uncertainty and fear crept in, wide-eyed and alive, for someone that lives a comfortable suburban life. The situation in which I had placed myself demanded self-awareness. I have taken a step out of the gate, out of my comfort zone. I pushed my legs forward and forced myself to experience something. It was not my first, but it was my most attentive occasion into Victoria Market. The gang; Courtney, Mel, Ntokozo, Zethembe and I, decided to venture into town. The first thing to which I gave considerable attention was a table full of incalculable and mighty colourful beads. They were coupled with a few fascinating designs, artfully constructed into bracelets and necklaces. I looked up from the beads to a large building with a sign reading “English Market”. As we walked by I glanced inside, and for a few seconds I saw a varie

"So, let me make this clear. If you chose to not concentrate in class and then you end up doing badly in the exams and so then you go home and tell your parents that you have a bad teacher. Is that how it works? When in fact you didn't concentrate in class. I'll tell you this much... at parent evening, I'm going to tell all of your parents." We stood in the middle of the corridor and made a decision, that day, that we would get a distinction in maths and therefore whatever she told our parents about our marks and our level of concentration would be null and void. That was the plan and it was brilliant. Of course I have different feelings now. It was a double lesson at the end of a busy Friday. The air just seemed to be exuberantly bubbly. Perfect atmosphere for chaos. Our maths teacher was busy rattling on about some long drawn out and seemingly unnecessary maths problem. Yolisa, Jeanette and I were busy giggling away at a highlighter tower we had created, whi

In my young days, I was quite the belieber. I guess I just grew up and then, I was a fan from a distance. I will tell you though that my Justin Bieber twitter account was a hot mess. Nonetheless, I went through the ins and outs of celebrity fandom. I had a t-shirt and bought the records. So, on my bedroom wall, I had an assortment of photos, drawings, writing and posters relating to him. Typical groupie vibes over here. Basically, I lived out that experience and I don't regret it. The incident was brought into play when my mother's friend, her husband and her son came over for a meal. It was Ramadaan, so we patiently waited to eat. And then we didn't eat because it was that time of the month when the desire for food had worn off. We ate substantially and retired to the lounge. Dad and the dudes went to pray in my parents room. So, my mothers friend was sitting in the lounge and she asked me if she could be guided to a room in which she could pray. I agreed and told

“That’s why I write, because life never works except in retrospect. And writing makes you look back. Because, since you can’t control life, at least you can control your version.” ~Chuck Palahniuk I stared at this quote, ruminating, and being mesmerized by its sheer validity. I pondered greatly as to how my version could possibly be of more interest. That, having the notorious writers block due to the possibility of producing an unoriginal piece, is something that writers actually encounter and will eventually overcome. I told myself, all in good time. As I grew up, I had these vivid memories reappearing. And yes, this sounds cliched but they were mostly about things my father had taught me. As I went about my daily routine, I found myself doing things absentmindedly. I'd realized that what he had repeated to me over the years has become what I now repeat to myself. In this way, he became my literal inner mantra. One of the most fondest memories I have of my father is of him

It was the winter time. And winter time in Petrograd led to uncontrolled cases of Facebook voyeurism. All fatuous personalities were driven into closets, while incensed produce-sellers gradually settled near the comfort of well-oiled heaters. The farce of teenage relationships and authentic petulance had drawn to a close and the only thing the vacations left me with was the overuse of the phrase “YOLO” (which, I believe meant “You Only Live Once”.) Unsure of the phrases deeper meaning of why it was even initially institutionalised, I set upon a mission to enrich my evidently limited understanding.   Judy distinctly understood “YOLO” as making uneducated decisions about her future. The sweet, but very relevant, balance between your career choice and whether there is actually any worldly scope for it is vital. Judy resolved to pursue fashion design. She was under the impression that the world was her oyster. She believed so because her superbly supportive parents had told her so. And

Morals vs religious moralities In the past, there were periods wherein I had grown an esteemed dislike for Jewish people. And being a conscious feminist, it is indeed very easy to conjure up extremely logical reasoning for my claims. But my latter experiences have made me accept that disliking any group of people, regardless of their actions, only creates turmoil in my own well-being.  I developed reasoning to help the Palestinians, sublimely, without exactly condemning archaic  Jewish actions, only constructively criticizing the present decisions. And this brought about the concept of morality and how we are all justifying our actions and simultaneously entitled to our own actions. Then, I realized that the theory of religious morality does not actually justify the adjoined parties actions. The Jews, the Palestinians and neither my own point of view were confirmed under the pretense of religious morality. Religion does not prescribe oppression, only mutual affection. So I decid