I could write a long and lenghty appraisal of the Programme or you can just click here and listen to me talking about it! I will definitely be talking and writing more about the Programme.
French-Canadian singer, Madeline Peyroux sings:
“sticks and stones
may break my bones,
but tears don’t leave any scars
so i’m alright”
these lyrics almost have me flipping to ‘Survivor’ by Destiny’s Child.
And I can’t help but think that
being a survivor
is truly overrated,
if you ask me(i know you didn’t but still, i’m sharing that anyway).
it’s a vain attempt to show the world our supposed strength.
that i-can-beat-anything, false bravado.
what does it even mean to survive?
who determines the degree of resilience?
heck, i’ve been through somethings
and most of the time, i like to fool myself into believing that i have successfully
survived those trying times.
how do i explain to myself
those moments when i simply cannot get up in the morning?
those moments when i simply do not have the strength to enjoy the sunshine?
does that mean i’m not surviving?
is that a sign of weakness?
when your body is so consumed with this mind-pain that is unbearably huge and seems insurmountable..
so really, what does being a survivor mean?
is there a badge one gets to show the world that i have “survived”?
i may walk with my head held high
and laugh with the world
does that mean i have survived?
i’ve never been a victim of sexual abuse as a child, or physical abuse by a partner or any of those things that get people gasping, speechless, fumbling for words of sympathy.
does this make my plight any less heavier?
well i believe it is completely acceptable to concede defeat along the way.
it’s alright to completely miss the mark some times, at the very least it makes life’s twist and turns seem interesting (laughable,almost)..
you’ve been growing in my head all this time that i can hardly separate truth from lie from fiction.
i’m not me. i’m not you.
what about all the lies? were they part of the narrative of you? a way of escaping the unbearable reality called life.
multiple personalities? there must be, how else do you explain the intricate lives your character is juggling?
paranoia? afraid that someone will figure it all out. the fiction.
fear? hardly surprising considering the fictional living
all make for an interesting state of mind…
do the lies we tell, the small untruths, add up to the fiction of you?
if they do, then we are all born storytellers…
They don’t get to see
that goes into pouring one’s soul onto the page
for the prestige
of seeing your name in lights.
Out in the open,
they see what I let them see:
the sunny disposition,
the right look,
the comedic pauses…
What they don’t know
is that when the sun goes down
under flickering lights,
doubt sows madness
leaving me wondering.
When I think I have had enough
the book closes itself
like water running
down to my outstretched hand.
Sometimes, though the anxiety leads me to poetry…
came across this Daily Maverick article on how Aliko Dangote, Africa’s richest man (according to Forbes) plans to spend his money for the greater good of his home country…
it is an encouraging and inspiring gestures… of course, we don’t only have $8 billion lying around.. but we can sure dream and bring to life solutions to fix our own problems…
click here to read all about it…
a few months ago, i found myself at a crossroads… staying in my (then) job or just quitting.. you see, nothing had changed. the politics, the people, the content of my daily life in that building, within the walls of the meeting rooms, the incessant emails, the constantly ringing phone.. the younger people who waited for instructions from me… nothing had changed… it was all the same… but something inside me had…
a little history, i had been talking myself into quitting my job to pursue full time study and to entertain my long-time dream of being a travelling academic, of teaching and writing… the only thing that had stopped me was mere procrastination… at some point, (i don’t know) when i reached this point, my heart just couldn’t take it… i couldn’t write… i couldn’t think creatively anymore… the thought of going to work seemed like torture… i was missing deadlines… i saw some disciplinary action looming… i worried… i brooded over the idea of quitting… for weeks, which turned into months… when i eventually sat in front of my computer one morning and just decided then and there that i could no longer lie to myself or them…
i came across this video recently, it’s title without the doing, dreaming is useless … the title stayed with me for days… i tried to think why i was so touched by it… it finally dawned on me that i had been dreaming and the doing bug was eating me alive…