Is it me or have the words we utter these days-
become so vulgar that we cannot even correct teething toddlers.
You turn on the television mounted on the wall by a ‘Paki’ Jack-Of-All-Trades
To listen to the news that a fellow ‘Nigger’ is reading about a ‘White chav’ that was shanked-
down south and you murmur inaudibly ‘at least it wasn’t a nigger that died’ but then you-
quickly realise that a nigger probably did it but then again she was probably an East Bloc whore-
so who gives a fuck if she lived or died. All through your audible soliloquy your 4-year old son-
is listening to your train of thoughts and has embarked upon it, first-class.
Mind your language, if for nothing else, so the future isn’t BLEEPED out entirely.
Monday, 2 February 2009
Thursday, 15 January 2009
14 Years Later And I Still Can't Let Go
It was a Saturday night, when she asked me to wash her back; she called me away from the rest of the family as if to reprimand me.
Her speech was slower than normal, with long pauses emphasizing her thoughts, she specifically asked me to be strong, at that time I thought she meant just for that moment. The next morning, a Sunday, she was weak once again. Towards the afternoon she was taken away, away forever.
I never got the chance to say Goodbye to her, I never really said I love you to her face although I know a mother’s intuition she knew she was the woman of my heart, my pillar, my fortress, my teacher, my everything. I never got the chance to look into her eyes and smile simultaneously with her acknowledging that I was flesh of her flesh.
And that was what it was, she never return after she was taken off in the ambulance, I was told she didn’t even make it to the hospital. The actual cause is still a blur to me, something I have promised myself to find out from my father very soon. I must admit, once I was snooping around like I always used to through my dad’s files and I stumbled across a letter. In the letter was what I’d describe as an autopsy. My mum died of a heart failure. I have wondered how a heart so big, loving and pure could have failed. I have questioned God on countless occasions why He took her away from me, from us, from him. The ‘him’ there is my father, a man who lost his life’s soul mate when my mother passed away, a man who lost the best wife in the world, the best companion and mother of his children. My father once told me, ‘he has never come across a natural mother like my mother’. She was a natural mother. She was created in God’s image and to His taste, a woman who made raising children the best job in the world. She simplified the complex and created a wonder from scratch. I can proudly say I learnt some of life’s lessons by just observing her. She was a star.
Fourteen years since she departed from us and I go through everyday still mourning for her. Counsellors say it is possible to mourn for years, I think that I will be. But when I mourn, I comfort myself soon afterwards knowing that she is looking down on me, protecting me, praying for me. I go through my days with that knowledge held in my heart.
I will be strong, because I know that she would want me to be strong. I miss you; I’ll never stop loving you. Goodnight dear mother.
Her speech was slower than normal, with long pauses emphasizing her thoughts, she specifically asked me to be strong, at that time I thought she meant just for that moment. The next morning, a Sunday, she was weak once again. Towards the afternoon she was taken away, away forever.
I never got the chance to say Goodbye to her, I never really said I love you to her face although I know a mother’s intuition she knew she was the woman of my heart, my pillar, my fortress, my teacher, my everything. I never got the chance to look into her eyes and smile simultaneously with her acknowledging that I was flesh of her flesh.
And that was what it was, she never return after she was taken off in the ambulance, I was told she didn’t even make it to the hospital. The actual cause is still a blur to me, something I have promised myself to find out from my father very soon. I must admit, once I was snooping around like I always used to through my dad’s files and I stumbled across a letter. In the letter was what I’d describe as an autopsy. My mum died of a heart failure. I have wondered how a heart so big, loving and pure could have failed. I have questioned God on countless occasions why He took her away from me, from us, from him. The ‘him’ there is my father, a man who lost his life’s soul mate when my mother passed away, a man who lost the best wife in the world, the best companion and mother of his children. My father once told me, ‘he has never come across a natural mother like my mother’. She was a natural mother. She was created in God’s image and to His taste, a woman who made raising children the best job in the world. She simplified the complex and created a wonder from scratch. I can proudly say I learnt some of life’s lessons by just observing her. She was a star.
Fourteen years since she departed from us and I go through everyday still mourning for her. Counsellors say it is possible to mourn for years, I think that I will be. But when I mourn, I comfort myself soon afterwards knowing that she is looking down on me, protecting me, praying for me. I go through my days with that knowledge held in my heart.
I will be strong, because I know that she would want me to be strong. I miss you; I’ll never stop loving you. Goodnight dear mother.
The joy of Christmas
Noel, Noel,
Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Christ, to others it is the time of the year to shop, while some find it as the only time of the year to act nice.
In the retail world, its the opportunity to have mega sales and attract shoppers from far and near to spend their hard earned money on goods. In the fashion world, hey its the release of the special collections.
All in all the Christmas season is a very busy period time of the year regardless of what religious, commercial or financial view you plan to take.
In the fairytale world, Christmas always is white and snow filled and looks beautiful and garland. In the real world of Bradford, Christmas is a cold chilly morning but with a freshness in the faces of the folks on the streets. Oh! I forgot to mention, Christmas also makes people smile more than usual.
Well how did my Christmas unfold... Two weeks to Christmas my girlfriend and I bought our Christmas tree and it was a landmark event as the setting up of the tree and the decorating of the tree had many pauses of 'I love you' being exchanged 'This is our first Christmas together' being repeated. So the tree was set and we waited for Christmas eve to get the traditional turkey and the stuffing; the menu had been discussed and sketched and re-sketched depending on our moods. Finally, Christmas morning dawned and we eagerly started the food preparation. First was the washing and dressing of the turkey that I christened 'Edward'. He was a big one so cleaning him out was no small deal, then the next thing was to mix the marinades and marinate the bird. While that was being done... the chef goddess, Lebo, was began making steamed bread, cheesecake, and trifle 'all from scratch' just like her mum had taught her. In that time she had also seasoned chicken wings.
Edward was then put in the oven for bout three and a half hours with the stuffing joining in from the last half hour. In that time the cheesecake, trifle and wings had been prepared along with fried-rice and potato salad.
Joshua, in his usual self arrived and easily mde himself comfortable with the turkey and a very sharp knife. The feasting could now begin after eight hours of preparation; we sat with good food, ate and watch the classic Eastenders Christmas Day special with Wollis and Gromitt as intermission. Before Joshua left, he was presented with his Christmas gift as Lebo and I had decided to exchange ours privately... He smiled all the way home.
Well, that was that for the eating part, it was now the highly anticipated exchange of gifts and an engraved ipod, a wristwatch (that was later exchanged) and silicon heating sock (that only worked for that night) went down well with my one and only, a jacket, a watch, toiletries and a pair of plimsolls blew my mind away. In her words the look on my face was priceless.
I know this is a late documentation of Christmas but all that food had to settle before I could write about an Unforgettable Christmas and now I can't wait for Christmas 2009.
Adieu!
Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Christ, to others it is the time of the year to shop, while some find it as the only time of the year to act nice.
In the retail world, its the opportunity to have mega sales and attract shoppers from far and near to spend their hard earned money on goods. In the fashion world, hey its the release of the special collections.
All in all the Christmas season is a very busy period time of the year regardless of what religious, commercial or financial view you plan to take.
In the fairytale world, Christmas always is white and snow filled and looks beautiful and garland. In the real world of Bradford, Christmas is a cold chilly morning but with a freshness in the faces of the folks on the streets. Oh! I forgot to mention, Christmas also makes people smile more than usual.
Well how did my Christmas unfold... Two weeks to Christmas my girlfriend and I bought our Christmas tree and it was a landmark event as the setting up of the tree and the decorating of the tree had many pauses of 'I love you' being exchanged 'This is our first Christmas together' being repeated. So the tree was set and we waited for Christmas eve to get the traditional turkey and the stuffing; the menu had been discussed and sketched and re-sketched depending on our moods. Finally, Christmas morning dawned and we eagerly started the food preparation. First was the washing and dressing of the turkey that I christened 'Edward'. He was a big one so cleaning him out was no small deal, then the next thing was to mix the marinades and marinate the bird. While that was being done... the chef goddess, Lebo, was began making steamed bread, cheesecake, and trifle 'all from scratch' just like her mum had taught her. In that time she had also seasoned chicken wings.
Edward was then put in the oven for bout three and a half hours with the stuffing joining in from the last half hour. In that time the cheesecake, trifle and wings had been prepared along with fried-rice and potato salad.
Joshua, in his usual self arrived and easily mde himself comfortable with the turkey and a very sharp knife. The feasting could now begin after eight hours of preparation; we sat with good food, ate and watch the classic Eastenders Christmas Day special with Wollis and Gromitt as intermission. Before Joshua left, he was presented with his Christmas gift as Lebo and I had decided to exchange ours privately... He smiled all the way home.
Well, that was that for the eating part, it was now the highly anticipated exchange of gifts and an engraved ipod, a wristwatch (that was later exchanged) and silicon heating sock (that only worked for that night) went down well with my one and only, a jacket, a watch, toiletries and a pair of plimsolls blew my mind away. In her words the look on my face was priceless.
I know this is a late documentation of Christmas but all that food had to settle before I could write about an Unforgettable Christmas and now I can't wait for Christmas 2009.
Adieu!
Sunday, 14 December 2008
Under my Umbrella!!!
Finding a good and reliable umbrella, these days, is as rare as finding a mole cricket in your back garden. Gone are the days when you could own an umbrella and feel the need to have your initials engraved into its fine wooden crook handle or on its steel tube, becuase you knew that it will be a loyal servant come rain or shine.
The reliable brollies have become a rare sight in many households and the truth is it is the fault of the so-called 'credit-cruncher', 'penny-saver' stores who sell cheap umbrellas, so cheap you just needed to buy three. I'd prefer to buy one umbrella for £30 or more, knowing that I could rely on it for several years than have to keep on buying £1 umbrellas after every rainfall.
I know I probably sound overly emotional on this topic but it stems from being very observant about people on the embarassing situations they have faced with their umbrellas. I mean who wants a brolly that turns against you when the going gets tough or a brolly that prefers to be airborne every time it is opened and I'm very sure that a good majority of you will agree with me that you have had days when you wish you had a reliable umbrella. Imagine you leave for work or school and the clouds mysteriously turn grey, you quickly dash into a shop looking for an umbrella, you meandre through several aisles only to walk out because they are out of stock! You decide to suck it in and press on to your destination. The day gets from bad to worse, you forgot some piece of work at home, just as you're about to head home, you hear the thunder and you know you desperately need an umbrella. Luckily there's a corner shop and you can safely bet they've got everything from painkillers to job application forms. You see this £1 umbrella and in no time you're at the cashier with two in your possession. Smiling to yourself you open your umbrella and it looks good... It feels good too and suddenly there's a gust of wind and your new umbrella prefers to do an inside-out dance and just like that whole thing gives in. But it's just a pound so you roll out the back up!
My advice? Take time when selecting your brollies, there's a high chance of buying a long-term companion in an expensive one than a fair-weather friend in a penny-saver! Besides, an umbrella can be a fashion accessory! Now... where is me brolly!!!
Adieu!
The reliable brollies have become a rare sight in many households and the truth is it is the fault of the so-called 'credit-cruncher', 'penny-saver' stores who sell cheap umbrellas, so cheap you just needed to buy three. I'd prefer to buy one umbrella for £30 or more, knowing that I could rely on it for several years than have to keep on buying £1 umbrellas after every rainfall.
I know I probably sound overly emotional on this topic but it stems from being very observant about people on the embarassing situations they have faced with their umbrellas. I mean who wants a brolly that turns against you when the going gets tough or a brolly that prefers to be airborne every time it is opened and I'm very sure that a good majority of you will agree with me that you have had days when you wish you had a reliable umbrella. Imagine you leave for work or school and the clouds mysteriously turn grey, you quickly dash into a shop looking for an umbrella, you meandre through several aisles only to walk out because they are out of stock! You decide to suck it in and press on to your destination. The day gets from bad to worse, you forgot some piece of work at home, just as you're about to head home, you hear the thunder and you know you desperately need an umbrella. Luckily there's a corner shop and you can safely bet they've got everything from painkillers to job application forms. You see this £1 umbrella and in no time you're at the cashier with two in your possession. Smiling to yourself you open your umbrella and it looks good... It feels good too and suddenly there's a gust of wind and your new umbrella prefers to do an inside-out dance and just like that whole thing gives in. But it's just a pound so you roll out the back up!
My advice? Take time when selecting your brollies, there's a high chance of buying a long-term companion in an expensive one than a fair-weather friend in a penny-saver! Besides, an umbrella can be a fashion accessory! Now... where is me brolly!!!
Adieu!
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
If I had AIDS...
It was World AIDS Day a few days ago, December 1st. Personally I am very emotional when it comes to real life horrors of the lives living in pain or the families that seem to mourn too often. I did my bit this December, I donated £5 to charity. I don't want to stop there or just rest on my oars and say 'hey I donated', I want to be part of a global movement of young minds who have taken it as their duty to enlighten people about HIV and AIDS and go further by setting up charities or liasing with established charities to provide the much needed support to the victims of AIDS.
In doing my quota, I wrote a short poem. It is a very short story titled 'If I had AIDS'
If I had AIDS
I’d like to know that I can get medical assistance.
If I had AIDS
I’d like to be treated with respect; I still, am human.
If I had AIDS
I’d wish everyone not laugh or joke about it, or commercialize it.
If I had AIDS
I’d do my best to make you understand that it is REAL.
If I had AIDS
I’d wish that charity help gets to those who need it.
If I had AIDS
I wish I wasn’t scared to go to bed.
If I had AIDS
And I died, I wish you are wiser after I am gone.
You can call me Liam...
Time and time, I've been asked to start my own blog, 'since you're so full of yourself, it shouldn't be too hard to write about yourself ay?'
Somehow, I've given in to blogging, but it generally isn't going to be about me. No, I think I'll be writing 'bout my passions, my dreams and the little things that make me me.
Oh! by the way, you can call me Liam. It's my pen name, and, well, it's just my name.
Somehow, I've given in to blogging, but it generally isn't going to be about me. No, I think I'll be writing 'bout my passions, my dreams and the little things that make me me.
Oh! by the way, you can call me Liam. It's my pen name, and, well, it's just my name.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)