My Black Is Also Beautiful

If we are afraid to accept our reflection, that is when we look at ourselves in the mirror, then how will we accept what we can't even see, our inner self?

Young black girls around the world question their image, while the media acts as if it is answering what is being asked. We as young girls face issues such as body image, the teenage cycle that challenges us, peer pressure etc, the biggest battle of all is self love and knowing our worth.
Girls on their own discriminate against one another, if it is not about the height, then it will be about the body, if not that then it will be about the skin colour, if it is not about that then it will be about beauty, if not about it, then it will be about something else. It never stops, as if being a girl already is not enough. Some face these challenges at home, if you have a sibling who is light in complexion then you are. Some of the things are not even said, but what is displayed before us, makes us create images filled with ugliness. Could it be that the society as a whole created this? Or that we allowed it?

This goes back to where we come from as black people, our roots. If we could connect with that, then maybe we would begin to appreciate. I don't think I could blame a black model who wears a weave, who is tall and skinny, because she is brought up in that kind of an environment. She is told every day that that is beauty. We need to break the ice and define who we are.
If we were all to be locked in a dark room, and let only voices speak, if we would not recognise who is who, we would develop an understanding that there is no need for war. That there is no voice that speaks louder than the other if it is heard, that there is no need to scream. A lot of boundaries need to be brought down, black image should not even be one, but it is. 

Black girl hug yourself, wrap yourself with love. Associate yourself with positivity, and lets search for stories that will empower us, I am on that road and I have found many, that are giving me confidence and reminding me of my importance. I found a video posted by sis Lebo Mashile on twitter http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=UX0FWfkcfZk, and it is talking about black beauty, it inspired me to share my view. Here is a website you can visit, www.myblackisbeautiful.com and you can join them on facebook.com/MBIB
Write your own story, it has never been heard before.

I know a girl's story but we never talked

I know a girl who longs for her mother, who always told herself that if her mother was alive things would be better.
But what if, what if her mother was a drunkard? what if she would've been abusive?  what if she would show no love? what if she bathed her and applied make-up on her face only to give her to some men? what if then her mothers love was a trade-off thing, 'you agree to go out with these men and I will take care of you, love you', what if that was the only time she said "you are beautiful" and the daughter wouldn't want to hear it because she knows its not her inner beauty that is described, when it is her cookie that is prescribed to other men?
I know a girl who has that kind of a mother, who longs for growth to come out of the situation, but when she matures, what good values would she have learn't? who would have taught her? how would she handle womanhood when her childhood was hijacked? when she lost her innocence? when she wonders who will give her love, who will she give her love to completely without thinking that this person wants something in return? how will she learn when she doesn't know self love? how will she forgive when no forgiveness was asked for to begin with?
I know a girl who wished she never met her mother, a girl who feels that a stranger would've done a better job. A girl who wishes she was aborted because she is deserted.

A tough girl she will grow to be, her strength will be built on rage and mistrust. Her life will be built on conrete, no one will ever pass over it, to even save her from herself.
There is a girl out there, like this one, you know her just never met her. You have passed her on the streets and never noticed. I know a girl's story but we never talked, just observed.

Let's chat

You can find me on facebook (just mention me and tell me that you read my blog ;), I'll accept: Yamkela Ela Sigwili

On twitter: @YamkelaSigwili

Check later on for a new post and give me your views

It's within you

Just last week when the director told us to go outside and pick up something and tell a story about it. There were about eleven of us, and I picked up a string of a mop, other drama members picked up stones, flowers, bricks, plastics, take away plates, and banana peals etc.

I was the first to tell my story of the mop string and we were only given two minutes to prepare, this is how my story goes (I may not remember the exact words because it was a once off thing)...

My name is mop and this is my story, I am that abondoned being who now lays and watch the world go by, I only exist in my inner thoughts, people walk over me. dirt has become my best friend for we used to be enemies, when I used to matter. My siblings and I used to enjoy dancing to the tunes that our madam played when she would clean around the house. I have travelled, from birth... the manufacturing factory to the big super markets, moving in between the small spaza shops, I have been to the town houses, suburbs and kasi loctions. I have met all different kinds of people. The weak are the ones defeated. I am telling tales that bring joy, yet they are tearing me apart, because it is a matter of a used to be and a no loger. I am waiting to be swept away, to go and claim my new existence, I have no permanent place because I don't belong. so long my fellow mop strings, you shall hang in fences, lay on the grounds, find yourselves in dustbins, I will not be sad for I have served my purpose and therefore I am proud because I have made a difference.

                                                             ......

It's within you to grow and experience, nothing lasts forever, but a thing that is passed over, lives on. Make the most out of little things, and leave a legacy of knowledge, vision, belief and inpiration because you are never too young nor too old.

Back with a Bang

.... I have been struggling to login or use my blog for that matter. This is just a message to let YOU know that I am back, going to update and fill you in on what has been going on around me, my thoughts/views also facts about some aspects and other things going on around. Keep on checking for a post or two because there is so much to share.

Dancing feelings

I hear the sound that the silent people cannot hear, the beat moves with my heart, my mind starts to question... what is wrong with you? I don't respond, all I do is dance to my feelings.

My heart is the only instrument that understands the melody, my feet are just following, while my hands are just flowing in the air, my hair is swaying like the rivers of my home land, the Xhosa land.

If I understood what was going on I would be telling a story, the children would be surrounding me, listening, but now my feelings are just dancing.

The soul is so quiet, watching from a distance, only it can respond to what my mind is asking... it is silent because it is taught to do so, it is quiet because it was told to do so.

My feelings are dancing to what my heart is playing, if the music was sad then I'd be crying, if the music was happy then I'd be laughing, but I'm just trapped.

It's easier to unfold my hands, than to unfold my soul. Let the beats roll, and let the soul dance to the tunes until it learns to let go.

Moving on... Facing reality

One of those days when you sit and think to yourself, why does the clock have to tick all the time, that why don't things ever stop for a while. We often ask ourselves these things when we find ourselves dwelling in the past. A while ago when I was doing metric I met this friend, we got along so well, we shared memories and the best part was that we got to see each other everyday because of school. She could tell when something was bothering me when we would be laughing with the crowed she could tell if I'm not happy. She sensed many odd things when something has gone wrong. You meet someone for a year, and you are never going to see them again, it was our last year of school and we had to path and find ourselves into the new world outside high school. She kept on losing weight, but we thought it was just normal. After metric we spoke a few times, as time went by there were no more talks, or getting in touch. In almost two years, I hear from another friend of mine that she is sick and that she is losing more weight than before. I then hear that the cause of it all is cancer. I froze and felt guilty for not keeping in touch the whole time. Then finally I got the urge to just greet her via a social network, I tried to act as normal as possible. We continued having normal chats as though nothing is wrong. What had struck me the most is that this person doesn't have much time left, this person didn't tell me personally about the illness, and here I am pretending to be okay as if I know nothing. It brought me into tears, it amazed me how easily we found our friendship and how easily we let it slip away, but actually how difficult it is to let go. How I was afraid to ask "how are you?", knowing she is not well, knowing she is dying. I kept on asking myself that maybe she is too afraid to tell me about it, that she thinks I wouldn't handle the bad news well. Yet on the other side I kept thinking to myself that if I tell her I know she will get more sick because she will worry. But if you notice all I've said is "Me" "I", what about her? Who is there for her in this hard time? How is she coping with the fact that each day is slowly fading from her life? As I opened my year book (metric) I read the message she wrote there, how each word came to me rolling like a storm, how it hit me hard as though I was just in that moment when she wrote it. It is one thing to hear about someone's death (something that had happened) , it is totally another when they are in the process, and there is nothing you can do to help. All you do is to keep on praying, that is what our grandmothers and mothers have taught us. A little voice creeps out and just whispers that "there is always hope", as though the cancer will disappear. Knowing very well that all you can do is just be there for the person, show them love, and gratitude for adding a value in your life. Finding that strength to face them and helping them face the difficulties of this life. It then comes to mind that life is not cruel, it may be unfair at times, but it is just here to teach us, that every situation is a scenario, you must study it well. You just have to continue to make your goals and achieve them, knowing that you are also doing it for those who can't. Taking each opportunity with both hands. Moving on knowing it was/is never your fault, but nature intended it to be so. Being greatful for life.

World of Poetry

If I could wake up in a world of poetry
Never would I have to compare and complain
For it is plain clear
That we share the words of writing

IF I COULD Wake up in a world of poetry
Never would I fear
For I tear the history of my past
Without a tear touching my delicate chics

IF I COULD wake up in a world of poetry
Mistery wouldn't be history
For we would be dancing to different
Rhythms of misery

IF I COULD wake up in the world of poetry
The words would define peace
From those broken pieces
Of our vase's
That hold together lillies


By: Yamkela Sigwili

loss of July

Tomorrow on the 16th of July marks the day my grandmother left this world. I'm only saying grandmother to clearify, but that woman was my mother, never have I called her grandma. I was her first grand-daughter, and that makes me pround. The most painful part about death is having to replace words such "she is" with "she was". At first you are indenial, and consider a now. But then later along the way you start to learn to talk in past tense. The pain that takes over when I think of her. I know one thing for sure, she died a proud person, for she raised strong people. Multiple times have I failed to say or write anything about her. This is the first time. As she is resting and watching from above, I want her to know that she is dearly treasured. I wrote a personal poem for her  

MY GRANDMOTHER 

Lilly flower she named me
Planted in her hands
I was just a seed
Go on now bloom
My lilly flower 
Dazzle the world
I'm puzzled by such beauty
However I'm complete
The glass may break into pieces
But I shall mould you
Because you are a blessing
I sing the tunes about my lilly
I dance in the garden where I may guide you
Her voice and mine
In a valley 
Where her imagination ran
About her flower
My little lilly flower
She would say
Go on now bloom
Dazzle the world
I'm puzzled by such beauty
However I'm complete!
...................................................................... 
I miss her, words don't begin to describe the feeling. The joys I've had with her. Rest in peace mama wam.

Strength of a family

When one person holds the whole family together, when their gone, it all falls apart. That person is mostly a woman, with grey hair. Wisdom to guide, cherished when no longer there. When a family is most filled with girls, the relationship gets ruined when their teens, when the other is irresponsible and the other reliable. When the other is the most quiet. How they would fight about silly things that later on count against them when they are all grown. A mother who is always there to stop their fights, who always prays, takes them to church, then prepares a feast for a real get together for  sunday lunch. How the two girls would fight and "mama" always there to stop it, when the third daughter is just quiet. When they are all grown, when "mama" has turned grey hair, how the third daughter is still quiet, how the two never stopped fighting. When grand kids are affected, forced to be apart, observing all the negative energy, and yet still manage to put those cute smiles on their faces. How it would make mama happy having all her kids around the table, to her it doesn't matter much about the arguments. She is most concerned about the quiet daughter, she never says how she feels, "everything is okay" she would say. When the woman with grey hair numbers are numbered, laying at the hospital, nothing she can do. The fist that folded the hands can't hold them no more. When fighting never stops, when they don't visit each other no more, they bump into each other where the old woman is resting. A part of the old lady wants to be set free and leave this earth, for she has had enough. But another wants to stay, hoping when she wakes up, she can fix things. What would change this time around? None of them are showing gratitude. Silence never made peace, except tear ones soul apart, shouting never solved a thing, except raising noise. A woman with grey hair is tired, she wonders where has she gone wrong? Just because bricks are building up, it doesn't necessarily mean they are stable. Years gone by, bad habits grew. Does one bring it all down and starts building or does one try to shape it up. Trust broken between siblings, who fixes it, how? The old lady needs love, the woman with grey hair is tired, she has had enough. She did all she could, till she couldn't no more. If you have an old lady who needs to be cherished, loved, prayed for, then do so. She is tired, its time you fight for her, its time you said something, its time you lowered your voice, its time you let children be, differences are fine, total different is not good. If sisters of one household don't get along, where does it leave the rest of the world? The old lady is tired, let her soul rest, don't make life make that decision for you, she is tired!

Have you found your purpose, what are you waiting for?

Have you found your purpose, what are you waiting for?....  I would like to believe that we do live in a world of possibilities. Impossiblities are what we face only by the word of mouth from someone else. Prosperities are what we long for when we standing and hoping that one day is one day. Reaching a destination is not about stopping, it is about learning about that certain environment. Many people ask the question "what do you do when you reach your dream?" and many will answer "dream another one"... I ask "really...another one?" "what have you done with that dream that it is being disposed?" "would you go that far only when you get it you drop it?". When finding gold, you need to manufacture it, make something out of it that is valuable, that was worth the effort, that makes you realise that is was worth that extra mile. Have you really found your purpose? I'm not talking about something that pleases other people, but that gives you pleasure. If you have found your purpose don't stop there, make a brand out of that cloth. If a shirt was made from it, maybe it's time you make a skirt, better yet add another purpose to that one. There is nothing wrong in dreaming another dream after you have reached it, but don't neglect it, add to it. You would be surprised if you went through my list, and you will be surprised of the few I've achieved and you will wonder if "will that girl reach them all", yes, at the back of my mind I already have. That is the attitude one needs to carry, it sounds like its a lot of work, but it reduces the load. Today I discovered that the roads we walk are similar but however NOT the same. Let someone inspire you to be you, to be the best you can be. After all originals always take the frame, copies are passed on to every hand, but never last, copies are all worth the same. Originals land in few hands. If you haven't found your purpose what are you waiting for? I often regard dreams and wishes different. For me a wish is my impossibility that I'm okay with (Like dreaming of dating my favourite musician, or flying, or wishing I could hear someone's thoughts), they bring out the fun, humourous characters in me. Dreaming is where I find my possibility, where things are more real, that happen in reality. Yes I have entered for competitions, no haven't won them all. But that is the best phase, you prepare as though your life depends on it, you get rejected, but within that you get improvement, you start to realise that it is preperation. Remember before you go out there to perform, you practise many times only for one show. So don't let three rejections make you lose your purpose, keep your eyeball on the line. Keep on aiming, be glad you missing, because you correct yourself for the next move, and soon you will be scoring. You don't just learn for your own purpose, you learn to teach, to couch, to guide. What is your purpose? What are you doing with it? If you don't have one, what are you waiting for?

Mothers Day

Today is mothers day, these strong beautiful human beings are being spoilt today. We cheris and love them most, we might not tell them by day, but today is the day to actually show them how much they mean to us. We don't just wish those who gave birth to us but to those many women in the world. As we are rejoice, some people are looking back to what was, we do not just celebrate to those who are alive, but to those we once shared memories with. There are people who don't have mothers and that wish for a hour to spend with them. It is an eye opening to those who have mothers, that you must start appreciating that woman. Some don't even know how it is to have a mother, but we are in a society where we are raised by our aunts, by our grandmothers, by gardians, even them are our moms and we must show them how much they add a value to our lives. There are parents who are watching as other children hug and kiss their mothers, for they don't have kids of their own, some have medical conditions, some are just not mothers yet and some lost their kids to death. Other woman's kids ran away from home, they still have hope that they will return, even those woman are our mothers too. This day is to celebrate and enjoy. It means more, for we are talking about our heroes, a person who would jump at anything to save you. A person who loves you dearly, a person who watches you make your own mistakes in life, but are there to correct and guide you. I'm talking about a person who wakes up every morning to put bread on the table, a person who provides of which is more than giving but with a pure heart. A person who is hurting and is able to smile at you, a person who droped you at school when you were young and went on their knees just to give you a hug and a kiss, not caring whether they're still going to work. Who held you at night when you had nightmares. Who is able to give you tough love. Happy Mothers Day to you dear beloved. There are many songs we dedicate to you about a woman, a mother and a friend. Mothers are brave enough to let their children to go and discover the world, watches you as you fall, as you rise and as you achieve. They are proud even if you fail to score. Moms hate to see their kids cry, but they prefare that they cry than to hold pain in, nothing kills them more than the silence of their kids. Mothers are our energy, our water, our air. They are natural, never do we pretend when they are near. We indeed do love you mothers of the world. And we shall forever need them, even thou we don't show it at times, they stay close, and live in our hearts. Happy Mothers Day!

A girl like me

The fact that a girl like me comes from a small town in EC and have tasted the big cities of this continent means something. The fact that a girl like me has seen herself in a magazine article, no matter how small it was, shows decication and determination. The fact that a girl like me is able to stand infront of a crowed and recite a poem means there is after a worrior inside me, a brave soul. The fact that a girl like me has passion to write SA stories, they raw truth, I give facts, motions and show compassion, I might not solve x, but I do show the formula for it. That fact that a girl like me knows how to spare moments, knows how to enjoy good ones, tries to deal with bad one shows I take note to life. The fact that a girl like has goals to score, tells that I do play well in this field, I'm the champion but I am a participater, I don't warm the bench, I strive. The fact that a girl like me is raised by brave human beings, braught up by a single mom, who has a backbone, who would jump at anything to save me, tells that I am blessed. That fact that a girl like me is only at her teens but already making a difference, shows what leaders we will be having tomorrow. So tell me what fact is about you? That fact that a girl/guy like is.

AN EMPTY FIST

We are always holding on to something, then we start to realise that you were holding nothing, just an empty fist, what was there long faded. We fear so much to even open the hand because we think what is there might escape, many things leave us physically, but the psychological part of the mind still believes it's there. We do not lose touch with reality, we lose touch with fantasy, we don't believe in dreams because of what had happened. We don't even know where pain lives, for each part aches. Eyes lost their clear vision for tears always over flooding. Yet we still hold on because we think there is something worth holding, we feel as thou it's still there because the flesh touches each other, the palm is feeling pressure. Maybe we fear opening because we know that there is no more... I don't want to associate with anything, I want you to relate to what you know causes the mutuality. Our brains are connected to the heart, that is why at times we don't know which one is right, there is a personification within a connection that makes each statement seem true. This is like a multiple choice, either there is one right, or one wrong and all of them right, or all of the above wrong. But through it all, one has to make the tick, one has to circle and one has to make a mark. Each wrong is a subtraction to the total mark. Complexities are what each face on their phases in life. I won't tell you not to hold on, maybe that is what keeps you going through the days or years, maybe that hope is the one telling you not to give in. Atleast a good still comes out of it. But you might want to consider opening that hand, not to free it and leave it empty, but for it to assist you in carrying the packages you deal with!

Unfolding the blinded side

My thoughts spoke to me, my actions spoke for me, my writing narrated as my eyes witnessed, my feelings executed and you are receiving... Something hit me today, it hit me hard that it hurt, how much attention is paid to youg girls, young boys go through similar phases and we have the mentality that boys are just boys. I refuse to use the word guys or men at this point, because they are all inner boys, and they need to be heard, I'm talking to those who are boys, to those parents, to those friends, to those siblings, listen..... Dear young boy, we know about your struggles too, girls are known as people who cry, I know you try not to, it might be tears you think you locking, but it's actually pain you lock inside, those tears will set you free if you unlock... Dear young boys, we know girls have bff's to talk to, even journals, but amajita (guys) just tell you "hade ntwana" (sorry dude) and that's the end of it. You also need someone who will listen to you, no matter how ridiculous it might be, girls cry over such things often, and it helps... Dear young boys, there is no use to hide, you are not hiding alone, your troubles are with you, reveal yourself and let's see which trouble will be left, that will remain behide. Troubles are cowards, once you start facing them, they run away, don't keep them... Dear young boys, we know you also lose valuable things and people in your life. If you speak through rap, then do so, if you speak through dance, do so, if you speak through writing, do so. Losing people in your life is not easy, don't let silence close your mouth, open the gap and breathe in a world of pure humanity, don't think because you're a guy, you can't offload. Dear young boys, we don't know your secrete, but we will know it if you are willing to talk and we will find solutions. Many young boys get raped on daily basis, they are abused, left homeless, neglected and made feel less as men, standing up doesn't just give you confidence, you know...being "the guy", standing up is letting your pain sit down, for you are showing it who is the teacher. Dear young boys, your swag is nothing compared to the weight in the bag on your back. Talk let the man in you survive, don't seek for a role model, be one. And finally dear you, choose awareness not ignorance.

FRIENSHIPHOOD

I'm learning that frienship isn't like a stone that if you leave it there you will still find it, it is a plant that you need to water, it dies the moment you stop caring for it. Distance does put a strain because sometimes you don't want to talk, just having your friends around to be there physically. Distance isn't to blame, there are social networks, even if they are online, there is no greeting, it's fading away like a mist, but mists fade to clear, this friendship fades to darkness. I remember how the four of us swore and made atruce that distance is nothing but a meter, maybe times 100, but still it doesn't count because love is stronger. Well it was something related to that. We tried to make movie dates, but one always cancelled, make another date to go to one of our houses but again some would withdraw. That was when I realised that with change, no matter how hard you try to make things stay the same, priorities change, even if yours don't, theirs' do. Memories are there to be a reminder, to always go through them if you want to cheer up, but these...these are just images, words are just words, you just wonder if they were meant. Especially when you realise that you are the one who always tried to make effort. When you stop, nothing and no one continues, you then begin to question. At the beginning of other new frienships you don't bother much because they are so much fun, but as time goes you realise that there is so much more that is missing, yes it's no competition, or comparison, but you realise that isn't much in common. Then I'd write in ma journal and tell, but now I write in my journal and that is it. One of those awkward moments when it is obvious that you are not on their A list, that you don't even see yourself on the Z list (if there is even one). You know you don't have real friends when you want to pick up the phone and call, you scroll through your contact list more than twice and you don't see anyone to call. I think one knows when friendship doesn't exist, but ignorance just strikes through and overshines the truth, it's little things that matter most. I sometimes wonder if perfect friends last only in movies, where people were friends since at birth, sometimes more than 10 years, and still going strong, and by perfect I mean that there are fights, but in the end they don't seem to matter. One of those moments you don't want a clean slate, because you don't know where to start or how to, but you know you are tired of old written pages. In the end, one has conclusions, but right now I don't because I believe conclusions are not endings but findings, I have not found a thing. Not confussion, just realisation!

The Silent Death

People die and it hurts
But not more than a living body
And a dead soul
The persons' life has become a patent
With no meaning in it
They live for the sake of being there
Physically
But their mind set is already in hell
Mentally
They see no colour only black and grey
Even if their walking across the street and someone murdered
Oh how they wish it were them
The silent death inside a human being
Alive physically
Dead mentally
*By Yamkela Sigwili*
 ....................................................................
I wrote this poem because no one realises all the habbits they carry, this is what goes on behind other peoples minds and lets not let it continue, as soon as your feeling is mutual with this poem, just know something might be wrong, or it might not be 'cause of u, maybe someone you know but still "something might be wrong" and do something about it, poems are not just about a feeling, about hurt nor happiness but about creating awareness too.

The titanic journey...This year started with me having big goals to achieve, but I realised that I rushed to eat the meat when I haven't developed the teeth. I'm walking in a rocky road, I know where I am heading, but I am not sure If I have what requires this path, I still have my backpack (my dreams, passion and the drive) but I'm not sure if I have the keys. I know which door I'm going to, but I have thousands of keys to choose from but that's okay, time is with me. This path is full of emotions, it is not in sequence, I never know what to expect. I feel sadness and being alone, but my concern is why do I have to worry about who is coming along because after all isn't this MY journey? When I look over my neighbourhood, they are calling me to go rest with them and let everything go, I'd like to call them my frienemies, they are those people who don't wish me well, who fool me with their smiles so that I can think it's okay to let go of my dreams. I've come so far to be stopping here, my thoughts, my visions and my imaginations are over there, they are waiting for me to go get them, to live them. This time I not facing a "letting go phase", I'm facing "a left phase", when you thought you knew people and they suddenly leave you, when you are not being appreciated. I didn't stop them, it hurt watching them go, but they have their destiny to land on, they have people awaiting for them to be there since they never cared for me, maybe they learn humanity by those. Even a stapler doesn't put papers together without staples, so don't let the glue in you dry because of people who left your heart open, use that hole to fulfill, you that glue to to mend what is shattered. I'm in a titanic boat that is not sinking, but that is going from left to right, I scream, I laugh, I cry, I smile. I love the feeling, it's an adventure. This time I'm not choosing feelings, I'm not confussing my heart, telling it to be happy when it is really feeling pain or vice versa, I'm just going with the flow. Life is sometimes a fool, you just have to respect it in order to avoid noise, you know you better, so do better. Keep that titanic journey adventurous, nobody wants a daily routine, let it surprise you, shock you, bring tears, after all it can be tears of joy or sadness, or both. Just go with the flow, don't let go, keep walking the path,your dreams, your visions adn your imaginations await.

Reflection of wise words... I grew up with my grandmother, all my life I have called her my mom. She was one loud person, who always wanted everything to be in it's place. I grew up in an environment that is full of respect, she always motivated me to read books. I remember from a very young age she would buy me story books and that was before going to pre-school. It was as if she was preparing me in advance, but little did I think that after growing up I'd still hold on to books without her presence. My writing journey began with just reading, she would buy me small note books and I would draw in them because that is what I loved to do back then. She would always come back from work tired but she always and always had time to listen to what I have learnt, never was she tired of my baby stories. Unlike other kids who grew up having bed time stories read to them, I would sit next to her bed, in my small blue chair and read to her. The look in her eyes told me that I was good. She passed away 18years later and I'm still holding a book, only now that she won't listen to me. Now I don't fit in that little blue chair. Now that she won't lie besides and glance at me. It was just last year when I lost my mom (Grandmother), her teachings are what I'm still learning this very day. She would call me in the mornings and read a verse from the bible to me, at times I'd mourn because I'm sleepy, but how I wish that I could still get that phone call today. When she passed away I wrote her a short poem............................................................. *When I least expect it*....It was only yesterday morning, when I was born, so innocent, knowing nothing of the world, understanding nothing of the word.....It was only yesterday afternoon, when I learnt how things work, what love is, what respect is.....It was only yesterday night, when I was still enjoying being with you and knowing you, loving you and those wise words. When I least expect it today you died!............................................................. She was one neat lady, he church memebers knew her, she would prepare her church uniform a week before, yes immediately after church she would pack her things and put them safe. She always said "you must always prepare your things whilst you still can, no one predicts what is yet to come". She died of two strokes, it was more than she could take. God took her too soon, how I wish my grandchildren could experience such a great feeling of being with her. She was wise, it is not her saying that I remember most, but her doings. She played a huge part of the family, everyone relied on her, I'm not the only one who lost but that doesn't make me profound or fond of death. Pain is scattered from one big piece of love. I miss her...My.....Grand......Ma, yeah she was grand. How I wish I was you, to the one who still has a granny, how I would cherish those moments, how I would pay attention to, how I would find her unboring and how I would laugh to her tales that would cause my stomach to hurt. How I miss her shouting, her joy that made me feel I belong. How I wish I was you, to you who still has one, how I'd hold on to it, for it is a journey worth beholding.