Tag: memory

A Loss a Child Never Truly Gets Over.. A Year Without My Mother 💔

There are some losses in life that time does not erase. Losses that do not fade, do not soften, do not become something you just “GET OVER.” They simply become part of you, stitched into your skin, living behind your ribs, shaping the person you rise as every morning. Losing a mother is one of those losses. It is a wound that does not close, it just learns how to live alongside the beating of your heart.

Today marks exactly one year without my mother. One year since the day she breathed her last in my arms, a moment that replayed itself in my mind for months, like a scene I was never really ready to step out of. The world did not just fall silent that day, it collapsed in a way I can still feel in my bones. A part of me went quiet. A part of me broke. And something deep within me changed forever.

People say grief comes in waves. But losing a mother feels more like the tide never going out, some days gentle, some days crashing, but always there. A child never truly grows past the place where their mother once stood. How could we? She is the first safe place we ever know, the first warmth, the first certainty of love we experience.

My mother was my anchor long before I understood what the word meant. She was my strength wrapped in softness, my storm shelter, my voice of reason when the world felt too loud. She was the one who taught me everything I needed to survive, not just through her words, but through her resilience, her discipline, her fierce compassion, and the values she protected with her life.

When she passed, it was not just grief I felt. It was the terrifying understanding that the person I had leaned on for every moment of weakness, every moment of fear, every moment of uncertainty… WAS GONE. Suddenly the world felt like a place I did not recognise. I had to learn how to stand in storms alone. I had to face mornings without her voice, nights without her comfort, decisions without her guidance.

And if I have to be honest, I did not think I could.

But grief is strange. It breaks you open, yet somehow reveals the strength you did not know was built inside you. Strength that was planted by the very person you lost.

Over time, though the days were heavy, and the nights even heavier. I began to feel her presence in the quiet spaces she left behind.

Not in miracles. Not in signs written across the sky. But in the ways she prepared me without me even realising it.

Her teachings resurfaced. Her values stood tall when I could not. Her voice echoed in moments of doubt. Her strength became the backbone I did not know I had. Her courage unfolded inside me like a second heartbeat.

It was then I understood, a mother does not leave her child behind. Her body may rest, but her love moves into the child she raised. She becomes the courage in their chest, the wisdom in their decisions, the softness in their empathy, the fierceness in their survival.

A year later, I still miss her with a depth I cannot put into words. Some days the grief sits quietly in my pocket, other days it sits on my chest like a weight to heavy to bare, leaving me breathless and suffocating. Some days I smile because of the memories, other days I break because I want just one more of them. And that is okay. That is what love looks like when it refuses to die.

I am learning that honoring her is not about pretending I am no longer hurting. It is about living in a way that reflects the woman who shaped me. It is about letting her lessons breathe through me. It is about carrying her strength into every room I enter.

I now understand that I am standing today because she spent her life preparing me to. Her firmness built my backbone. Her tenderness softened my heart. Her values shaped my character. And her love, the kind that never asked for anything in return, continues to guide me even in her absence.

A mother’s love does not end. It transforms.

And when she is gone, her love becomes the quiet force that carries her child forward.

I will always miss her. I will always long for her. And I will always carry her.

Not behind me. Not above me. But inside me, exactly where she left her last and strongest gift.

🌍 South Africa.. A Land That Lives in the Heart 🇿🇦

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

“South Africa is not just a place on the map, it is a feeling, a rhythm, a soul. No matter where the world may tempt me to go, my heart knows its home.”

If asked where I would choose to live if the whole world were an open map, some people might point to glittering cities or postcard-perfect destinations far from home. But for those who have tasted the soil of South Africa, felt its storms and its sunshine, and breathed in its strange fusion of chaos and beauty, the answer often comes effortlessly, home. South Africa. The land that shaped identity, spirit, memory, and belonging.

South Africa is not merely a place on a map, it is a living heartbeat. A country whose diversity is so vibrant that it feels like the world within one set of borders. Few nations carry cultures layered as intricately as South Africa does, eleven official languages woven into one national identity, spiritual traditions coexisting side by side, and histories.. Painful but powerful, that taught people how to stand tall, forgive deeply, and evolve together. It is a mosaic stitched together by the hands of different peoples, each thread carrying its own story yet contributing to a shared tapestry.

People speak beautifully about how racism has toned down over the years, and that in itself is one of the remarkable strengths of South Africa, the ability to heal. The country does not pretend its past was gentle, yet it continually finds ways to soften the present. South Africans have learned the art of coexistence, of recognising wounds without letting them define the future. They laugh together, cry together, survive together, and build forward together. That is a rare kind of nationhood.

For South African Muslims, especially, this land is home in a deeply comforting way. Islam breathes freely here, in mosques that echo across cities and small towns, in halal cafés on bustling streets, in communities that observe Ramadan openly and proudly, and in a general climate where the right to believe and worship is respected. Muslims do not feel like guests or minorities here, they feel like part of the natural fabric of the country. That freedom, often taken for granted, is a blessing many nations still struggle to offer their people.

And yes, the economy may wobble, the cost of living may bite, and political challenges may frustrate. But even in that, South Africa carries a strange, resilient charm. The cost of living remains far more manageable than in many “first-world” countries where your entire life becomes a treadmill of survival. In South Africa, despite the chaos, there is still space to breathe, raise families, build communities, enjoy nature, and feel a sense of personal belonging that money cannot buy.

Beyond what we feel emotionally, the land itself is a wonder. From the vibrant coastline of KwaZulu-Natal to the ancient mountains of the Cape, from Johannesburg’s restless energy to the soulful quiet of the Karoo, South Africa holds a landscape for every kind of heart. It is a country where the sky is bigger, the sunsets richer, and the people warmer than anywhere else in the world. Even the challenges become part of the story, part of what makes South Africans unbreakable.

There is something indescribably powerful about calling this country home. Something that cannot be captured in statistics or political commentary. It is the feeling of walking in a place where your ancestors prayed, where your childhood laughter still echoes, where your identity feels rooted and natural. It is the knowledge that no matter where you may travel, South Africa remains the place that shaped your soul.

In the end, choosing South Africa is not merely a patriotic answer, it is an emotional truth. It is choosing a country that is flawed, beautiful, loud, warm, raw, spiritual, and alive. A country that mirrors the human heart, imperfect, yet endlessly capable of hope.

And that is why, when asked where I would live if given the whole world…

My answer remains simple..

South Africa.. Because there is no place quite like home. 🇿🇦

Death Changes Everything..

Death..

A word that carries the weight of silence, a final breath that echoes far beyond the grave. It is the one truth that humbles kings and peasants alike, the one certainty that shakes the foundations of even the strongest hearts. When death visits, it does not just take a life, it rearranges the living. It changes how we breathe, how we love, how we see the world, and how we see ourselves.

There is something profoundly cruel yet hauntingly divine about the way death changes everything. It steals presence but magnifies memory. It erases voices but amplifies meaning. It teaches us that time, that one thing we take for granted, is fragile, fleeting, and never promised. The laughter you thought would last forever becomes an echo in your mind. The scent, the sound, the feel of someone’s touch, becomes a ghost you carry in your bones. You start realising that the little things were never little at all.

Death breaks routines that once felt eternal. The phone does not ring at the same hour anymore. The favorite chair stays empty. The morning coffee feels colder. You begin to understand that the world keeps spinning, mercilessly, so while your own world stands still. People go back to their lives, but you stay behind in the ruins, trying to gather the pieces of what used to be. And it is in that quiet wreckage that you learn the harshest truth of all, grief does not end, it just changes form. It settles into your chest, not as pain forever, but as a reminder that you once loved deeply enough to hurt this much.

Yet, in the cruel transformation that death brings, there lies an unspoken beauty. It teaches us appreciation in its most brutal way. We start looking at the living differently, holding them closer, speaking softer, loving louder. We realise that pride, anger, and distance are such small, meaningless things when weighed against the permanence of loss. Death forces us to see the sacred in the ordinary. A smile, a heartbeat, a shared silence, suddenly, everything becomes holy.

And while death changes everything, it also changes you. You become gentler, more aware, more alive. The pain teaches wisdom no book ever could. The emptiness forces you to fill your own heart with strength. You start to see that endings are not just endings, sometimes, they are silent beginnings, of faith, of resilience, of understanding. You begin to carry both life and loss together, learning how to walk again with the weight of both love and absence tied to your soul.

So yes, death changes everything, the rhythm of your days, the texture of your thoughts, the pulse of your heart. But in its wake, it leaves behind something unbreakable, a deeper love for life itself. Because once you have seen how quickly everything can be taken, you start living like every moment is borrowed..

Sacred, fleeting, and infinitely precious.

“Forgive and Forget? Please.”

Forgive and forget?..

Haha please!

I am not GOD, and I definitely do not suffer from selective memory loss. I remember, darling. I archive. I keep receipts in high-definition mental folders with time-stamps and emotional impact ratings. I may not seek revenge, but best believe my mind is a walking surveillance camera, silent, observant, and brutally detailed.

People love to preach “forgive and forget” like it is a holy mantra. Meanwhile, I am over here, sipping my coffee, thinking, Forget what? The disrespect? The betrayal? The gaslighting?

Oh no, sweetheart, my memory is not built for amnesia. It is built for evolution. I do not dwell, I develop. I do not rage, I recalibrate. I do not plot revenge, I plot success.

See, forgiveness is divine, and I am just a beautifully flawed human with a memory that refuses to play dumb. My healing does not come from forgetting, it comes from remembering wisely. I have learnt that peace does not mean erasing the past, it means walking through it with grace and an upgraded mindset.

Call it petty if you want. I call it self-protection with style. I do not hold grudges. I hold data. And that data reminds me exactly how to move, who to trust, and where to never step again. Because while some people turn the other cheek, I simply turn the page.

My secret?

I dog-ear the page, just in case I need to revisit the lesson.

So no, I do not forget. I outgrow. I outsmart. I outshine. My memory is not a weakness, it is my intuition with perfect recall. I might laugh about it now, but best you believe every “haha” has a hidden footnote of wisdom.

Because at the end of the day, I do not forgive and forget.. I remember and prosper.