Tau Kelvin, 5th Avenue and H. Chitepo Street (2025)

31/07/2025

I truly appreciate everyone who still reads every word I write.

I don’t take that lightly.

Your presence, your feedback, your quiet support — it matters.

People often say, “Write every day. Be consistent.”

But that’s easier said when your content isn’t carved from emotion.
This isn’t a meme-page.
I'm a deep storyteller, I wrestle with every sentence.

I don’t just post for clicks.
I take my time.
Finding the right theme. The right tone. The right truth.
Because I want to create content that hits, not just content that exists.

Lately though... since I started posting again:

I’ve been mentally battling with something heavier:
That pressure to “live up to the old days.”
Back when the posts flowed.
When people reacted. When it felt like I had found my rhythm.

Now I feel like I’m starting again.
But maybe that’s okay.
Maybe starting again means I still believe in what I carry.

If you’re reading this, thank you.
For reminding me that even the quiet rebuild matters.
..

Tau Kelvin

30/07/2025

Inja yang'khaya, 12-year-old Tiger, passed away when I was 6 years old.

Ngangimthanda uTiger, even the day after he died, my 6-year-old soul was still painfully crying — ngavuvuka amehlo, i-voice yami yaphela, but ngangilokhe ngifuna ukukhuluma — about how much I missed him. Even isithunzi sami sasesingasangichazi without esikaTiger eceleni kwami.

Umamami wathi kimi, uTiger usesendleleni yokuya ezulwini, uzabe eloNkulunkulu.

I asked her ukuthi kanti uNkulunkulu sesingam'bhalela incwadi yini, ngangifuna uNkulunkulu ahle abemazi uTiger efika.

She said we could, and mina ngibe ngimtshela ukuthi ebhaleni:

---

Dear God,

Uzangigcinela yini inja yami? Ifile izolo, isendleleni ibuya kuwe ezulwini. Ngiyamkhanuka kakhulu. Ngiyabonga ukuthi wamvumela ukuba yinja yami, even ecine esegula.

Ngicela ube udlala laye. Uthanda uku swimmer, ukudlala ibhola lokugijimisa inyonyi eziphapha zizokuma eduze. Sengikuthumela i photo yakhe mina ngime laye, ukuthi ubone ukuthi uTiger, uyinja yami sibili. Ngiyamkhanuka kakhulu.

Love, Taurayi

---

Umamami wafaka incwadi leyana phakathi kwe-envelope, konke le-picture yami ngiloTiger. Phambili wabhala ukuthi, “To God in Heaven”, wafaka i address yang'khaya on the corner.

Nganamathisela ama-stamp amanengi kiyo — maybe abamanengi kakhulu vele — because heaven felt far, and ngangingafuni ukuthi incwadi yami icine isilahlekile somewhere in the sky.

That afternoon, uMamami wahamba lami koChigumira, and we dropped the envelope into the old red mailbox, eyayihlala phandle kweLuveve Post Office. I remember how serious I felt, angani ngenza something sacred.

A few days later, I asked ukuthi uNkulunkulu useyitholile yini incwadi.

Umama wangikhangela, with eyes that seemed to shine and said she believed ukuthi Useyitholile.

Wadlula uAugust.

Then one quiet morning, sathola okuyi-package, kuhlezi phakathi eyadini — akula muntu owaqoqodayo, akula mavili awebhayisili, awomdududu or awemota, ayedindile ukuthi kukhanye ukuthi ifike njani ng'khaya, no. It was just there.

It was addressed to "Taurayi", but yayibhalwe nge-handwriting esingazange saba yazi ukuthi ngekabani.

I opened it slowly.

Phakathi kwakulebhuku, one by Mr. Rogers, titled, When a Pet Dies.

Phakathi kwe-cover, kwakunamathiselwe incwadi esasiyithumele uNkulunkulu, ilokhe iphakathi kwe-envelope yayo.

On the opposite page, kwakule-photo yami ngiloTiger, lencwadi eyayibhalelwe ephepheni eli-soft, eli-glowayo:

---

Dear Taurayi,

uTiger wafika kahle ezulwini. Isithombe owangithumela sona sanceda kakhulu, ngahle ngabamazi sengimbona.

uTiger akasaguli. Ugijima kakhulu khathesi, njalo umoya wakhe ukimi — kufanana nje ngendlela ahlala ngayo enhliziyweni yakho. Wayekuthanda ukuba yinja yakho.

Ngenxa yokuthi ngapha ezulwini asila zikhwama zokugcinela okunengi, angisoke ngigcine isithombe sakho, ngisithumela kuwe sisebhukwini leli ukuthi wena usigcine, umkhumbule.

Ngibonga incwadi yakho elothando, njalo umbonge umama wakho ukuthi ukuncedisile ukuyibhala, lokuyithumela. Umama wakho ngumuntu o-special kakhulu. Ngakukhethela yena ngikwazi.

Ngikuthumela izibusiso 'nsuku zonke, njalo ngifuna uhlale ukwazi ukuthi ngikuthanda kakhulu.

Njalo, nxa ungidinga, kulula ukungithola — ngitholakala noma kungaphi okulothando khona.

Love, God

---

And that book? When a Pet Dies — yilo ibhuku engaqala ukulibala.

Or rather, the first one that was read to me… nge-soft voice kamamami, in that whole quiet after grief.

Now that I'm older, the more ngicabanga about the whole thing, the more nginanzelela ukuthi there are three things in life that are most important:

The first, is to be kind.

The second is, be kind.

And the third, always be kind.

Kindness saves lives.
..

What's your story about the first book you read?
..

Tau Kelvin

18/07/2025

At 29, my girlfriend of almost 4 years was killed in a terrible accident, just 4 houses away from her home.

Again, I didn’t plan to talk about her today.

But ukhona umuntu o poste something about ama-sunsets, and suddenly I saw her, esemile futhi ngemva kwengqondo yami, in the soft space between memory and muscle.

But angisamcabangi ngendlela engizwisisa ubuhlungu khathesi, but, sengimkhumbula in a way that reminds me ukuthi: she existed.

She was real.

And for a long while, she was my everything.

There was a future we were building and I had been known for a while at her home, as her future husband.

Wayebhujelwe ngabazali. Wayehlala losisi wakhe, umkasisi wakhe, and their 2 little girls.

So I was shattered as I went through all the obligatory motions following ukusitshiya kwakhe — ukwazisa abangane lezihlobo, ama-arrangements awokubekwa kwakhe, le service…

And bonke abantu, around me, bangitshela ama obligatory responses lama-condolences.

I was grateful for, what I’m sure, ngama-heartfelt thoughts, but they did little to ease my grief, or touch me.

Some remarks, not intentionally, were even hurtful —

“Uselapho okungcono khona.”

"Kuyintando kaNkukunkulu, kwamkele, UNkulunkulu nguye okwaziyo”

Texts like:

“She wouldn’t want you to be sad.”

“It will get better with time.”

It's not like angi-understand… they are all kind. But, bonke, they did not understand the magnitude, and depth, of what I was experiencing.

And of course, the line I received a lot, and again, this is very kind and I’m sure sincere, was the text — “If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”

Let you know? I was in no condition yokuntshintsha even i-globe lingatsha endlini, or ngihambe ngizeyephutsha through a grocery store without being swept away in a torrent of grief at the sight of her favorite chocolate.

Oh, and there are 2 other things I was told that had profound significance...

The other is — ask me to talk about her.

Wonke umuntu ucabanga ukuthi, no singakhulumi ngaye, kuzamzwisa ubuhlungu — and laphana it's either umuntu ucabanga eyami i comfort, or more often, ukhangele elakhe i side.

The truth is, I have such an overwhelming need to feel her presence, through just ukuxoxa ngaye.

But just mentioning her name would silence a room.

Actually, people who invited me to talk about her brought me such relief and joy.

Yes, sometimes kwakungikhalisa, sometimes ngangihleka — but it always felt wonderful to have a moment where I didn’t have to deny that part of my life.

Even a decade later, lokhe kuliqiniso khonokhu.

The other great thing, engayitshelwa ngomunye, which has been proven to be essential — BREATHE!

Grief is trauma. It’s living perpetually in your fight or flight response. When you breathe — three slow, deep breaths — it takes you out of that state. The wave of sadness can pass, you can be ok.

Ku simple, but incredibly effective. I owe a lot to breathing.

So here is where the best, kindest, most truly empathetic response comes in… one person, a friend of hers, came to me and, without any prompting, stated — I will be at your house, every Monday at 9am. Have a list of whatever you need done, and I will take care of it.

I still cry, a decade later, remembering that. It was such a gift — it demonstrated, through action, how much she had loved my girlfriend, how she understood how overwhelmed I was, and practically, how much I would be needing real help.

She didn’t wait to be asked. She was there every week, until I let her know I would be ok.

My gratitude to her endures forever.

So, though I lost touch with her, a few years ago I did some searching and found her, now living in another city.

She had stepped forward with sensitivity and generosity when I was so in need.

It felt important to me to let her know, first of all, how impactful and meaningful her support was to me following my girlfriend’s death — for I had never really told her.

When I contacted her and told her, she was amazed. She said it was just a simple act of paying it forward, for all the kindnesses my girlfriend had shown her.

And then she also told me that receiving my unexpected message, and reading it, actually helped pull her out of the funk she was currently experiencing in her own life.

It’s like it’s all come full circle.

Please, be careful with words!

But if you truly want to help someone grieving — don’t just say it... show up.
..

Tau Kelvin

17/07/2025

A few years ago, I went to a family gathering ng'khaya. It was one of those you just can’t say no to.

There was food. Lotshwala. People sat around, omama benabile, bethandele intsaro zabo, obaba behlezi mostly on ama plastic chairs.

Umam' omncane wami wayekhona. She leaned over at some point, tilted her head toward omunye usisi owayehlezi yedwa duze lesihlahla sompintshisi.

“Usayikhumbula i classmate yakho,” watsho uMam' omncane. “Yazi ubone okunengi empilweni usisi lo.”

I looked again. Ngamkhumbula. Ngabona amakhala akhe elokhe engantshintshanga. But wayesephela umzimba, and her eyes had now sat deep in her face, angani she’d seen things no one should see.

She smiled, but not kimi — just into the space between us, and ukukubobotheka kwakhe kwakungathi it's just a thing her face did on its own.

My eyes stung.

She was eighteen when she got married.

Wathathwa yindoda e rough. His was fifteen years older. Had a rough face, and even rougher hands.

Akuzange kwamthathela even inyanga eyodwa ukuthi akubone ukuthi indoda emthetheyo yindoda enatha angathi his life depends on it.

He’d drink, abengumuntu o violent. Sometimes ngenqindi, sometimes edobhe noma yini eseduze — bhanti, stulo, and later on wazobuya lemvubu.

“Hamba kumam'akho,” he’d say. “Ubuye lemali.”

She’d refuse.

Ihwatshwe imvubu. Futhi.

She told her mother. Umam'akhe wathi,

“Bonke abafazi badlula kikho. Umendo uyabekezelwa.”

I imagine her hearing that and knowing the difference between “patience” and “perishing”.

Umamazala wakhe waye worse. She used to eat twice, the whole day. Nxa ukudla kukuncane, it was always her fault.

There was washing, scrubbing, stooping, hands in soap water until her fingers turned pale.

Wazithwala.

That family said, “Bafuna umntwana ongumfana.”

It was a girl.

Indoda yakhe yamtshaya the same day yokubelethwa komntwana wabo. He didn’t wait. She held the baby, wazihlikihla igazi ebusweni bakhe yedwa, waphuma.

She told me she thought of the river that night. Thought of walking into it, just to see how deep it was.

But wayengami ukukhala. Wakhangela umntwana ebusweni, wabona umlomo omncane oyi pink, wacabanga, “Ithi ngizame kusasa kodwa.” So, she didn’t go to the river.

She went to an older sister.

After that, she started working ezindlini. She washed clothes, washed plates, washed anything they gave her for five, six hours. She got 5 to ten bucks a day for that.

That’s how she survived — $5, sometimes $10 a day. It was just enough for the two of them.

Then iqolo lakhe lakhalala. Couldn’t stand straight anymore. She stopped taking house jobs.

Then came umsebenzi wase toy factory. She packed plastic toys, little dolls that she could never afford for her own daughter. That irony was never lost on her.

Then wathola umsebenzi emakete. Owokuthengisa amaplastiki. Ehola $150.

She said,

“UNkulunkulu usiza ozamayo.”

I met umntanakhe oyinkazana. She’s grown tall. She aced 9 subjects in her ordinary levels. Ufuna ukuba ngudokotela. She said it the way someone says, “I want to save lives, because someone once saved mine.”

My classmate didn’t have a plan when she left that house. Just a baby and two gold earrings. But she kept moving.

Thanks for reading.
..

Tau Kelvin

15/07/2025

In my early twenties, ngangicabanga ukuthi I'm doing everything right.

I worked hard and ignored distractions, ngizama ukulungiselela elakusasa lami. While some of my friends were out chilling, traveling, or just taking things slow, I was building. Learning skills, ngithatha ama freelance jobs, trying to be “future-ready.” Ngizitshela ukuthi ngingaqinisela khathesi, impilo izangibhadala later.

Now I’m 39. And guess what?

I’m back at zero. Ngiqala phansi. Rebuilding.

Meanwhile, some of abantu labana engangibakhangela ngibone angathi they are just cruising through life? Baziphilele kahle khathesi. Married, good careers, maybe even expecting their first grandchild. Impilo zabo zikhangeleka zi… stable. Settled.

Sometimes kungitshaya inhliziyo.

Not in a jealous way, but in that quiet, “How tha f*ck?” kind of way.

Kanti vele kwenzakala njani ukuthi I'm the one who tried so hard, but yibo asebekhanya angathi they have it all figured out?

Ngangicabanga ukuthi I was way ahead.

Ungaqala ukuziphandela early, uyabe usukhangelele ukuthi things will fall into place sooner.

And for a while, it felt like they would. I ticked wonke ama box ami: productive, consistent, always thinking five steps ahead. Ngilama sacrifices amanengi engawenzayo — ukulala, isikhathi labangane, even moments I should’ve just enjoyed but didn’t, because I was too focused on “the plan.”

But impilo ayilandeli manual. Sometimes, izinto ziyenzeka nje, ungene iganga.

iCareer iyantshintsha indlela. iBurnout ikutshaye. Or maybe you just realize ukuthi lokhu akusakusebenzeli anymore.

Yikho okwayenzakala kimi.

Suddenly, the things I spent years building felt like they didn’t belong in my life anymore. And that was terrifying. Ngoba, ukuqala phansi khona vele kunzima, but ukuqala phansi after you’ve already tried your best? That’s something else totally. Kuhlukene. It cuts deeper.

So the comparison hits.

And it’s hard not to notice.

Abantu engibaziyo baqala uku posta ama lobola day photos, job promotions, izindlu ezintsha, labantwana. I'm genuinely happy for them. But deep down, kukhona okuyi-voice phakathi kwami okuthi:

“Wait… kanti ayisuwe owawusenza izinto ngendlela eqondileyo? Kanti ayisuwe owawulala ungalele, usebenza emini lebusuku while they were ‘just figuring things out’? So how come nguwe osuqala phansi khathesi?”

It feels unfair.

But the more ngicabanga ngakho, the more nginanzelela ukuthi:

Maybe life was never a race.
Maybe salandela indlela ezihlukeneyo kuphela, and some roads need more time.

Into esengiyifunde the hard way…

No one actually has it all figured out.

Abanye abantu just have better timing. Abanye bathola i support. Some took longer but khathesi they’re thriving. And abanye baphakathi kwe chaos, abakhulumi ngakho nje.

Also: abantu bakhula in different seasons. Akula “too late” when it comes to ukuba ngumuntu okumele ube nguye.

Ngangicabanga ukuthi because ngaqala strong, kutsho ukuthi I deserve to finish early. But khathesi sengikukhangela differently.

Starting strong is good. But ukuphinda uqale, after yonke into — it builds something deeper. Resilience. Clarity. A better connection with what actually matters.

A new way to look at it….

Maybe angehlulekanga. Maybe impilo yayifuna ukungiphaphamisa nje. To rebuild something that fits me better, with more honesty, more freedom, more intention.

So khathesi lokhe ngisebenza nzima. But not because ngesaba ukulandela emuva. Ngikwenza ngoba I trust ukuthi okuvele kungokwami vele kusendleleni yokuza kimi.

And kuzafika on time.

I no longer chase timelines set by others. I want to build on my own terms, trusting that what’s meant for me will come when it’s supposed to.

Impilo i weird njalo. No matter how much you plan, hustle, or stress, impilo ayilandeli logic, or fairness.

But that’s just part of being human.

We can’t control the timing, and we can’t control other people’s journeys. Thina esingakwenza yikuqhubeka, ukuba sifunda, and to keep trusting that our own path will come together — even if it’s slower, messier, or less predictable than we imagined.

I am not late.

I am just human.

And kushap.

I'll keep building, keep trusting, and speaking it like it’s already real. Because it is.

---

Tau Kelvin

14/07/2025

Ngike ngaba ngulova okwesikhathi eside. I remember ama days ngihayisa ibhara yang'khaya. It wasn’t because ngangifuna, but yimpilo eyakwenza kwaba necessary.

Ibhara leyana yathwala iztori ezinengi. Abanye babengifakela okuncane ngingabathwalisa maybe izamende zabo, izitina, ukhethe or anything nje, even ama grocery or umqhuba wezingadi.

Some days, ngangithola ama R10 awokuya esigayweni, ngibuye ngimhlophe nke, sengigcwele uthuli lwempuphu.

Nxa ibhara izihlalele, yifotsholo edlala i front — it's either ngiyagebha, ngi-clear ama rubble, cleaning ama yard. Noma yini, i-job yi-job.

There was one family I never skipped, though most boys refused to take their jobs.

“Umdala ukhipha nzima,” they’d grumble.

But mina ngangifika. Every time.

Their house leaned tired ekhoneni lasekasi lami, it looked like even the walls wanted to leave.

But i yard yayihlala ithanyeliwe. Always clean. Controlled. Like they still had pride where poverty wanted shame.

The father was injured. Wayengasasebenzi.

But he was always there, bedlala intsoro or ibhola lomphepha, with his 9-year-old son.

Nxa sekumele angibhadale, wayeqhubela umntanakhe imali. Emtshele ukuthi angiphe malini, emtshele ukuthi angiqhubele njani, emtshele lokuthi ethini kimi.

The boy would pay me grinning, eziqhenya, like he was the man of the house — ngoba ngesikhathi sona leso, he was.

That father didn’t have much. Sasimbiza insweli.

But wayekhulisa umfana okwazi inhlonipho, ukulalela, le maths.

Poor in wallet, rich in lessons.

Izikhwama zakhe zazibhobokile, but not ubuntu bakhe.

Ngoba abanye abazali abalakho okunengi,

but they still sweep the yard, and they still play with their kids. Even though singakuboni, they are raising some wealth we can’t measure.

---

Tau Kelvin

11/05/2025

Today we're celebrating Mother's Day. So, I want to tell you what my Father did to my Mother, that I will never forget.

My father left us.

He just left.

Akasivalelisanga. Akasinikanga warning. Even a final hug. Just a car accident—and he was gone.

Just like that.

It wasn’t a choice. It wasn’t a fight. One minute wayesemgwaqweni… on the next, he was a memory. Even though it was sudden, and ruthless, abadala bathi kuyintando kaNkukunkulu.

I was barely a year, and a few months old, when it happened. Ngangiyi-second born yakhe. Ngangiyi-middle child yemhuli yakhe. Ubhudi wami wayemdala kulami nge ten years—he remembers things I can only imagine. And my younger brother… well, he wasn’t even born yet.

Ubab'ami akazange wasibona isicino sakhe.
Akazange wasithwala ezandleni zakhe. Akazange wasizwa sikhala, or sihleka, or simbiza "baba".

Lami angizange ngambiza njalo. Ngangisasemncane kakhulu to form the word ngesikhathi ukufa kwakhe kusiqoqodela.

Let’s rewind back there, to.. 1987. When we were a family on the rise—when my parents were still building, still dreaming. Ubhudi wami wayeselayo i-bond lobaba, lama-memories engifisa ngabe lami ngilawo. Ngangisafunda ukuhamba. And yena uMam'ami, glowing with life, wayezithwele, ethwele umntwana owayezabelethwa engaselaye ubaba.

Ubaba wahlangana lengozi leyi mhlaka 17 August, and from that day, yonke into yantshintsha.

That accident did not just take a man's life. It took the future he was meant to have with us. Ingozi leyi yasithathela ama birthdays, ama school visits, the father-son talks, protection, guidance... lothando.

Just like that.

Ngakhula ngingelaye, but ngisizwa ngaye. Ngathola isibongo sakhe, i reputation yakhe, lobuso bakhe ngabuthola in my Mother's old photos—but I never got his presence.

Ngatholani mina... mina ngathola uMama.

Ekhala. Ezithwele. Inhliziyo idabukile.

But she was unshakable.

She could’ve broken into a million pieces.

She could’ve passed us off to izihlobo, or looked for omunye umuntu to take over. But no—she became a one-woman army. She showed up. Each and every single day.

She raised a teenager, a toddler, and a newborn—all while trying to hold herself together. She worked a job that wore her out, buried her own brother (an uncle, just a few years later), and still made sure ukuthi silala sidlile.

She never remarried. She never gave up.

She built something sacred from the ashes, for us.

Even though, i childhood yami yaqala nge-loss, ngikhumbula uthando kuphela. Uthando lwakhe.

Quiet, relentless, and unshakable.

That’s what makes a real hero. Not power. Not glory. But choosing to keep going when life gives you every reason to quit.

She is my story. My spine. My strength.

My mother.
My protector.
My Superwoman.

Happy Mother's Day to each and every Mother out there. You are all angels. 😇

---

Tau Kelvin

20/02/2024

Before I was old enough to go to school, my best friend was a little boy from across the street.

His name was Kingston. And we were almost inseparable.

Then, just before starting school, we moved away, from Queenspark West to Gwabalanda.

We visited uKingston le family yakhe a few times over the next couple of years, and then umamami waqala ukuthi kukhatshana kakhulu and making other excuses for not visiting.

Ngokuya kwesikhathi ukungamboni uKingston ngaqala ukukujwayela but angizange ngamkhohlwa.

When I came back from Botswana, I went back to my hometown and stayed with my mother.

While looking through her old photo albums, ngatshayisana le invitation to one of Kingston’s birthday parties.

Umama wasengitshela iqiniso ngoKingston for the first time. One day, umama lo NaKingston had taken us to the doctor together for ama regular checkups ethu.

My results came back normal, and Kingston’s showed that he had leukemia. He still looked healthy ngesikhathi sisuka eQueenspark, and for the next couple of years.

But then waqala ukuba visibly ill and umamami didn’t want me to know, so bathola ama-reasons to stop the visits.

But Mama secretly kept writing and ekhuluma lomama kaKingston efonini for several years afterwards, and wayekwazi ukuthi uKingston wabhubha not long after our visits stopped.

Even though yayisiminengi iminyaka ayisidlulile, I was very shaken and saddened by that news, and to this day lokhe ngifisa ukuthi ngabe ngatshelwa ukuthi kwenzakalani and ngathola ithuba lokumvavalelisa.

All this happened in the late ’80s and early '90s (I was born in 1986).

Then, a year ago, I decided to try and find out what had happened to Kingston’s family.

Mom had lost contact with umama kaKingston ngo1999, when she moved away from her last address, so my only recourse was to search online with what I had from my own memories.

After a long search, finally, ngatshayisana le picture kaKingston on a genealogy website and sent an email to his cousin.

She put me in touch with her mother, one of osisi bakaKingston. We exchanged several emails with memories of Kingston, and though she wasn’t much older than him she vaguely remembered the little boy across the street (me) who had been his friend.

I scanned several photos of him and me together from engangiwathatha kuma photo albums akamamami and sent them to her ngeWhatsapp, including a few in which he was wearing the same clothes as in the picture they had put on the website.

She was so glad to know ukuthi ukhona omunye umuntu from outside the family that still remembered her little brother with fondness.

I’m 37 and I still wish I could have seen him once more, but okuyi-experience lokhu at least it finally gave me a little closure.
..

Remember to Follow the AfroVille Music channel on WhatsApp: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029Va9LY934NVil2Clz1N29

..

Tau Kelvin

23/07/2023

You got married. Inkosi yakubusisa ngabantwana. Wabakhulisa with everything you had. Yahamba iminyaka. Bakhula.

But then bahamba bakukhohlwa.

You had a brother. Lalidlala lonke. Lakhula lonke. Wawumbona eyi-strength sakho.

But then wakubulalela indlu yabazali benu.

You set-up a business. Found a partner. You shared the same dreams. You visioned them together.

But when time came, he betrayed you.

You fell for her. You loved her like anything. Made promises. Wawutshela abantu ukuthi she is the one.

But then she slept with your best friend.

You crossed paths with a stranger. Laqala ubungane. Laba ngama besties. Wayengumuntu ongamthemba ngempilo yakho.

But wakugwaza emhlane.

Into ebuhlungu kakhulu empilweni it's that wena usungafaka ama efforts akho, isikhathi sakho, i energy yakho lothando lwakho lonke but when time comes, most people will choose what suits their self interest the most.

And not yours.
..

Tau Kelvin

19/07/2023

Ngangena e supermarket, one day ekuseni. Ngasengilambe kakhulu.

Kuyini engingakudla khathesi? Ngidle into elamasawudo? Or something sweet?

Ngidle something light and quick? Or ngikhethe into ezangisuthisa kai 1??

Itiye le toast elamaqanda, maybe isinkwa le avocado? Ama buns...? Maybe ama samoosa?? Or maybe i juice!

Ngangifuna something sibili, but ngingazi ukuyini.

Then ukhona omunye umama owama eceleni kwami enatha amahewu. Ngambuza ukuthi anjani amahewu awanathayo.

Angikaze nginathe amahewu amnandi so, she said.

Ngathatha one efrijini, ngiqeda kuthenga - ngayivula ngadonsa one big sip. Ngangingakaze ngizizwe ngihalela amahewu empilweni yami, but they were creamy, ejiyile and ahlala esiswini and I felt like umzimba wami wonke wawungibonga for ukukhetha something that I really needed.

Impilo injalo.

Angazi ngifunani.

But instead of ukuthi kungicaphule, - or ngizwe angathi angiphelelanga, or ngibe stressed or fearful or closed off - ngizwa angathi ukungazi into engiyifunayo kuyi gift. And not a curse.

Kungenza ngibe receptive, open and ready ukwamkela ezinye izinto ezintsha engizazithanda empilweni yami.
..

Tau Kelvin

25/12/2022

Nanka ama festive Rules..

Abanengi sivakatshile, so:

1. Umntwana engakutshengisa i drawing or i painting yakhe, ungambuzi ukuthi, "Kuyini khonokhu?", and ungazami ukugetsa, mcele ukuthi akuchasisele kuphela.

2. Sharing is caring.

3. Omunye umuntu engakhuluma i joke, and you don't think it's funny, kumele lawe uhleke okusalayo.

4. Nxa uphikisana lomunye umuntu ungakhwezi ilizwi, it doesn't prove ukuthi you are the one who's right.

5. Qala ufone ungakayi endlini yabantu, avoid being an "unwanted guest ".

6. Before ugada, whether ngumtshova or yibhasi, dlulisa ama passengers kuqala before ungena (be patient since bonke abantu bedinga ukuba somewhere - labo bajahile njengawe).

7. Ungaboleka imota yomuntu, ibisele itheliwe umhluzu and make sure it's in good condition.

8. Ungaqeda uku shopper, ungatshiyi inqola yakho lapho okuhamba khona abantu, ifake lapho okuhlala khona ama shopping carts.

9. Nxa uxolisa, inkulumo yakho ungayiqedisi nge excuse, kuyabe sokungathi you're justifying ama wrong actions akho.

10. When scrolling on your Facebook, don't forget to react to posts that you agree with or enjoyed.

Merry Christmas! ;) 🤶
..

Tau Kelvin

Tau Kelvin

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