I have always ran away from exploring my talent for writing.
I would ask myself: Nna ka nnete? Ke tseba ho ngola ka sekogwa? Loosely translated: Am I really able to articulate myself in writing in the English language?
Am I even worthy of people reading my work, enjoying it, engaging with it – with me and my crazy thoughts? Do I deserve that much attention?
I have so many unfinished and unpolished pieces of art sitting on my desktop and in my USB flash drives as well as in my emails. I have wimped out on publishing these because I am afraid of the criticism that comes with having an opinion especially one that is different to that of the collective.
I live in a world where people are monsters behind a tablet, cellphone and desktop screen. I live in a world where you are cancelled for choosing left instead of right.
My talent or calling, on the other-hand, refuses to leave me be. It refuses to allow me to ignore inspiration and ignore the urge to comment on society and how trash it has become. It refuses to let go of me when I am walking around in suburban South Africa witnessing the injustices of the past.
My calling will not allow me to sit down and keep quiet about how religion and culture continue to oppress women and take away their sexuality…
Listen. I don’t want to get into it as yet. I want to ease into it but I also crave to be in the thick of it.
Missblossoming 