Chronicles of Fly

I’m standing in the middle of a dry Oshana which seems to stretch on endlessly, from where I stand to the horizon. I look across to see thousands of grey mud cracks, curving up, as if to smile at me. Traversing the sea of mud cracks is a group of barefoot children in rag tag uniforms. They trot along, each with a homemade sling bag on the shoulder. I stop to catch my breath and as the morning breeze dries my brow, the gap between me and them starts to grow, I fall further behind. My short legs start to ache, the sandals on my feet feel like anchors, so I stop, I look back and I can’t even see home anymore. I start walking again and out of nowhere she walks towards me, long legs eating up the ground like a marathon runner. She reaches into her bag and flings a plastic bottle of Ontaku at me (a drink with the energy equivalent of 3 red bulls). I gleefully accept, opening it slowly to avoid it frothing and overflowing, and I chuck down a few refreshing gulps. She asks if I can run...

Read this to get yourself up to speed “ All day staring at the ceiling, Making friends with shadows on my wall. All night hearing voices telling me, that I should get some sleep. Because tomorrow might be good for something .” Unwell x Matchbox twenty.  January 2016, Friday One song defines my despondent relationship with myself, unwell by Matchbox twenty. Of all the rock bands I was listening to in my teens, that song resonated the most because it finally allowed me to make peace with myself. I came to terms with what I had always known but people around me, even my own family struggled with. I realized that it’s perfectly okay to be weird, to be a little abnormal, I was not crazy. Uniqueness and crazy are not mutually inclusive. That song was playing in my head for a good twenty minutes on a Friday afternoon, which I had spent lying on the bed staring sideways at the walls in my bedroom, my happy place since I moved back home. I was looking at those four walls as...