Six Ten AM

My daddy issues are endless, aren’t they? The lore is quite simple: my mother and my bio father had me extremely young. She was an impressionable 16-year-old. I won’t even speak on him, but he’s a sore subject in our household—and understandably so. Because when she finally told me their story, as a woman, having any contact with him made me feel uncomfortable, I suppose. And the fact that I may or may not have a sister somewhere in this city—4 months younger than me? That’s a whole other thing to unpack. Anyway, we bumped into each other earlier this year, and he messaged me on Facebook. I never use that app, so I only saw the text last month, I think. We got to talking about stuff, and he asked to see pictures of my daughter. He had even wanted to meet up, but we missed each other. And honestly? I’m grateful, because I never know what to say around him. In person, that is. My silence is so loud I’d win Beyoncé’s mute challenge. But then the man disappeared. I sent him a te...

After a certain point, some things just become too boring to entertain—especially what people think of you. I’m acknowledging that I’m mentally not in a good space. I don’t have the energy for much at the moment, and I keep getting unfounded, unsolicited opinions thrown at me, which is actually pissing me off. “Why are you letting this get to you?” Because of  who  is making these opinions. I cannot stand people who claim to know me because I barely know myself. I’m aware that I don’t give everyone the same version of me. Sure, there are consistencies in my character, but so much of who I am is influenced by the day-to-day life I live. There’s a lot I keep to myself because I know exactly what certain people judge others for. Maybe that’s a defense mechanism—I don’t know. These people say things that completely miss the mark, and it infuriates me because they genuinely believe they’ve got me all figured out. I’m not a puzzle to be solved. What I am, though, is someone who cons...

Guys, I’ve been on a streak of bad luck lately. My phone fell from my daughter’s cot and quite literally decided it’s done with life. Normally, I’d respect that decision—except it’s my phone, and I need it. It’s got everything on there. Maybe I should start a series called Keeping Up with Ntswaki (or Tess—take your pick. I write as Ntswaki, but otherwise, I’m Tess). I could keep you all updated on my chaotic life instead of starting blogs like this. What do you think? Right, let’s get into it, shall we? And yes, read that in a British accent, please. So, I’ve been sitting with this thought for a while, debating whether I even wanted to say it out loud. Mainly because I’ve realized some people—whether it’s from my blogs, statuses, or random musings—like to make shoes fit when they were never even in the store. People have reached a level of internalizing generalizations that’s honestly wild. Let me make this clear: I am...  not thinking about you like that. At least, not to the p...