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.
I always say I am a writer as if I went into some career store and selected WRITING from a shelf of options and now it is all mine. But that is far from the truth … In fact, it is writing that stationed itself inside of me. I’m not exactly sure what stockpile it found me in but writing chose me long before I even knew it had. What I do on this blog is just an extension of acknowledging that big truth. Every day I sit in my little chair and I watch it lead me, holding my imagination by the hand, creating and ensuring my voice is always heard.
Words are the tool I use to articulate my experiences. It isn’t that my scar is deeper than the next person. Just that writing enables me to express my heart and all its aches much louder.
Writing found me when I had nothing else to give the world. It is known as a meaningless talent by some but for me it is equivalent to a friend; a very trusted companion. Writing demands that I am always alone, a sweet solitary journey between my words and I. It stipulates for our time together to be in the quiet, so I can make sense of what is unknowingly hidden within me. It enables me to scream, to laugh, to live, and to discover healing even through my limited vocabulary.
It gives me access to the deepest construct of the real me and all my shaky in-betweens. A craving is nourished each time I soak my fingerprints on the keyboard. All those months when the world seemed like it was in constant battle with all my efforts, writing was there at my 3am’s to hush me up, helping me spill out my hurt. When no one else understood; when nothing else felt aligned to my true self. Writing met me in my darkest trenches and positioned me to my truest purpose. Allowing me to have beautiful conversations with myself first.
And then one day it offered me a way out, an escape from a life I’ve always resented…
Cover Photo By: Bafana Makhubo