Posted in fiction, Writing

The Portrait Of A Woman


Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Mother is happy that after six sons she has a girl to mold in her own image. Father has the look of a boy gifted with his first bicycle. He picks up the phone and calls his friends, home and abroad, and then he has the crazy idea to call random numbers off his head to declare his new status. He will throw a party for my naming because in this new land it is conventional practice after eight days. Mother will buy a whole market for the party, Father will beam like a strobe, the guests will open their palms to take some powder for good fortune and people will long to hold me and breathe in fresh baby scent. I look like a baby rat—wrinkly, shriveled; if I wasn’t so small I will pass for an old woman. But everyone calls me cute anyway. Continue reading “The Portrait Of A Woman”

Posted in fiction


Ralia’s problem began with the baby. Everybody might think otherwise, but Ralia knew this to be true. It all started with a bawl. The baby liked to cry a lot. He cried when feeding. He cried while playing. He cried when he was picked up by someone other his mother. And he cried some more before falling asleep, his poor little lungs exhausted. Ralia was so vexed by his constant tears she’d wondered if madam, the baby’s mother, had brought her simply for the purpose of wiping them off. It was not that he was such a bad natured kid; he was simply a bored kid. No siblings, boring toys, busy parents and a house so big the fence could block out the sun. The boy needed help and Ralia could not help him. Or so she’d thought.

One day, faced with his supercharged tear duct, Ralia had flung her hands out in exasperation and accidentally emptied a bowl of water on his head. She’d expected more bawling but surprisingly the baby quieted. He lifted one chubby palm to wipe off the water flowing down his face, perplexed and then broke out in a smile. Ralia felt like she’d won a jackpot… the baby liked water. Good, she’d give him a bath every time he let out the waterworks.

The new arrangement worked. Whenever madam left the house for work Ralia would bring out the mini-tub, fill it with water and let the baby dabble around in it until he was ready to eat or sleep. It gave her time to do other things like daydream and read her next installment of Mills and Boons without interference, till necessary. It was on one such necessities that Ralia’s problem began.

She had walked over to lift the baby out of the tub when she noticed something unusual about his anatomy. The baby’s eyes held hers glowing, his lips curved in an adorable smile. As her eyes travelled further down his torso, she discovered he had an erection. The knowledge both scared and excited her. Scared because she didn’t think little boys of three should sustain an erection; excited because she could finally see what those books talked about. Ralia reached out a finger and poked the baby’s peepee, watching his face to check for reactions. He only smiled some more. She let herself rub gently, feeling the smooth, soft expanse of skin. Madam never let her bath the baby, so this felt nice. She’d been thinking about the fine Comanche savage from her books when she heard a car door slam shut.

The next time Ralia was alone with the baby three months had passed. Madam had beaten her black and blue the other time for bathing him and made sure to register the baby at crèche the next day. She dropped him off on her way out and picked him on her way in. Ralia didn’t so much as get more than a cursory peek at the baby. It had been frustrating. Her time would come someday, she’d console herself. And soon enough it happened.

Madam received one of those urgent night calls that required her presence outside the state. So early the next morning, she’d charged Ralia with bathing the baby before dashing off to catch her flight. Ralia got the baby into the tub after he woke up and meticulously began to scrub him down. No sooner had she gotten to his legs than she noticed another erection. She flicked her finger on it and the baby chuckled. He probably thought it was playtime… maybe his mother did the same too. She flicked again and could feel him brimming with excitement. His excitement only served to fuel her excitement.
That night, alone in her room, Ralia would think of that chuckle as her fingers snuck its way under her nightgown. She decided to push the boundary the next day.

The baby remained cheerful as she gave him his bath. Today she closed her mouth over his peepee and blew on it. The baby erupted in laughter, tickled. Good, Ralia thought to herself. That night in the cover of darkness she stroked herself to sleep again. It became a daily routine with Ralia pushing the boundary a little more, until Madam returned and resumed her bathing duties. Ralia missed the baby, but now she had something to look forward to. If madam let her stay long enough, when he was older, she’d see what kind of man she could make of him.

P>S (This is largely unedited. Will do some work, possibly a rewrite later)

Posted in Writing

Colour me Iridescent

Colour me black
like a mummer’s face
shielding me with midnight’s cloak.

Colour me blue
Cool as the shade
Juggling through life, whistle and gait.

Colour me red
Fiery and hot
Senses brimming with burning passion.

Colour me white
As a graven lily
Still and fair, death’s embrace.

Colour me green
Mottled seedlings
Rising again, pinning for light.

Colour me rainbow
all life twirling
weaving through this iridescent loop.

Posted in Writing

Sweet Tomorrow

Hello tomorrow
will you be kind to
wash away my yesterday–
past wrong and shame
of wayward roads
and old mishap?

Dear tomorrow
will you fill me up—
with laughter and mirth
and dancing hours
silken dreams of
the life I need?

Sweet tomorrow
can you sing me a song
of  cheery hearts
and love
sorrow withheld
pure Joy upheld?

But if my dreams
their way to lose on
Iris trail
take my mounting fears
lay them to sweet rest
at Elpis feet.

Posted in Writing

Sprinting Love Affair

I hate to sweat

But baby we did good together

I was marred by uncertainty

Unsure if I could go the distance

But you were there

Sturdy. Steady. A reliable cushion.

Better yet because we fit so well

So I flew to that place where the world fell away

 And dreams lived

As my mind raked in our surrounding

And from now distant speakers Jessie’s Bang Bang filtered

Through the pores of my consciousness

I have always thought her a queer one

But today even the music was in perfect sync with our motion

Till your voice broke me out of my reverie …

….Go Faster

And I did…

Tuning in to the maniacal grind as we moved

Thump Thump Thump

Was that us or the music of my heart?

But baby did we dance

Until my blood grew hot

It gave me a heady feeling

…and I knew it was time

My fingers slid down the cool contour of your body

Hovered at that spot for a brief second

…and hit STOP

Well done, you crooned. Let’s do this again.


Wrote this for the love of running about two years ago. It’s literally about the relationship between the runner, the running pal (in this case Runtastic app) and the shoes 😀

Originally published here

Posted in Writing


Freedom is a bird in flight; flapping. gliding. weightless. falling.

Freedom is a monarch butterfly; all beauty and no vanity.

Freedom is a little child; trusting. loving.

Freedom is an arm stretched wide; hopeful.

Freedom is the sun; bright. warm. golden.

Freedom is the star; far, far away. untouchable

Freedom is the moon; ever-changing. full. half. crescent.

Freedom is a Nightingale; sweet melodious strains.

Freedom is the mocking jay; teasing you.

Freedom is a soft sigh that escape your lips when no one’s listening.

Freedom is the dream you see today.

Freedom is what you wish for when you’re caged.

Posted in Musings, Writing


Someone once asked how Adam and Eve knew what to do while attempting to have sex. I said, how do new born babies know to suckle?

A few days ago at work I was attempting to sum a row of figures manually with a calculator. After minutes of mechanically punching figures, ticking cells with a pen and scrolling to the next with my finger, I paused. How exactly was I doing this again? I asked myself. What was the sequence: Did I tick first, hold down with my finger before tapping out the numbers on my calculator; or was it the number first, tick and movement with my fingers? I shuffled the various possible sequence in my mind for a while before admitting to myself I was confused and started over!

Now how often do we stop to second guess our rhythm? How often do we pause to unravel something that has worked (somehow) for so long, and then one day we try to make sense of it? If we’re unlucky we’ll totally lose it, end up confused, expend energy, waste time and start all over again. And for what really? We simply refused to trust ourselves.

There’s an obvious role the brain plays in the human body. Aside cognitive functions, it’s also responsible for muscle coordination. The human brain has been used as a blueprint for many items of modern technology, ranging from computers to memory chips. I trust my phone to vomit whatever music has been downloaded months from today. I trust my lap top to run numbers and produce answers in a matter of seconds. What this tells me is that I can also trust my brain to understand a sequence the first few seconds I initiate it AND coordinate my muscles to imitate that pattern even when my mind is tuned off.

It’s amazing how that simple, perfect function of the brain is so easily forgotten.

When I visited the town I inhabited while growing up over a decade after moving away, I wasn’t sure I’d remember my way around. I was not certain of the routes, the narrow bush paths we’d marked out as kids. I couldn’t trust myself to even locate the homes of my childhood friends. Until I stepped off the bus, tuned of my thinking cap and just moved. The result was remarkable. I remembered everything… or at least my brain did. While I obsessed over my abject lack of a sense of geography, this wonder of the human body pulled out old dusty files from the archives and simply coordinated my movement. It’s a lot like being on cruise control.

Today it’s easy to remind myself not to obsess over things and fret. There is an obvious danger in over-thinking and over-analyzing: You could lose everything. Now, I simply tune off and trust my brain to work it out.

Posted in Faith

Wait (1)

Stay and Wait — Hillsong

Who spoke the Earth and sky to form
Who sets the sun and calls the dawn
Who breathed me out of dust to life
With the will to trust or run and hide

I will stay should the world by me fold
Lift up Your name as the darkness falls
I will wait and hold fast to Your word
Heart on Your heart and my eyes on Yours

Who loved me through my rebel way
Who chose to carry all my shame
Who breaths in me with endless life
The king of glory Jesus Christ

I will stay should the world by me fold
Lift up Your name as the darkness falls
I will wait and hold fast to Your word
Heart on Your heart and my eyes on Yours

God of wonder and God of grace
Let my soul stand always to praise You
Fix my eyes on Your perfect way
And I’ll never look back

I will stay should the world by me fold
Lift up Your name as the darkness falls
I will wait and hold fast to Your word
Heart on Your heart and my eyes on Yours

Who lifts the poor and heals the blind
Who trampled death for all mankind
Who stands for all with arms stretched wide
My King forever Jesus Christ


This is one of my favorite songs, always reminding me that despite everything I am, I have a father who loves me and whose words I can fully rely on.

I’m working my way to a post on ‘Waiting’ and this song will provide context.

Posted in Daily Prompt, relationship


I read what’s undoubtedly the saddest post I’ve seen in a while. A girl stuck in an arranged marriage feels sad about it. I offer her what little comfort I have, words I’m not sure can pierce through the wall of loneliness and misery she lives in now, but no less words. I can not think of anything else to give. I say am sorry she’s had to make this decision.  I’m sorry she feels… is alone. I’m sorry the people she should talk to expect her happiness. I’m sorry she has to lie everyday, wearing a screen of happiness in place of her grief.

And I remembered me not too long ago. Heart broken. Smiling. Falling apart. Laughing. Crying. Dancing. And pretending everything was well in my world when it wasn’t.

I heard of an expression in an episode of Game Of Thrones: You must master your face. Because your face can say a million things your mouth and actions aren’t saying. I can tell when a person I know is telling a lie simply by watching their facial expression. I can spot sadness in the eyes even when the lips curve in a smile.
I can because I understand that true deception lies in being the master of one’s face, so that nothing escapes.

Sometimes I am able to pull this off; other times I’m not. It all depends on how important it is for me to cloak my feelings, project a new image and sell it. Or on who I’m trying to deceive.

Why do we feel the need to act other than what our emotions dictate at a particular time?
Why do we pretend happiness when we’re not?
Why do we hide the tears and laugh when our hearts are shrinking in pain?
Why stay behind a screen and project a fluke of a life to everybody else?
Because it’s easy to assume no one cares about the way we feel?
Because we’d rather not deal with how they deal with our pain?
Because we’re scared that our grief translates to weakness?
Because even when we spend our lives searching for community, we don’t know how to open ourselves and become a part of it.

And I wish we would. I wish we’d dare to let out the sorrow and receive the help that is sure to come, because even though a million rejoice at our pain, there will be a million more who identify with it and offer comfort.

We say misery loves company; perhaps not. Misery today seems to love solitude. But company is not a bad thing, it’s what we are made to do– share our joys and share our sorrows because we are worth it. Because we deserve to receive whatever solace lies out there. Because there is no better balm for the aching heart than another heart that cradles it in love.



DailyPost: Screen

Posted in Daily Prompt


I was thinking about the circle of life. Like that time in The Lion King when Mufasa told Simba all life is connected. We know that the larger predatory animals feed on the smaller ones. The herbivores eat grass. And the grass feeds on the dead, decaying corpse of both predators and prey. Circle of life.

There’s also Pocahontas, another Disney classic. That song, Colours of the Wind. I love the line that says, “But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger, you’ll learn things you never knew you never knew.”

And that’s the whole point, isn’t it? As humans we are connected at a primal level to the earth that sustains us and to one another. We were formed from dirt. We will return to dirt. We feed from the bowels of the earth. And when we go, we’ll become food for the earth too. We exist in a community where we receive from one another and give, too.

I believe that man isn’t just a being, he’s a body giving off energy. We interact with the elements in our environment, feeding off it and releasing– either positive or negative energy– into it. When we absorb too much negativity, we often to tend to give that back. Likewise, when we absorb positive energy, we also give that back. We emit whatever charge we take in most. I’ve learned that we can give only what we’ve received. So when we give love, it’s because we understand love. And we understand love because we’ve been shown love.

The world is built on connection. Connection to the earth. Connection to the elements. Connection to one another. Connection to our maker.

Perhaps all of these serve to remind us that we cannot exist on our own. We need sustenance which is provided to us, but we also need to nurture that which sustains us so that we learn never to take anything for granted.

Daily Prompt