Dear Old Self

Where is the carefree, mischievous and daring girl that I used to know? What happened to the crazy nights of debauchery and mayhem? The clawed nails and sweeping eyelashes? The red lipstick and scandalous dressing? Where is the fun loving, zero-fucks-given crazy girl?

You see, you and me where thick as thieves. We painted the city red in six-inch stilettos and redefined fabulous on levels beyond Kardashian. I loved you Maka, you were the goddess of sexual liberalism and feminine independence. You gave me power to stand as a woman in all my nakedness, unashamed and proud as hell. Your laugh, omg that laugh, the way you threw your head back and laughed from the soul gave me life. We conquered life one day at a time with the exuberance of a two-dollar prostitute. We flew on eagles’ wings, soared in the sky and defied gravity without a single strand of our weave out of place. Damn. I miss you Maka.

We drunk aquariums of pinna colada and led men on, only to drop them like a bag of hot potatoes. Oh how we enjoyed the drooling, tails wagging and the adrenalin rush of being hunted! I sit here reminiscing and I can’t help the burning tears scalding my cheeks. It’s all black and white without you Maka. I remember the day we hit that road trip to Durban without a spare wheel. I was so worried incase of a flay tyre. I will never forget your words of assurance “ Why worry when we can stand by the road side and cry with a tit hanging out?” You laughed and laughed and laughed. Hahaha the fire in your eyes, the determination and the zeal for life made me whole.

We called ourselves the seduction bid. I remember the way you used to dance so sensually in all the vulgarity of your sexiness. They called you a slut but you never cared even for a second. You carried on pushing that massive cleavage high like you owned the world.

Maka, Maka, Maka where are you?

I see you are married and you have a son. A mother now Maka? A wife? Wow, life has a way of sucking a person into its societal norms. We were set to travel the world and promised never to be found dead behind the bars of marriage. We were supposed to be free spirits, in sync with the wind… I look at the mirror and you are nowhere to be found. Instead a set of cold eyes stares back at me. The eyes of a woman, a classical stigma of sophistication and maturity. You have evolved into the same genre of the women we resented. Ha! It feels like the universe orchestrated this charade just to stab me in the back. A round of applause is in order.

I am forced to adapt to the wine and creams instead of the vodka and tequila. I love your son but I hate your husband who took you away from me! Sometimes I gawk at the mirror in hopes to catch a glimmer of that fire. Maybe you are still there deep inside. Just maybe. It’s alright Maka, I will hold on to the memories because its all I got. Its all I got.

7 Replies to “Dear Old Self”

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