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Showing posts from March, 2015

Haikus

Earlier this year I had a sudden burst of inspiration and managed to churn out several Haikus.  Not perfect by any stretch of the imagination.  But it was fun.  Here they are. Four pretty apples Tempting me to take a bite Where's the poison though? ****** Idris Elba rocks He'd look good in just his socks I wish he'd tweet me ****** (post-schnide comment) Put me down gently I'm not as strong as I look The harshest words hurt ********* (joy in little things) Bright pink nail polish Happiness in a glass vial Drips from my fingers ****** (love) I can feel your breath Leaving invisible marks On my tickled neck ****** (always pointing fingers) Doesn't really matter Either way it's all my fault But let's share the blame ******* (more love) Tiny little streams of joy Trickling down my outstretched arms Longing to hold you ********

My Crown Of Glory

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I read an article yesterday that almost turned me pink with fury. The main gist of this article was that black women with natural hair are insecure and would feel much prettier if their hair was straight, relaxed, or in a weave. Before I kick off on a rant, I think I should point out that the article mentioned a study conducted by a cosmetics company which had spoken to at least 3,000 black women, 2,500 of whom allegedly attested to feeling much more attractive when their natural hair was either chemically straightened or covered by a weave. As a woman with natural hair, either worn in an Afro or in a protective braided style, it goes without saying that I was not only offended by this article, but struck by the lie it is trying to sell. I decided to go natural BECAUSE I feel more confident this way. And I have never felt better. I used to relax my hair.   I first had my hair relaxed when I was 13 years old. Enduring two hours of physical and financial agony ev

That Neverending Gratitude List...

I am continuing in my quest to find something to be grateful for every single day.   Yesterday, by virtue of the fact that it was a Monday, wasn’t so great.   There were a few highlights though. I woke up this morning determined that today would definitely be a better day.   Just when someone was trying to steal my joy, I put my headphones on, put some Kate Bush on repeat, and drew up my grateful list for the day so far.   Here goes: ·          I talk to my big sisters every single day.   As in, if it’s not a call, there’s an email, and definitely several Whatsapps that fly back and forth.   We have a group chat that always cracks me up.   They are two of the craziest, funniest ladies I know. ·          I watched the Man U/Liverpool game with my brother at the weekend.   And he ignored my whooping and hollering and dancing around the coffee table without once tripping me over or telling me to shut up.   The fact that I stubbed my toe after celebrating Mata’s second goal s

Just Communicate, dammit! Part 2

So I had a bit of a rant yesterday about the way some of my fellow women communicate. But I think fellas have a thing or two to learn as well. I’ve never subscribed to the school of thought that a real man is a stoical, hard-as-nails human being who never shows emotion and just goes through life ‘dealing’ with whatever and whomever life throws at him. Men aren’t machines at the end of the day, and have emotions just like everyone else. Ok, I’m not saying that I’d be completely understanding if my dude wept, tore his clothing and poured ash on his head each time his favourite football team lost, but still.   Some emotion is fine. I remember when my grandfather passed away.   My family was living in Zimbabwe at the time, and only my Dad was able to travel back to Uganda for the funeral.   That is the only time in living memory I saw my Dad shed a tear- it was just a single one down his cheek, and I only noticed it because he reached down to pick me up and give me a

Just Communicate, dammit! Part 1

I consider myself quite proficient at communicating, particularly during an argument. This might not seem like the most appropriate thing to be proud of, but let me explain. I was having a chat with my co-hosts about women in relationships and how, for the most part, they just don’t know how to have a healthy argument.   They don’t speak their minds, for a start.     How many guys reading this have asked their girl what’s wrong and got a restrained ‘Nothing!’ as a reply, only to have her read you the riot act hours later? Here’s the thing, ladies. Men aren’t mind readers. He might have seriously pissed you off, for whatever reason.   Maybe you had a bad day at work.   Maybe your hormones are doing ekitaguriro and your whole system just feels off.   Maybe that last episode of Being Mary Jane got you riled up because you hate the way David keeps wrecking her head.    Then your man goes and says or does something so stupid you literally feel your blood bo

Count Your Blessings. Even The Little Ones.

I accepted a long time ago that I am not good with New Year Resolutions, and made up my mind not to stress come December 31 st simply because I hadn’t drawn-up a list as long as my arm with all the ‘new year, new me’ items.   Instead, I settled for Half-Year Resolutions- let’s see how the year goes and I’ll make them up as I go along. Things changed at the end of 2014 though.   It had been a bad year, and I just wanted it to end so that I could make a fresh start.   I did however, make up my mind that, every single day going forward, I was going to find something to be grateful for.   No matter how big, no matter how small.   Whether I was having a good day, or one of those all-too-familiar, I-am-tired-of-smiling-and-putting-a-face-on-it-I-really-just-want-to-curl-up-in-a-dark-room-and-listen-to-David-Gray days.  And so far, half-way through March, I am proud to say that I have stuck to it.   Every single day this year, I have not so much counted my blessings, because the