The Expressos


Personal Narrative

Nereesha – Roses are red, but so are violets


It’s a surname that denotes many things. It means “headman” or “village chief”, describing a caste of village leaders. It commonly originates from Gujarati, or Indian, meaning that whoever happens to have Patel as a surname must definitely be Indian, no questions asked. It’s a popular surname that’s synonymous with goodness knows how many doctors, shop-keepers and wealthy hotel-owners that live in this world – probably more than the population of South Africa, I’d bet. Continue reading “Nereesha – Roses are red, but so are violets”

My life in a T-cup

The human race is so complex yet so exquisitely beautiful in the ways we choose to live our lives. This internal choice emanates through to our external actions. The most magnificent aspect of this is that it always changes. It’s not as static as a speed bump, stuck in one place. No, it’s more like an enjoyable rash placing itself on different parts of your body. This continuous change makes it apparent that people are always growing, changing and adapting to life’s daily demands.  Life does not remain constant, so how can we earthlings stay the same? Aspects of us stay the same, but the entire package changes like a mood ring on a pregnant woman’s finger. Continue reading “My life in a T-cup”

The brewing of my expression

I am not particularly skilled with musical instruments. I have dabbled in playing the piano, the recorder (who hasn’t?), and the drums. At the moment, I’m trying my hand(s) with the guitar and the ukulele. Despite a touch of natural rhythm, I still struggle through the rest. I am not talented with paintbrush or sketchpad, although I really wish I was. I engage in colouring as a medium to destress and relax, although I continue to over-analyse my colour choices. I am not going to be the next Lorde, or Beyoncé. My vocal range comes to a grand total of a single note (middle C, for those who were wondering).

While this was rather devastating when I realised, I’m coming to terms with it. I can work a pen with some grace, after all. Continue reading “The brewing of my expression”

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