Age = Less patience

It’s 23:56 and I’m exhausted.

A long and busy day at work and rushing to make it on time for the “Curls&Cocktails” event. It was the second one of it’s kind since the natural hair trend hit Cape Town.

Here I am feet aching,lower back pain and completely cold from the breeze on my back. I arrived late and didn’t get a seat, then had to stand half way outside. Mind you this ticket I bought months in advance to  book “my spot”, a seat I assumed. I really felt like complaining but I could hear my mother’s voice in my head “don’t be ungrateful “.

At the end of the event everyone sang praises of how amazing it was. And I couldn’t scrap up the bit of courage I had within me, to complain.

Conversation and laughter all around and the only thing I could think about was when would some of you decide to leave, so I can have my turn to sit down. Three hours later I threw myself on the first open seat.

I was over it.

I wanted to leave…

…so badly.

My head reminded me that my boyfriend was having a braai at his house. And even though I was literally just down the road from him and really wanted to see him. The thought of the crowd made my tummy turn.

Socializing is a tough job. The way people do it leaves me speechless at times. I really struggle with this.

Just me?

I remembered how I used to be good at faking it at least. But now? I don’t even have the thought energy to want to try.

I requested an Uber and went home that night. Instantly I had a feeling of regret. I didn’t want to be home, all alone.

I got into bed and hoped tomorrow would be better.

 

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Sexually purified.

I am faced with a truth I’ve been too afraid to admit to. Yes, I have been sexually abused.

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At first when I was trying to recall the memory , I paused in fear of how he might react to what I was about to say. That Saturday night as I was sitting on my boyfriend’s couch while he was preparing dinner, I found myself opening the door of a room I locked a very long time ago.

We were discussing my condition and certain things I was struggling with at the time. One of which was my porn and masturbation addiction. Something I have never thought I would be able to say out loud.

We were digging into my past for clues when he asked :”when do you think it all began?”

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This immediately flashed a memory of where I believe it all began. It was a Sunday afternoon I remember. And we were all giggling and nervous. There was always this excitement whenever we were all together.

I think he took me by the hand from the room we were all in, to another room in the house. Till today I have no idea why I kept this a secret because I can’t recall him ever asking me to, I just knew no one must know.

He layed me down on my back, on the bed and asked me not to make a noise. “Maak toe jou oë”,he said. I remember arching my back, as he placed the pillow on my face. Not removing any clothing.

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He then moved my legs apart gently, pushed my wrists down on the bed and then thrust himself between my legs. I remember laying there thinking that it feels really good. I wanted him to feel like I was his favourite.

I’m not sure how long it lasted for but I remember getting up and feeling extremely wet between my legs and a discomfort in my neck, due to turning my face so I could breath. I wanted more of it. He was exactly 5 years older than me and I was at least 10 or 11 years old at the time. This was , by what I can remember, where it all began.

Obsessively dreaming about losing my virginity to him, was a normal feeling for me at the time. Never realizing the hurt he has caused and damage he has done.

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Today this man is respected by a lot of people. No one aware of what he has done and us left with scares not even noticeable. This man has not even apologized or shown any sign of remorse for what he has done.

Now I find myself kicking and screaming at times. Frustrated by my flesh. Fighting this untamed desire and lust.

Thank Yaweh for His unfailing love and strength. For if not for that , and my supportive boyfriend, I’m not sure where I would’ve found myself today.

I might’ve been sexually abused by man but I am purified by Jesus. Although because of the hurt I am left scared, the fact that it is healing brings me endless joy.

I hope somehow that one day I would be strong enough to confront this man for what he did. For now I’m focused on restoration.

Forever in awe of who Jesus is. And that He died for me.

Sexually purified.

 

Beauty

**Warning**

**venting**

I find it very hard to believe that somehow my beauty depends on what others say. I have found myself at moments embracing all of me and at the same time hating everything about me.

My parent’s constant nagging and joking that my body looks “modderig”, has brainwashed me into believing that I will never fully be accepted by anyone.

Not that they’re doing it knowing it is hurtful. But come on.

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When I initially cut my hair, aka “big chop”, the only “compliment” I got was: “Your hair used to be so beautiful “.

Apart from that, the normal “are you a rasta?”, “what up sista?”, “do you smoke weed now?”, “are you going throu something?”, or the funniest one “you must have such confidence to be seen like that in public?”.

Are you serious? That is it?

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I have always been open to people wanting to touch my hair. But it gets annoying when they start pulling on it like it’s not attached to my skull.

Honestly though? Are you being for real right now?

Come on guys. Lets get past the fact that our hair is a trend. It’s not a trend.

It’s part of my identity and who I am as a coloured woman.

It grows out like that. And there isn’t a magic trick to get yours to grow out the same way.

I have to constantly remind myself my beauty is defined by me. No one else.

Peace

Scars.

I guess ,as I would call it, this is the beginning of the end,a sentence I like to say whenever I try out something new and never really finish it, like writing a blog…”Rêrig??”. A word me and my best friend loves throwing around whenever we are together or apart. Like seriously? A blog Zia?

Yes. Really. A blog. (Can’t ask a question without answering.) *smile*

Growing up is probably one of the toughest things we as human beings have to go through…and it’s one of the things that never really stops. And I must say that for me growing up has been very interesting and daring at the same time. If i go back a year or two I would never have pictured myself or my life the way it is today. For me, then, staying with my parents and working at a place I really have no passion or love for , would have been my life long story. But…God had other plans.

I moved to Cape Town at the tender age of 21 for exactly the same job I did in my home town. Not just because it was more money but because I needed something new and different.. And this was exactly what I needed,new job, new people. Or at least what I, emphasis on the “I”, thought I needed.

Reminiscing back to four weeks before I got the call that I got the job.  I was walking home from work one afternoon ,which is about 20 to 30 min walk depending on the day and my mood, deep in thought. I was thinking about life,love and youth. Greeting everyone as I walked and seeing the brokenness in our youth. Living for the next party or weekend to get wasted. Having children by men who have no sense of respecting a lady. I remember asking God: “Really? Will this be my future? Is this how I will end up?” Opening our front door I remember answering myself with certainty “No. Definitely not. There MUST be more.”

My parents disagreed with my decision to move and after the call they got from my aunt ,saying that I was in hospital after only 11 days in Cape Town, even I thought they were right. The thought crossed my mind, maybe this wasn’t His plan after all. Being highly favored and blessed a lady offered me a temporary stay at her place so I can be closer to work. Because traveling wouldn’t be good for me after the operation and it wasn’t advised. This move was gonna change my life forever.

I walked into a church that was going to become part of my life. Taking up most of my free hours and giving me more joy than I could ever have imagined. I became a Christ follower. Jesus became my personal Savior and has held my hand all the way.

I once thought why did i have to endure so much pain and have this hideous scar forever. I didn’t understand it then but i understand it now.

Whenever I look at my scar I am reminded that I was once stronger than something that could have killed me. That those 19 hours of pain was going to make me spiritually stronger. Crazy! I know right. I remember praying to God, asking Him to take my life because I could not endure this pain. Saying that I am not strong enough.

He proved me wrong.

He showed me that sometimes you have to be stronger and stay faithful in Him and trust that in the end, it will just make you stronger. I am still learning a lot about God and the love He has towards us, that still leaves me speechless at times.

I am blessed to be loved by Him.

And no scar will make Him love me any less. Never feel ashamed because of a scar. It will heal and be a reminder to you of something that you once went through but overcame.

Carry this scripture with you.

Philippians 4:13 “Because I master all things by The Messiah who empowers me.”

Love

Z