I looked at my screen time and I must say I was disappointed in myself. I mean fifty-nine minutes of screen time and thirty-nine from these fifty-nine are allocated to social networking with only a minute each dedicated to productivity and creativity. I am hurt but then I find myself questioning why I feel my mind shrinking, why my inner artist is dying; flailing about like a fish out of water any time I ask myself to sit down and think different, sit down and think optimistically. I brought it on myself. Writer’s block. Focusing on the world which lies beyond what’s on the ground right now. I am losing touch with my realism. Drowning in what they think. But how is this possible when I know how they think about me? When I know that as soon as I turn my back my name is dropped like a freestyle on a fresh beat. I am not about the clout. I am not about large crowds. I am not about the trend of trying to stay popping so why is my inner self dying? Why am I punishing my beliefs when I preach sophistication in individuality? Standing on my own two feet and being unique by standing for what I believe in. Then maybe just maybe the crowd that believes in my like mindedness will gravitate toward me. 

Maybe then social networking, productivity and creativity will be balanced, in harmony. Maybe then I will not stammer and stutter but flow freely like water being poured into a cup.

My number one supporter spoke sense to me, like she does every day: “no one in this world owes you anything,” and honestly I was shook.😱🥶 

Now truth be told this always strikes me hard. (I think this is the third time she has said this to me and every time I am always knocked down from my very high horse). Not the mother that bore me, nor the siblings that came with that family, what more the person I met on the street yesterday. Why expect a lot from them? Why get so attached to them?💔💔

Someone once told me the world eats nice people like you for breakfast, lunch and supper mmh 🤔maybe also for high tea and dessert if they can afford the expense. 🥵

What’s worse is the part that always wants to see the good in people.😪😔 That type of hope is such like the dream of world peace.

                            Unobtainable.

R. A. M.

I have a piece of gum stuck underneath the sole of my shoe. I have tried wriggling my foot but it will not come off, “that is silly” I think to myself, “it’s gum, it sticks”.

I have a piece of gum stuck underneath the sole of my shoe. Inspite of it I keep walking around with it. I feel uncomfortable, the sole of my shoe seems to be thinning. The road ahead is long but instead of stopping to address it I carry on. I keep on walking.

I have a piece of gum stuck underneath the sole of my shoe. I can feel my heel complaining. It is sore, moreso from the irritation. But i feel too tired to help myself, i think I have gotten used to the pain.

I have a piece of gum stuck underneath the sole of my shoe. I try telling people about it but then again who cares, “it’s just a piece of gum”, “we have all been there before just find a stick or something and scrap it off”. I knew I would get this reaction but i still went ahead with it anyway. Nothing is special about this just because they say they have been there before, but its happening right now and its happening to me in a way that was different from you. Why then won’t you sit down with me and help me remove it, sit beside me as i go through it, keep me company although you cannot hold my hand because i’m too busy using both, wipe my brow as a drop of sweat trickles down?

I have a piece of gum stuck underneath the sole of my shoe. I have had it for the longest time now. I thought of removing it when i got home yesterday. But as soon as i walked through the door and put my bag down, i forgot. it is also ironic come to think of it that I stopped outside and played around with a few sticks, picked up and threw away a few stones. Oh well today is a brand new day, so pick my bag up and go out again with the same shoes with a piece of gum stuck underneath them.

I am the girl in the back, wearing a grey hoodie, waiting for you to turn around and notice me; hiding in plain sight.

I am the girl sitting in front of you in history class, I raise my hand answering the question presented by the figure standing in the front. They pick me and I stand up. I say what I think and turn my head back after five seconds, scouting for a reaction. Your reaction. Did I sound confident? I hope I did, after all I was aiming to impress and maybe catch your attention. Mmh, silly right,🤦🏽‍♀️ after all I was talking dead figures and war. My hand was shaking when I put it up, my heart was pounding so hard in my chest my ears almost went deaf from the base of it. But no one will ever know. I was trying for brave, but my knees were buckling in. I sit down as gracefully as I can sinking in my seat. Thank heavens for the sturdy chairs with backs I can lean back on.

I am the girl walking behind you and your mob of friends. My mind is racing, telling me to think fast. Should I slug on behind you, should I pick up the pace and run on or should I turn back and act like this never happened? But before I know what’s happened my legs and feet have miraculously carried me forward to walk right beside you however not for long because I just manage a wave 👋🏽too shy to entertain the whole gang by saying, “Hi!” So I carry on at an unexpected brisk pace but the truth is I had been waiting for some such a moment after class for the whole entire week! Simultaneously I am thinking about the way I am walking. I feel awkward😩🤕. ”Do girls walk like this?” “Are they supposed to walk like this?” “Is it acceptable for right now?” Well I don’t know but it won’t matter anyway because it’s already past and I’ve already put some distance between us.

At home, in a room where no one can disturb me I recall the days’ events and I wonder. Does he even know I exist, like, in the same space as him, sometimes I mean, not all the time? Does he ever think of our possibilities like I do? Every time we say “hi” to each other I am hoping for a lot more than just hi. A lot more like conversation that is deep and profound. Conversation that will lead to a next time which I do not have to stage. Conversation in which he tells me his life story, I mean we’re both so young but who cares there’s always something private and hidden we’re all willing to share given the right chance, the right person. The possibility for instance that I am that person he looks for every day before school starts, before a class in which we are all bound to sit down, listen whilst waiting for that short well deserved break until the next period. The possibility that I become he’s sounding board and confidant, refuge for the thoughts and ideas unknown to others. The possibility of friendship and maybe more, in time. Well I guess that’s real life; playing hide and go seek with emotions. But in all fairness I would not mind waiting guaranteed with prospects for a bright future that is.

I am the girl sitting by herself in a classroom lost in a sea of noise.🙇‍♀️ I am scribbling about nothing in particular on an important not so important page in my book evidently and in a fraction of a second I am reminded of the time I wanted to join art class but I could not because I failed the test of talent. At that moment I look up at the figure that has just taken a seat in front of me.😶😮 A breath of fresh air with a smile so bright it outshines a full moon at twilight, eyes that bore into mine peeking at the depths my soul, lips so lush they riddle the mind with intrigue and when he opens his mouth a voice so deep but smooth enough to ensnare what little sense I have left. I am mesmerized and speechless.🤯 He says some greeting and I stutter something in response. He looks down at the open book in front of me could it be my heart waiting for him to peruse through it, maybe at length? I follow his gaze to my imitations of art practiced on my name, “Andy,” he thinks it cool! I am left stunned.🤩 He loves my name and admires my scribbles. The rest of the conversation blows by like a breeze.😋 I am little disappointed as he gets up, saying, “Catch you.” And he’s gone.

I am the girl who finds herself sitting in mixed group of friends and acquaintances but out of all of them one sticks out.😅 I steal glances hoping I do not, get caught. We talk for minutes until they turn into an hour and more minutes. I wish we had more time. Peoples likes and dislikes are tossed around, a couple of real life scenarios re-lived in narration of course, bursts of laughter all around. Right after judgments are passed down verdicts are given, facial expressions and noises thrown in comments livening the banter. But I observe all the while assessing his opinions on this and that. Once or twice I doubt myself, my position regarding my situation and his placed position in it. I keep it cool maintaining my composure and a poker face now and then when my seat gets hot. In that moment I realize these are just stimulated discussions, opinions can be shifted given the right chance and the right person.🙃

I am that girl smiling brightly at her phone screen. He just sent me a message nothing complicated just a simple, “hey, you!” but I am ecstatic, over the moon with glee. And with that I am content never mind my response.🥰 All is well in my world and I have hope for tomorrow. 🌼🌻A school girl crush has me wrapped in gitters🙈🙊, tiny fleeting moments stitched into one✨. It may not turn into anything grand solid even, well it may even fade the day after tomorrow. But right now I am at peace and I am happy with the beauty that I see in the world.☯

Monologue

He said, she said… it’s all now impotent rhetoric. No answer to the multitude of questions flowing in. Projected realities; everyone seeing what they want to see as opposed to what’s right in front of them: Reality. It hits you like walking into a huge glass screen always just right in front of you not being able to see it until you focus on it. As you move toward it, drawing ever closer; you see it but choose to ignore it, to walk away from it, to talk around it but there’s no running till forever and as it lay “dormant” in your mind it twists and turns writhing in your subconscious. Then again why wait till ones old and grey, why not confront the reflection and be done with it?

“I have loved and I have lost”, the bitter cliché everyone seems to sing about, everyone seems to preach about but the irony of it is that with such events as those of losing out on love when they do come to pass they are swift and unrelenting. Taking the whole because you gave your all, dealing one good blow till you’re out cold. You were blindly loyal to a fault: determined to carry it through to the end, faithful, defensive of that love that you would bet the most priceless things on- contorting to its will leaving you crooked. But such is love, such is life, such is emotion: impermanent, although you fought. At its apex it is utter bliss, giving a feeling of great actualization because it empowers you to give the best version of yourself, relating to every nook and cranny that makes the foundation, holding the pillars that make you. But what to do when it’s gone? When you’ve fought to the bone until its left hollow, dry and white. You’ve given what’s left of all you could give. But then it occurred to me-; when you’ve given it all you have that means nothing should remain but a cold, decomposing corpse left to the extremities of the inevitability of being sustenance to organisms underground feeding and feasting from the inside out. But because you fought, and like me writing this piece and you instead reading it, are still present, still breathing then the battle for survival surely can’t be over. Because you fought until you were waist-deep in the mud – sinking; walking on the rooftop of a skyscraper but knowing you couldn’t look down; rolling on the thick, lush green grass under a pollen covered tree knowing you might as well wake up from it and head straight for the nearest emergency room to spend a fortnight within it due to that allergen burst then why regret it? Why would you tear your soul apart sticking your nose in the past when your whole core is braced for the future?

The fear of change.

The primal need of wanting the now to be ever present without any shifts to the sands of time, clinging on to the oxygen levels held in that moment although the room that you’re in is sealed off ablaze slowly filling up with the carbon monoxide that will straight up kill you dead. The attachment to what was, resisting the present and future from becoming, what is and what will be.

The mind is the source of our own happiness and our sadness. A phrase I’ve been hearing lately from meditation seminars and Buddhist wisdom books. So what exactly does it mean? Well from my understanding from my search to the path of enlightenment, the path to happiness lies in looking beyond the self towards others helping them find happiness through your own compassion which is inherent in all human beings. It is like washing the dishes that the whole family left in the sink and enjoying the satisfaction of the cleanliness that comes from having done them radiating into your mind, body and soul then being projected to the sphere of your influence. Food for thought.

So what of the frustration and anger? Why dwell on the impermanent things we can easily let go of, when it only takes a second? Not trying to forget it or suppressing it but rather identifying the presence of such poisonous emotions, acknowledging them and finding that the best way to deal with them is to let go.

So thus it bounces back, when good energy radiates from within it doubles back, leaving refreshment, peace and serenity bringing an inner peace of mind.

You’ve loved and you’ve lost, you’ve invested and genuinely took interest you tried and that’s okay, an experience you might not forget but will remember for all the positives that it gave you, you will be to give back one day because you chose to carry forward the good and learn from the misgivings.

You find, you lose you grieve (and that might take a really long time) but you will also heal.

And with that I come to conclude.

Someone once asked me why I never wrote about love. Well I believe that then I could never truly relate to having felt it, a pure and sanctified form of it. For all I saw then was red, not cupid good red but macabre red. And now I can’t say that I have experienced it but from having lost an anchor that I was so dearly attached to these are the thoughts that came to me: from my mind to the paper flowing from a pen to the ink I scribbled on a paper and was able to type it on my very neglected keyboard to my dusty old page uploading it. Enjoy!

Andyscribbles out!

R.A.M

Personal conflictions have me tossing and turning late at night: stuck in the same four walls. My mind is restless but it will not let me admit it- say it out loud and point to the root of the cause. But there in a dark corner at the back of my mind, it reels and writhes, rays of light shine through revealing the edges but not the whole plot.

Personal conflictions have me going against what i thought i had in mind. At the forked intersection I thought I was done having to choose, but now i see clearly, the bigger picture: I can have both.

Personal conflictions have me seated in the dark, blinking the night away. I am stuck on the same seat. I’m transfixed on the same narrow spot. I reach out; at least some water to quench my quiver, but release won’t go past my lips in my mouth it weighs down on my tongue like cement i cannot get it to go down.

Personal conflictions have my heart racing like an athlete trying to get to that two second mark. My creased shirt sticks to my body like glue, you’d think i just took a dip in the pool, but then that would be ironic because i cannot swim. Maybe the irony lies in the idea that I am on dry ground but i’m drowning really fast. I try to stand but i can’t with my full weight, its crashing down on me, i can just but fall on to the soft bed.

Personal conflictions have me day-dreaming. By the window ledge i stand stunned. The is view is picturesque, airbrushed with serenity, soothing and calming to the soul.

Personal conflictions have me in an outright war. I’m tugging at the rope but i can’t anymore. I wonder if it will break but I’ve held on so long i can’t just let it all be for nothing.

Personal conflictions have me battling with my reflections i cannot believe my actions, so fierce. But as i go i’ll acknowledge my faults.

Personal conflictions have me hellbent on pursuing the next step. I have to achieve this and follow through. Tomorrow seems ripe with opportunity and if i stretch out i’ll have things in perspective.

Personal conflictions have me reading on, I cannot be still, i hunger for more. I am in awe, hooked on an anthology of short stories, Writing Still, New stories from Zimbabwe by Irene Stanton 2003 from: race to freedom, strife and sexuality, forgiveness and acceptance. The struggle of one accumulates to the problems of the whole. R. A. M

  
 I wake up to a rattling noise-
 swarms of people, buzzing around like bees, except without wings, not as free; cramped in one stuffy room.
 I wake up to the pitter-patter of feet; 
 Early morning, a fresh cold breeze; girls walking, almost running 
 no giggling just silence.
 Everything is so fast paced, flashes of film; blurry but distinct.
 Transcended I see all, foreboding looming a dark cloud ensuing. 
 Omnipresent I see an adolescent huddled in a corner, looking over their shoulder, side glances every two seconds a life brimming with disorder.
 I am transfixed elsewhere, on an image of a little girl picking up the ropes on this ubiquitous trend called life.
 Adapting if you will, in her little third world.
 I wake up early morning, startled - a dream I fail to comprehend.
 Frightened, the fortress has been compromised. 
 I wake up mid- afternoon, parched and scorched I seek an oasis.
 I am way past the weeks of confusion, delirious, I am prisoner left to my own devices.
 A blasting breeze urges me on: to refuge or to despair.
 I feel it before I see it. A thousand cuts from the shards of icy cold glass.
 Beautiful crystals in spite them glowering, their fiery watery reflections depicting me torn, marred, scarred and cut through and through.
 A thousand words I had prepared, hang in the balance, a broken twig on a dried up branch held horizontal on a withered leaf-less, life-less tree. 
 A living carcass, lay on finely woven cloth of agony and pain.
 Soldier forward, although it may be your shadow.
 A resemblance of self;
 mirrored, in the depths of a fine tuned, ruthless mirage.
 
 Sahara or Antarctica whither am I bound?
  
                                                               R.A.M 

Many a time I find myself trying to answer hard questions concerning my life. I take time to analyze my position. How did I get here? Where to now? Is this what is written in my stars? Life moves by me so fast in those moments that I have had to ask myself which desert would I be classified as being in given the specific conundrum I will be facing at a particular time. I posted the question on one of my social media apps and although I had not given it much thought someone replied: the Sahara. Is it coincidental given my race as African, me taking to it? Born on a continent on which explorers crossed the world over to experience, to indulge and adapt to, later on adopting as their own one of the reasons being its climate. Hot sands with sand storms enough to bury a woman alive, dry unforgiving air with scarce vegetation, but I think this better to sub- zero temperatures. The thought of hypothermia is enough to send me packing to anywhere but the cold. The irony then is why ask the question in the first place?

Special mentions to Tadi, who would rather have had me include, “It’s as hot as if I am on larva booooooooom!!!!!! Shelele yeah excellent!”

Until the next post, hopefully which will be sooner than the last.

Andyscribbles out.

I heard what they were saying about you yesterday I’m sorry I kept quiet then, I couldn’t defend you.

I saw you at the mall today; grocery shopping, but at that moment I couldn’t think to help you carry your bags.
 
I was at fault yesterday. I wanted to come, see you, be with you,support you. Honestly I got caught up but me saying it out to you feels inadequate even if I don’t believe it myself and yet I was the one caught up, held back from my own commitment to you. With you.

I saw you yesterday; glowing. Your radiance was alluring, I tried telling you, “you look beautiful.” Some how it got caught up in my head not being able to form a sound in my throat. Not a vowel uttered from my mouth.

I saw the gift that you got me. The task completed, I could never have done it on my own and yet, I forgot to say thank you. The other time I saw the package, the deed done, days after you had done it, for me; but with the amount of time passed would you have thought me sincere, could I still have said thank you?

I heard what you told your friends about me. I never knew that’s how you felt. I never thought that you of all people could say that, I chose not to believe it. Denial. However I thought it through you haven’t been the same lately or ever but I chose to believe in you.

I remembered it was your birthday yesterday. I never forgot but tell me how do you say happy birthday to a person with a knife, meant for you, behind their back? Okay, okay. It’s too much let’s say, I forgave you, I did. I remembered your birthday, but I remembered I had no business remembering it.

I saw you coming my way and I thought to avoid you. I mean I know we’re not friends, I mean I know you think me below your level. But when you approached me or we met half way I sang like a bird. I hate discomfort. I did it because I know your mother. I did it because I can not resist trying to be cordial with people who clearly seem to have a higher opinion of themselves and let’s face it assume themselves to be, “the, greatest gifts to the world.”

I value your opinion but you’ll never know it. You left me on read and I made my peace.

I went out today and the sky was blue. The air was clean, fresh thus good.

I saw cars drive past on the road, as I strolled on the sidewalk.

I lay beside you and I listened as you snored.

I close my eyes every time I’m underwater; I can not bear to feel discomfort when my eyes are open.

I plucked up a dandelion. I blew on it and the seeds fluttered beautifully in the wind, up up and away.

I slowly drifted away from you. Our walks home were never the same after I started talking to the girl in red. In Red, I saw red but I continued we discontinued. I become distant. I know but I’m back, back on track.

I asked not because I wanted to know. I asked because I did know but you would never know I knew because I wanted it so. I was not ready for the world to know but you and I, we share we. I went through it too…but you’ll never know.

I went to a tranquil place and experienced a tranquil  space.

I appreciated what she said on Thursday, he said it to on Friday. So small a gesture but it moved mountains.

X and Y told me they have been suffering from a series of nightmares. And I asked about them, when I saw their replies at 00.00am, 02.00 am, 04.00 am and at 06.00am, on different days. The reply I got was not shocking. Familiar faces, what world would the place be if their relatives knew that they are the cause of their insomnia? But why do I relate; I mean I just sleep through it.

I wanted to show them how I felt but then I remembered someone asking me, “why trouble yourself by wearing your heart on your sleeve?”

I got in at lunchtime on a Sunday. I had some lunch. I took a nap. I woke up; but I did not feel refreshed.

I asked for Q to listen. But Q did not listen. I was never good at human relations so I let Q be.

I remember once upon a time walking home from school talking to you about a certain situation but I didn’t know how to phrase it. How to advocate a case for those who did not not need my protection. Then again I was protecting myself and you taught me something, to use the Alphabet, so in the place of a name I placed a letter. Do you remember? In that moment we connected, you understood me. We were golden.

I heard their stories and i cried. Compared to my struggle of not finding fruit juice, they could not even find water to quench the thirst that scorched their souls.

Such silly little things in retrospect. I giggle. I laugh. I hit my forehead thinking I was really dense, that was embarrassing. But now times gone by and I would not change what was. Now it will always be.

It’s never an easy feat. Looking after someone else’s kid. I’ve watched enough live reality shows to know this. I even walked past one on the Tuesday before last, a live reality show I mean. It’s even worse for those being looked after, well at least the sensible ones. Debt to anyone is never a good look on anyone. Being grateful, praying and working towards a better tomorrow is the only thing to be done. But what if tomorrow takes time. Time however can not be awarded to someone else’s kid. The weight. The burden. The talk of all those gathered when small talk runs dry or when you feel good about you. I’ll pray for someone else’s kid so that tomorrow when it comes you’ll see their effort, all the days spent trying to make you proud.

I shared my thoughts with you. Sharing – always the hardest part; I already knew what I wanted but I just wanted your affirmation. Those words of approval, so important. But, you never cease to surprise me, amaze me, challenge me because in the end you always say nay.

She told me she writes fiction, and that’s all it will ever be. Unlike me, writing of the realities I see.

Have you ever seen someone who is seated down and stopped to think what’s going on their minds🙇‍♀️🤔? Well, I have🧐. Observing, taking down mental notes then when my mom calls me or my phone rings with an app text I am transported to the initial task that had my mind occupied before🤦‍♀️ . What will be going on people’s minds especially when they grow older🤷‍♀️? Are they always thinking about the next bill to be paid🤷‍♀️? The next opportunity to make money, because let’s face it, life 30 years ago and life now is different. There’s so much more pressure nowadays to be accomplished, parents always pushing for a better life for their children, and you’re constantly told, “when we were young things weren’t how they are now.” Easy was it, hmm? But through all this going on out there, every individual goes through different stresses. They are similar occurrences I admit, you lose a loved one, school although challenging we all want good grades, finding a good paying job or starting your own thing, the pressure of a good social life, friends who care, what not. The list is endless but I am of the perspective that although, similar it’s never the same experience. We are human; the same on that take but we all have different blueprints. In a highly mechanized and technological world, the pressure to surpass what was yesterday mounts heavy. Yes, someone else did it but you have to do it better, or just as well to survive. But through it all do we think about the state of mind? Most people advocate and acknowledge mental health but do we really understand what it entails? I could tell you I am depressed right now and you could ask me what is going, what is the problem? But that’s the thing we feign listening because tomorrow we forget. In everything there is a process but if we rush to complete it just because we heard and learnt about it yesterday, its’ importance, without reassessing if the situation has been resolved, there is regression. We have overlooked it. Unseen we slumber back to where we began.

 Never in my life had I seen a grown man play Tetris, but he did.
 He sat, and he played; for ages on end, seconds passing to minutes passing to hours
 And before he realized it; the day was gone.
 A poker face; an impassive expression.
 What did he think about? His dreams past and, fulfilled?
 The future of his young still ahead?  Then maybe, what he would eat after breakfast, lunch till supper?
  
 He played on, in silence.
 Unperturbed, undisturbed.
 Did he remember the brown scaly leather shoes glistening with shine, untied?
 Left unaided back to the shoe rack within the closet, a present from overseas, did he even remember where?
  
 Silence continued to rain down, thoughts racing. Right?
 Moments to a whole life time – but, was it fulfilled?
 That’s the big question is it not, to be self-fulfilled?
 Through the eyes of those before us.
 Working towards a dystopian utopia, a troubled teenager could only dream of.
 A dream crafted by someone before his generation, your generation, our generation.
 Stamped hitherto, approved and passed as the ultimate, by insatiable onlookers.
 A head rolls, a day’s work achieved.
  
 A life of strife and struggle is it? You’d hear them say,
 “Suburbs to town, we walked…” is it, so then should we all acquire that ten kilometer walk lifestyle as a mark of struggle?
  
 Scars hidden from the eyes lay deep within my skull. 
 Beyond it actually, although flesh and body are one, grief transcends the physical.
 Its mental, however that’s insignificant.
 Insolence of the highest order, spoilt by their mothers from the very tip of a hair strand to the very end of a toenail.
  
 You hear it but don’t speak it.
 You see it and let it pass you by.
 For thus it is non-existent, and so;
 Towards the end of all our ages we will sit, stare at the inexplicable invisible abyss,
 Play tetras and forget tomorrow.
  
 But what is tomorrow; without yesterday?
  
 R.A.M
   

We often put each other down with the smallest of antics. Not checking on our relatives and friends, speaking callously then saying to ourselves this person will understand me, because they are supposed to know me😤. Lets learn to take time out to understand the next person because in the things we overlook someone is already being left behind. Starting with those we stay with, “hey, how was your day.😃” You’d be surprised and intrigued from the simple yet taxing everyday life of an individual, i’d know from the tales my mom comes back with from her days to and at the office or wherever else she goes…. She’s got a knack for captivating her listeners that i think she should actually write a book or start up her personal vlog. So…

Stay in touch with the self, take a minute to breathe, pray and meditate.

btw…i used to have simple emoji conversations with this other person i used to know. wow! I had completely forgotten about that😅 I wonder what happened to that; maybe i lost my edge or something😵. But people can change, and in most case you need just give them time to understand, especially adults(legally i am one however i am not yet fully fledged😀😇), they may pretend not to but they really listen and regurgitate.

Until the next post Andy out. ✌

I stayed up late searching for inspiration. Watching an old movie, not many words in it though. A lot of action, a lot of singing, but overall entertaining. Something to watch, something to keep the eyes busy, something to distract the mind. There’s a lot of background noise in this picture its really loud but it’s all so ironic too as I can’t seem to hear anything from it, although the words are as clear as day, all I can say is I am cozy, feeling my toes getting toasty. Incoherent all the while being essential to the process. But from what I’ve said I’ve seen my error and in starting this I was thinking so hard to avoid it. “Searching for inspiration,” did I really just type that? Well I did but then this brings me to point out my error. Inspiration for me is not something one searches for, like a wallet in messy bedroom or your glass case just five minutes before you’re supposed to leave the house. Inspiration is something that just comes to a person. It is not sought out to be found but it blooms from within, from one spot it grows, warming you up with sweet elation, aspiring creativity and building up until it shouts out to the mind. But see here: you either listen and work from it or hear it and let it pass into a random thought and leave it to wilt, to be forgotten. I have been feeling inspired for the longest of times but then what was stopping me from acting? Well it’s simple really, the fear of introducing myself, putting myself out there, into the world and making my seemingly small voice heard. It is frankly daunting to fall in a mirthless conversation in which your views are unheard. Battling the word cliche in one’s own head, “avoid monotony, Andrea,” all the while remaining to true to one’s path.

The trees just outside the house have been whispering to the birds in the brook.
The birds in the brook singing to the butterflies on the tall African sun-dried grass
still rooted in the ground; gently swaying to the sweet hums of the wind.                                                                                                
The river whistles to the sky, which in turn bustles a bright bold deep blue laughing buoyantly,      
stringing with it the wispy crystalline clouds.
As the white storks fly back South; home for the summer, 
the warmth spreading throughout the day; tapering off a bit 
under the starry night sky.
  
 I gaped at them unable to look away.
 I stared at them - transfixed, my gaze lingering at their wide toothed         smiles.
 The air echoing their laughter back to the earth giving out their life;      their light.
 A camaraderie runs deep within them,
 Deeper than the veins beneath their skin,
 Their whispering hearts, drumming softly against their inner walls of their rising and falling chests.
 Secrets of an ancient story, an ancient history; painted upon their skin.
 United as one beating heart, souls merged beyond the limits of time to form the whole,
 Always better than pieces apart.
  
 The sun shines brightly overhead, its rays glimmering upon their radiance.
 A mother to her daughter, a daughter to her son, one friend to another. 
 I am entranced by the animation of their existence.
 I am in awe, an idiosyncrasy uplifting my soul. 
      
    ~R.AM~

Growth for me comes in the small things: what can be seen in everyday life. Creation can flourish from the mundane, the laughter of my family during that hour or two we sit together in the evenings or late in the afternoon; strolling alone somewhere deep in my feelings, or in the extraordinary: the exhilarating moments in which your blood is rushing fast within, a moment of meditation enlightened by a higher power. For a plant to grow it has to be nurtured, and in my journey towards my momentarily unknown destination vested within this here blog, I wish to aspire to inspire, to connect and to relate, from the world within me to that around me. Well hello world, welcome to Andyscribbles.