A letter to self

If registration identity documents are to be believed we are a year older. But if we are to go with the wonderful madness of those social media philosophers, the birthday is another popular lie we are have been made to believe.

The social media genius is close to the biblical belief which positions our existence to a certain day unbeknown to human beings. I mean remember those words to prophet Jeremiah, when God insists he has known him while he was in the mother’s womb. To Ezekiel 16:6 the wording was more wonderful because he said “And when I passed by thee, and saw thee polluted in thine own blood, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live; yea, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live”. It means the time one spends under the support system of the mother should be count on birthdays but then I don’t think anybody knows when the magical accident of human formation really happens in the woman’s insides. So let’s secretly believe in that pre-existing existence that preceded our actual existence without really accounting on them during birthday celebrations while taking stalk of this little life the LifeGiver is giving us.

Just remember of those days when prayers were being answered instantly. The march to destiny was so clear. The road was less bumpy those days. Dreams were clear and hope was all over us.

We know there are various debates on the importance of education and so on and so on. Since we had a chance to pursue this dream, why not thank the Lord for the opportunity. Let’s be thankful because we had the needed human hand that made dreaming a bit possible. At one time we had a mother who stood by us. She prayed for us and sometimes when we are alone we believe her prayers are still doing echoes in God’s ears. This could be probably the reason why happiness sometimes peeps in our life.

Then when the support system of the mother was untimely taken away from us, we thought that was the end. We were old enough to be independent in the sense of the world. I mean we were above 18 already but obviously without nothing. Do you still remember our mother’s boss’s first call to us consoling us and pledging to pay the remaining semesters of our undergraduate studies? Let such happenings help us think of real real orphans, young and alone with no one to see them. If a little little fortune finds its way through our life let’s make it a vow to help one or two in such a position. Lets learn to pray for people, but learn three times more to part with our resources for others as well.

As if that’s not enough let’s remember how Mai Amanda, mhamha’s cousin sister if we’re to use the wonderful tamed English term who vowed to send you monthly supplements at university the same way Mhamha used to do it. She is still that support pillar that makes our life a bit bearable.

What about the Moyos. Our uncles who helped us beyond measure. They came to terms with living with us. They made your dream of having a Master’s more than possible. All these helping hands of fellow human beings should teach us to accept being chained to the physical needs of fellow beings.

Kisimusi a short story I wrote in January found a home in The Long Night Ending

Okay let’s talk about the latest achievement. We missed holding the anthology with our story (which is now hopefully meant for next week). Is it not worth celebrating that we are now entering a new year as a published author? Hopefully this will be another year of serious writing of poetry and stories. Please let’s not forget Rebel Class probably the only novel we are going to write in our lifetime.

Above everything, please let’s live this year in the verve of spiritual revival. Let’s learn to pray more even when the odds continue acting as if they’re against us. Let’s pray for the people we love and for the strangers we meet. Let’s make it a priority to make someone think of life in a different way with the resources within our reach. I mean let’s make this year a year of living love.