September: Life, Death, Zumba, Birthdays, Love.

I hate September exactly as much as I love it, and I love it very much. See, a year ago, in this shitty month, my uncle died, then my little babyboo Daniella was born, then it was my Joshua’s birthday, then my mother died. All this within a period of three weeks. And 18 days into October, it’s going to be mom’s birthday.

This September has found me madly in love, so add that to the emotional pie.

I’m too full of feelings.

I can’t imagine how it must be for dad.

I am too full of feelings.

I read a self-help book once (wrapped in newspaper and only in dark places) about this man who was  learning life lessons from his former college teacher; a man  full of life and wisdom.

In the section about grief, the old man talked about how at 70, he still cried for his mother every day because time had done nothing for the pain. First thing in the morning, he’d allow himself to cry and then make a conscious decision to stop grieving for the day.

I used his system to devise one of my own, one where I wake up, bawl, and then ZUMBA. I do the quickie session- 9 minutes, sweat, stare at my body in the mirror for a second, marvel at how firm it has become and then take my bath.

September won’t drown me, no. I’m too busy loving and crying and dancing to die.

Today is Joshua’s birthday.

Joshua is the most secretive of my siblings. He’s a middleish kid- the 4^th of 6 and spends most of his time at home under a blanket with a computer, marahagaring. The blanket is necessary because dad has banned computer football games. Bad for the reading spirit.

Joshua is a beautiful boy with the largest, clearest eyes. He’s a silly, inquisitive inventor.

He’s one of those kids who still excel at mathematics in P.6, which means he’s going to do well in this system we have going that glorifies the coldness of numbers over the warmth of words.

Joshua talks too much and especially after he’s invented something. In the last holiday, he bent an empty beer can and stuck it over the front tire of his bike to make it produce rally car sounds. The boy chewed my ear about it for so long, I got malaria.

He’s a live wire and I love him.

And mom, he’s growing tall. He’s not remained short like you feared he would.

Sssssaaaaannnnkarai.

Happy Birthday, Cusi. You’re growing into daddy which is both terrifying and awesome.

About Miz. Kyrte

I read, I write, I love. My favorite quote is: We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing. Bukowski, baby! Extremes ;-)

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