I remember how she looked down without a hint of uncertainty; she just looked there before giving it all up. I can't forget how quiet it was after she had done it. Everyone just stared……. 24 of September 2021. It was a Friday. The day I started to like speeches…. Why? No idea. I was 13, I didn't use to pay attention to any speech before but that exact day I wanted to listen, we can say the speech itself kinda pulled me. Anyways, that exact speech was about suicide, It was the first time I felt that weird feeling… fear?.... sadness?.. No, it was a mix of disgust, surprise, horror. It was something I can't really call. After like ten minutes of that speech at my home I decided to go look out of the window which was a decision I will regret for the rest of my life; I saw people walking here and there until I saw them…. two kids were looking out of their window and playing… then they just fell….I wanted to yell, scream, tell anyone but I couldn't I was just freezing looking down seeing the two kids lying in their own blood. People were rushing there but they couldn't do anything except watch, covering their kids' eyes and rushing to their own homes. Five minutes later the mother of the two kids was freaking out, where her precious kids could disappear, she looked through the window seeing them down there I didn't catch her look clearly, but I can imagine how desperate she looked, how she wanted all of this to be a dream. In the blink of an eye, she went inside and came back standing on the edge of the window. More people started gathering screaming telling her not to do it. But no one dared to go up the stairs and save her, they didn't even try to gather down there holding anything to catch her. All they did was scream, did they really want her to be saved? Or they just wanted to make themselves feel like they did anything good. That doesn't matter, they all got quiet the moment she jumped, no one of them dared to move, to even put a hand to catch her, they just froze and covered her face after she died and left. Was this all a show to them to just watch and leave? Or just 3 minutes advertisement for death. How the people that wasn't even there dared to help victimized the only one who ran upstairs and tried to save her “HER HUSBAND”. It made me realize how selfish people are, how all they care about is how they look, how desperate they want to make their brain think they did enough while they didn't. Now I am 17 and I still can remember clearly the full accident when I look through that exact window at my house, I just remember the exact thing that happened, and I can't forget it. Sometimes I wish I just slept late that night and woke up late that day.

I have never been good at vocalizing myself, especially around crowds or new people, whether with relatives, school pupils or strangers. I would get excessively overwhelmed and swallowed up by my fear. Though I am not too accurate of the time when I transitioned into the reserved incommunicable girl, I had become, because I am told that as a toddler I used to be bubbly and boisterous. The life of the party as some might say. But what I do remember is someone who was intimidated by everything and everyone, even asking to go to the toilet or to ask for elaboration during a lesson at school. On the year after I finished 2nd grade, I changed schools to attend at a multi-racial school. I had no understanding of the English language and would look perplexed whenever I was engaging with other students or teachers. I think that's when my phobia of people ensued, I was embarrassed that I could not speak like the other kids and that I was the only one in class who could not converse in English. The shaky confidence I was trying to uphold collapsed exposing my vulnerability. A few months later, I grasped the language and gradually acquired more knowledge of it. I jumped that huddle but more were awaiting me in future. My lack of self-esteem weighed me downwards, right up until I was in high school, though I would start to garner confidence in the tenth grade when I was hailed as one of the best writers in the English class. I was still dead quiet and awkward. I didn't realise it, but I was a pen craft and that caught the attention of my grade ten form and English teacher. We had been given an assignment to write a speech on the topic of our desire, which we were supposed to present in front of the class. Through that speech I wrote, Mr Sommers (English teacher) started to have an understanding of the person I was and saw within me potential I never thought myself to have. He heightened my thirst to sharpen writing skills. Two years before I had started writing poetry but never thought that I was good enough to mention it to anyone so it was my pleasant little secret. I was called weird and peculiar due to my inward disposition. Cast aside because I was uncool and unbecoming. When it came to literature and writing in class though, a different tune would be sung. Writing lifted my spirit, gratified and reminded me of the fact that I was good at something and worthy of admiration and praise. This alleviated doubts I had concerning self-image, intellect and the overall perception of life. In words I found consolation, I realised the affect they had and that if aligned competently they can alter a persons' train of thought for their betterment. From grade ten to matric (grade 12), his class was the only one, besides the IsiZulu (mother tongue) class that I could expressively act. He allowed me, as well as the other girls to be the best versions of ourselves. After I matriculated (graduated from high school) I got a rude awakening that my lack of self-confidence was only a hindrance in the path of the progression of my life. I even wrote a poem about this titled 12 years of nothing because I only achieved two of the five distinctions I had wanted. Which left me pondering on words that a former class mate had said to me. She told me to open up a bit so that people would perceive me for who I was and so I could have a voice. I found it more relevant than ever to use my writing skills, because I had entered a new phase of my life, gone was the old, in was the new and I knew no one. Me, paper and pen, became inseparable to the point that a guy in my community said I would become psychotic because I was forever reading and writing. With each poem I wrote I noticed growth, maturity and it served as a reminder of the person I authentically was and whom I wanted to evolve into. Writing helped when, I was at college studying Film and Television Production. I possessed the ability to compose a concept for a story far more adequately, than my fellow college mates because writing regularly assisted me in reaching my full potential in terms of the vocabulary of the English language. My enthusiasm as a writer is at its apex and I intend on using it for the betterment of my life and that of those around me. Each poem, essay, article or story I write is a representation of my experiences and opinion, I write about things that interest me or are breath-taking in a positive or negative manner. It assists me in observing the status quo, events happening me in my life, goals, dreams and fantasies. All these things get penned down each time I pick up a pen. I could not have chosen another career, writing is my life, joy and pride. It serves as an affirmation that there are more important things than social media and that readers are leaders and writers are the ones that hold the lighters to intellect.