Count Your Blessings

This has been one of those weeks... The one's where I get through it because I remember my mother singing "Count your Blessings..." You see, I am one of those so blessed people, that no matter how bad it gets, I'm always going to have it better than someone out there. Lately, I have been thinking that I have reached rock bottom, and there really is nowhere else to go, so "something's gotta give" but then something else happens... It's been a long day at work, it happens to be raining, and I have to walk from my train station to my house - about six blocks, and some woman in her fabulous silver car, decides she is the one who is almost going to run over Tjidzani Maphosa. And even if I got the fright of my life, and even though my heart jumped into my mouth for a second there, the key word is almost, and because that is the key word, I am still here, I am still breathing, I don't even have a bruise or a scratch. And so even though yesterday one of my best friends moved away, and yesterday I decided to quit my job and find my career, and yesterday my landlord told me he is selling the house in a month and I have to find somewhere to live...yesterday was yesterday, and today, I am grateful, because there are some people who don't have friends let alone family on another planet, and there are others who don't have the choice of where to work or whether to work, and there are still others whose home address is "at the bottom of the stairs, on the left side of the uptown 6 local train platform, 14th street, Union Square...So I just keep counting...

New York Summer

Summer officially began yesterday, and New York City is dressed to impress in all her colors. There seem to be eight million more people on the streets than usual, and everybody is walking with a spring in their step.

New York City, who ever thought I would call it home?! After a miserable winter which included but was not limited to, slipping and falling down the train station stairs, I was almost ready to pack my bags again and go the heck back where I had come from. But something stopped me. A little voice whispering, "Hang in there. Give the Big Apple a chance."

Then one day I woke up, and it was summer in New York City. As I got dressed in a summery mellow dress and painted my toes pretty pink and skipped and hopped into the streets of Manhattan. The hearty smell of Halal wafting through the air, interupted every block or so, by the familiar scent of that Seattle company's coffee.

Streets go up and down, avenues go left to right, and I go all around the "City that Never Sleeps" wishing I had literally hibernated over the past six months, because I am not going to sleep a wink this summer, with all that New York has in store for me!

How Frustrating...

...To be an Artist.
Being so excited about your Creation that you feel like you could literally BURST.
Feeling like every waking moment, should be spent developing, perfecting;
Every sleeping moment should be dedicated to dreaming,
About your Idea.
Believing you are wasting time at your 40 hour a week day job
When you could be spending more time in this bliss of Creativity.
And you happily would
No matter how much or how little it paid,
Because artists are not confined to the parameters of this world…
Except when it’s time to
Pay the RENT.
How Frustrating.

Tjidzani

Corrective Action

I'm sitting in a Starbucks store, at least an hour from home...well, my definition of "home" being, "the place where one sleeps at night"...and I just taught myself a valuable lesson. Giving is a good and positive thing. Gifts are blessings.

Sometimes we are provoked by a certain statement or act, to think in ways that do not follow mainstream rational...or that follow it to an extreme. Our emotions temporarily indoctrinate our brains into believing that our next course of action makes more sense than breathing oxygen. And then we take off on a crazy mission, turning up the heat, simmering the blood in our veins and nothing can stop the negative energy except, well except positive energy.

So today, a switch went off in my head, and right before I got to my destination I saw a Starbucks store. In the blink off an eye, I decided to substitute the gift of "a piece of my mind" with a gift of brewed coffee. Instantly I felt more nurturing, caring and loving. Like that cup of coffee erased everything I had planned up to that point. And it was a good feeling. The feeling that I had overcome the irrational period which would have surely sent me into a time of mourning and regret. The feeling of control and peace. The feeling of positive energy coursing through my being, like a happy little stream, dancing down the mountain side.

Fired Up!

I set my head on fire.
Platinum Blonde.
Bleached the "blackness" right out of it -
"I'm looking at that woman in the mirror."
The Texans say, "Oh shucks, that Big Apple went and swallowed her up, mind and all."
The New Yorkers say, "Stupid Texas, if you don't want the sun to fry your hair, lose the horses and invest in a freaking subway system!"
I've resorted to telling people that I have this hair for a part in a futuristic off off off broadway show...
...and since I only have one reader, I'm getting away with it;)

The Strength of Africa

Africa,
Restless Spirit,
Struggling to overcome the pangs of cramping in her various joints.
Cramps produced as a result of other men.
Her first love, Europe, betrayed her.
Promised her happiness, joy and love forever,
But used her and abused her.
Stripped her of her abundant wealth of natural resources,
Stripped her of her innocence and
Overwhelmed her with foreign ideas.
Of colonialism,
Of capitalism
Of democracy.
Ideas completely unlike those of her fine cultures,
Resonating with centuries of tradition.
And so she lies,
Choking in her own blood.
Raped
Beaten and
Left for dead
By Europe and the Americas, and those that simply watch, Asia, Australia,
Are just as guilty of this attempted murder!
But Africa’s heart beats with the pulse of her ancestors,
Pumping life through her veins,
Nile
Zambezi
Limpopo.
Rhythmic and strong, her heart beats,
The Spirit of her forefathers cheering her on.
From the darkness, she rises.
Through the sadness, she rises.
Above her transgressors, she rises.
Her strength enough to give her unborn child
That same Heartbeat,
That same Spirit,
But a different
Life.

Tjidzani