To Being My Own First

For the whole month of February, I will be posting a letter of gratitude to the people who have contributed immensely to the woman I am today. Some letters I’m thinking of sending to those I’ve written about and some I hope are never read. This will be the first time I post daily. So I am really keen on seeing how it will turn out, both for me and for those who follow this blog. I look forward to your thoughts and feedback in the comments section below. The theme for all the letters is that ‘We Are Stories’ and I will be telling mine in #29LettersOfGratitude for a whole month. If you would like to join me (PLEASE DO!!!) remember to link me in your posts.

Yesterday I came across a post that had me worried about being a leaker (always having a voice that speaks out loud through written word). It made me question myself; what is the motive behind my Living Out Loud? Is it a good thing for people to always have access to the core of who I am through my own words?


And I think that is the one thing that freaks me out the most about having this blog; where my muse is the one subject I know best and spend my most time inspecting, reflecting on and becoming; my own self.


Being a blogger demands speaking out my truth even to an audience that can have opinions I can’t shape. When I’ve published a post and it’s out there, then there is no going back. I have worn that scar, that opinion, and that thought for all to see and judge. I know this and I understand it. And that is where my biggest fear as a writer is deep rooted, in a place where this 20 something year old me is exposed with no filter.

There is the writer me who uses these bold scribblings as a way of expression. Loudly declaring that if you want to know me, seek me in my words because this is how I make sense of the world and all its people; this is how my thoughts are formed; this is how I grieve and heal; this is how I hoard memories and pour out my hurt; and this is how I speak up to the bullies and disagree loudly in arguments. This is all me.

Then there is this me who wants to be perceived as the perfect Christian who’s never known rebellion, disobedience, failure, or lust. This is definitely not the writer me, this is the insecure me, the me that wants to apologize for knowing love before marriage, the me that wants to give excuses to anyone who is willing to listen so that my writing is not perceived as romanticizing sin. This me wants to be everybody’s first before I am my own. Accepted for who I am expected to be but not showing a true depiction of who I really am, all my challenges, my stumbles, my aches, my breaks and all the seeking for my own answers first.

When I wrote this poem and posted it. I chose for my experience to be a painting on your walls. Keeping in mind that all my words, my over-sharing, my over-thinking, my introspection, even my silly attempts at poetry; all the scars, and this journey of being a diamond in the rough; They Are All Mine First.

I know that the writer me, the true me, the sometimes heartbroken me, the honest me and the baby stepping me is always proud. And that is the me that is always mine, the me that I go to bed with every night and the me that I get to live with every day. Everyone else only gets access because I choose to give it.

The poem is about a recent courtship split, back when this silly heart of mine was still expecting his return. I kept finding the depths of my heartbreak in all my words. I obviously wondered what he would think of me when he’d read all of my heart’s despair about his unexpected departure, would he think ‘oh how pathetic and weak of the great self aware Sinawo Bukani?’ Or would this be an ego boost for him, since he found the exit first?

But I had to hush those insecurities and quickly remember ‘this is all for me first’

Do you stay true to yourself when you write? Or is your audience always at the back of your mind?

Cover Photo By: Lutendo Malatji

8 thoughts on “To Being My Own First

  1. Pingback: Why She Writes | Sinawo Bukani

  2. I’ve seen you run the @afrobloggers twitter account a few times and I remember thinking how you seem so multiifaceted, able to relate to so many things. I want to read this post over and over again. I’m sure I will because its gonna take more than two or three takes to fully appreciate this. This was written from somewhere deep inside you. It’s incredibly personal and incredibly brave. Thanks for sharing.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Thank you. Handling the account is always so nerve wrecking honestly but since I want to get into social media, I always enjoy the interaction, it’s always such a great experience.

      I must admit this was one of the first things I wrote for the blog but it only felt like the right time now to post it under the gratitude theme. It is very personal for me and I mean every word.


      Liked by 1 person

  3. I remember the very first post of yours I read, and you said that you came to the realization that all your posts were from an ‘aha moment ‘
    From a place where you have already figured out the kinks and are celebrating until that post ,
    You wrote about being in their last week of your job because you resigned to pursue writing and you were seriously freaking out!
    (I apologize if I haven’t stated it as precisely or as correctly)

    I remember reading that and saying to myself, ” writing doesn’t get as authentic or as beautiful”

    My point?
    Sinawo Bukani, the one whose heart I see bleed,laugh, cry, ululate and whose dreams I can touch from her words, that’s the picture of perfection…

    The baby stepping diamond in the rough is exactly what this world needs..
    And the crowd goes wild 😂😂😂😂😂😂

    Liked by 2 people

    • *as I bow* thank you so much my friend ❤ I've been feeling so adrift these past few days because I haven't written anything and I felt so much better when I got to sit down and write all this instead. This blog post is the reason I started writing, to become my own, to find my voice, to explore in a world where I had never been my own before ❤

      Liked by 1 person

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