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The word used to describe the generation of today,

Righteousness seems so scarce that the few who act right are labelled as ‘the good ones.

‘ What the previous generations used to call taboo has evolved to be ‘cool.’

It has so much power, it’s pulling us all in , drowning and choking us to death.

We’re left with no choice but to CONFORM.

It’s the fear of being isolated,

It is the fear of being labelled,

It’s the fear of losing the ability to be acceptable,

It’s the ‘fit in’ mentality that defines us.

God if we could just feel the joy that comes with being the odd one out.

The peace that comes with righteousness,

If we could just silence the ‘belong’ voices that haunt us,

If we could just understand that we’re pilgrims,

If only we could understand that our destination is far beyond this cruel world,

Only then shall will be able to stand out, shine and soar high up in the sky,

We will be able to carry ourselves around with confidence, we won’t have to pretend anymore and finally be at peace,

Only then shall we experience true happiness.

But how? The question still poses.


My life down the rabbit hole

“A rabbit hole is a metaphor for something that transports someone into a wonderfully (or troublingly) surreal state or situation.”

For a long time I have been a firm believer that each and every one of us has got a skill and a passion buried in us. That seed is a gift from God for us to nature and make it bloom so that it may produce fruit, to feed us and those around us.

My journey began after high school, young, restless and clueless. My mom’s finances didn’t add up, to get me to complete the “educational system”, i.e. high school, university and eventually get a job bla bla bla. I decided to buy some time and extend my gap year, knowing very well that university was a dream which I didn’t feel good waking up from.

One of the superpowers I acquired through the “gap year” was living in Zimbabwe. I will gladly add that on my CV. My country has got 98% unemployment rate, that’s how hard it is to survive in Zimbabwe. My country is not for Sissies. I still have photos of myself looking like I’m on hunger strike. Through it all I survived.

Suddenly an opportunity arose, not what I fancied. “The reason for working is to get paid” I rebelled. On the contrary it was a voluntary gig. For the first few months, I was supposed to pay a certain amount of money towards my essentials, just to prove that I was serious about volunteering. However, that didn’t move me a bit, for the thoughts of exposure to a different culture, learning to speak good English, the experience and hopefully get a white girlfriend to scratch my jungle fever itch. All of the above pushed me to hastily pack up my luggage and travel 48hrs across the border.

My arrival rose eyebrows, everything seemed out of order. I arrived a day earlier, wearing a wrong t-shirt, written, “IM NOT STUBORN BUT MY WAY IS BETTER”. My eyes were bloodshot red, from lack of sleep, people thought otherwise and the worst part of all I was hungry, surely perceived as I had munchies.

As I mentioned earlier, living in Zimbabwe is a significant skill. In no time I quickly adapted to the environment, I worked hard, I even did the worst jobs one could fathom. A few of my duties included harvesting and sorting macadamia nuts and avocadoes, worm farming, irrigation… My worst job was working in the coffee fields. It was the only job that made me doubt if I had made a wise decision to volunteer. I hated coffee passionately. I would spend weeks and weeks spraying coffee trees, picking and processing cherries and hand sorting tons of coffee beans.

That was how I fell into the rabbit hole.