One Day.
365 days ago, I received word that a brother lost his battle, and I had nothing but questions.
364 days ago, I had answers — and I was angry. Enraged. Blindly infuriated.
363 days ago, I finally broke, and I had nothing left to say.
Fast forward to today, and I still have questions.
I still feel the weight…
but finally — I have something to say.
My brothers,
those who remain —
whether through blood, experience, time, or even something as mundane as proximity…
To you, I want to begin today not with what is broken,
but with what is whole.
I want to speak first of the great decisions you’ve made…
the ones no one applauds,
the ones no one sees.
You chose to get up today — even when your mind whispered stay down.
You chose to keep working, to keep building, even when the world offered no recognition.
You chose to love in quiet, unphotographed ways that echo not online,
but in hearts that will remember you long after you’re gone.
You chose to walk towards paths that challenge you,
even when destruction seemed simpler, safer, familiar.
These are baobab trees.
They are not small.
They are the living, legendary roots and stems of the forest that is your manhood.
For every season you survive,
every storm you weather,
every lesson you swallow whole —
you grow another ring inside you.
A deeper root.
A stronger core.
Something sacred, even if unseen.
But brothers…
we also know the shadows.
We know what lurks in the shade of our fruit.
We know the voices that whisper when everything gets quiet.
The choices that bite back.
The memories that feel too heavy to carry
and too painful to put down.
I know there are words you wish you could unsay,
and silences that scream louder than any apology.
Moments you wish you could rewind —
but can’t.
Here’s the truth:
Mistakes, missteps, and moments of collapse are not the end of your story.
They are growth rings in the wood,
evidence of storms you’ve endured.
They do not reduce your worth —
they deepen your story.
Forgive yourself.
Once more, for the people at the back:
Forgive yourself!
Not because it erases what happened —
but because it releases what’s been holding you hostage.
I’ve learned that carrying yesterday’s guilt into tomorrow
is like trying to sleep while running —
it makes no sense.
It doesn’t work.
The harder you try, the less you rest.
The stiller you sit, the louder the noise becomes.
And sometimes, the silence itself starts screaming.
Still… we rise.
Still… we breathe.
Keep your head down, yes —
but not in shame.
Keep it down in focus, in discipline,
in that stubborn faith that says:
“Not today.”
That unflinching conviction that whispers:
“I will not give up on life.
Even when life has given up on me.”
Find your honour in persistence.
Find your dignity in endurance.
Find your peace — the one buried beneath “I’m fine.”
Rivers do not stop flowing because block restrict the flow —
they simply find another way.
So must we.
Let go of the pressure that was never yours to carry.
The world taught us that to be a man is to shoulder everything until your back breaks —
to “just keep swimming.”
But take it from me:
that’s a lie.
Pressure makes diamonds, yes —
but pressure without release shatters the stone.
I’ll admit this openly:
The clarity I have now isn’t mine alone.
It’s been shaped by therapy,
by breakdowns,
by grace,
by quiet mornings when the only thing louder than my thoughts
was the sound of my own breathing.
I’m learning that it’s okay to not be okay —
which I’m not.
It’s okay to be a little lost —
which I am.
But most importantly,
it’s not okay to stay that way.
And I refuse to.
236 days ago, I finally understood that love doesn’t require pain to be real.
235 days ago, I understood that my people don’t need me to be shattered to care.
234 days ago, I understood that my family doesn’t need me breathless to know I lived.
They just need me alive.
Alive and present.
Just…
me — as I am.
So breathe.
Please — I beg you — breathe.
Put down the load of trying to be perfect.
We’re not invincible.
We were never meant to be.
We are nothing more — and nothing less —
than flesh, spirit, soul, and story.
And if you’re reading this, take comfort in knowing:
Your story continues.
As long as you keep telling it.
Every “Howzit.”
Every “Ekse, wakyn my bru”
Every nod, every laugh, every “Sho mfetu”
Energy cannot be destroyed — only transformed.
And so are we.
We transform.
We do better.
We reach out.
We live, love, and laugh again —
not because it’s easy,
but because it’s necessary.
Trees that fall grow roots again.
Seasons of drought give way to rain.
Doors that were once shut creak open when the time is right.
Life is not finished.
The story is still being written.
So, my brothers —
don’t give up on yourself.
Don’t surrender your breath before it’s time.
If the weight ever feels too much —
even if it doesn’t —
I am here.
Reach out.
Joy will return when you no longer measure yourself
by money,
by status,
by what others say —
or don’t say.
Peace will come when you stop apologising for resting,
for crying,
or needing help.
The doors of your past are not the measure of your tomorrow.
The heaviness on your back is not the definition of your manhood.
You are here.
You are breathing.
And that — in itself —
is proof enough that there is more for you.
Keep walking.
And when you look back one day —
you’ll see that surviving was never just about endurance.
It was always about evolution.
“One day”
Or
“Day one.”
Evolve.
"Cheers to you,
And cheers to me!
Cheers to friends that'll always be..."
