I WAS THIN LIKE A WIRE, BUT I NEVER DROPPED THE PEN

From Hiding Under My Boots To Standing In The Sunlight

Let me start by talking to you the way I wish someone talked to me back then. Straight. No sugar. No performance. Just truth.

There was a time in my life when I found myself lost in a dreary world. And when I say dreary, I don’t mean it was just cloudy outside. I mean the kind of dreary that sits in your chest and makes it hard to breathe. The kind where you open your eyes in the morning and you’re already tired. I was living on prayer alone. That was my breakfast, my lunch, and my dinner. Prayer in the morning, prayer at night, prayer in between when the fear got too loud.

There was no one else there for me. Not in the way that counts. People were around, but they were not _with_ me. You know that feeling? Where you can be in a room full of people and still feel like you’re on another planet. That was me every day. And because of that, I became thin like a small wire. Not just in my body, but in my spirit. I was easy to bend, easy to overlook, easy to forget. I was hiding under my boots. I made myself small on purpose. When you’re small, people don’t expect much from you. And when people don’t expect much, they can’t be disappointed. And when they can’t be disappointed, they can’t hurt you as much.

But even in that smallness, I had one big thing. My vision and my GO was my purpose. It was the only thing that was bigger than me. And prayer was my only get-go. It was how I started my day and how I ended it. I didn’t have money to fall back on. I didn’t have people to call. I had God, a pen, and a promise I made to myself that I would not quit.

• > “When your pockets are empty, let your purpose be full.”

THE SEASON THEY CALLED NONSENSE

Even when the world around me told me that what I was doing was nonsense, I stood up inside myself and answered back. I said it quietly at first, and then louder: “Nonsense is what I was born to do.”

Because here’s the truth you need to know. You don’t know why I’m here. But I do. I know why I’m here. My purpose is to keep what makes me smile. What makes me happy. What makes my heart beat faster. That’s it. That’s the whole job description.

So I became a collector of small joys. I collected them like other people collect money.

If a child on the street told a joke and I laughed for 5 seconds, I wrote it down.

If the sun came through a cracked window and landed on my face and felt warm, I wrote it down.

If I dreamed about food and woke up smiling instead of sad, I wrote it down.

If someone said one kind word to me in a week, I wrote it down and underlined it twice.

Every single thing that brought a glimpse of a smile on my face, I jotted it down. My room looked crazy. Papers everywhere. Notebooks with bent corners. The backs of receipts. Old envelopes. The margins of books I borrowed and never returned because I couldn’t afford to buy my own. It was messy, but it was mine.

And people took it naughty. They took it for naughty. They didn’t understand it, so they decided to laugh at it. They laughed at me. They scored me. They scored me again. They mocked me. They destructed me.

I remember my uncle coming to visit. He looked around at all my papers and said, “So when are you going to get a real job?” And everyone laughed. I laughed too, because that’s what you do when you’re the joke. But inside I was thinking, “This is my real job. You just can’t see the paycheck yet.”

I was on top of a razor blade. Gliding. Every day felt like one wrong step and I would get cut. I was confused. I did not know where to land. I didn’t know if I was doing the right thing or the dumbest thing of my life. I was on an eggshell. Walking carefully. Afraid to break. Afraid to be broken.

But even there, even on the razor blade, even on the eggshell, I found myself holding a pen again. Most of my dreams, I was holding a pen. In my sleep I was writing. In my pain I was writing. In my hunger I was writing. The pen never left my hand because I was scared that if I put it down, I would disappear.

THE HARD YEARS - LET’S NOT PRETEND

I need to tell you this part properly, because if I skip it, I’m lying to you.

It was hard. Really hard.

There were months where I didn’t know where the next meal was coming from. I would drink water and call it dinner. I would tell myself, “Your body can live on faith and air for a little while.” My clothes were big on me because I was thin like a wire. I would wear the same shirt three times and spray it with water and hope nobody noticed.

Electricity was a luxury. So I wrote by candlelight. I wrote with my legs tucked under me because the floor was cold. I wrote while my stomach made noises that sounded like a drum. And still, I wrote.

Not because I was brave. Because I was desperate. Because if I stopped writing, the silence in my head would be too loud. The questions would be too big. “What if they’re right? What if this is nonsense?”

So I kept writing to answer the question.

I wrote: “Today I was hungry. But I saw two birds fighting over a crumb and it was funny. Keeping this.”

I wrote: “Today nobody called. But the sky was blue. Keeping this.”

I wrote: “Today I cried. But I’m still here. Keeping this.”

People thought I was wasting my time. They would say, “You’re young. Go do something useful.” And I would nod. But inside I was thinking, “This is useful. You just can’t see it yet.”

There’s a proverb I held onto: “The tree that grows through rock grows slow, but its roots break stone.” I was that tree. Growing through rock. Growing slow. Growing in pain. But growing.

• > “Hard times don’t build character. They reveal it. And mine was: don’t drop the pen.”

THE LAUGHTER IN THE MIDDLE OF IT

Okay, can we laugh for a second? Because if we don’t laugh, we’ll drown.

It looked ridiculous. I know it did.

Me: thin like a wire.

Me: living on prayer and tap water.

Me: calling myself a writer when my only audience was the wall.

I once went to a meeting trying to look professional. My shirt had a hole. My shoes were old. And my pen leaked. I walked in with ink on my fingers and I still said, “Hello, I’m a writer.” They looked at me like I said, “Hello, I’m an astronaut.”

I once wrote an entire page on a pizza box because I ran out of paper. I ate the pizza first, obviously. Priorities. That pizza box is framed now. I’m not even joking.

I once told someone I was working on a book and they asked, “What’s it called?” And I said, “I don’t know yet. Working title: Things That Kept Me Alive.” They never asked again.

Even God must have been watching me like, “My child, what are you doing?” And I was like, “Father, this made me smile. I’m keeping it for later when I need evidence.”

The point is, it was funny and sad at the same time. And that’s life, right? It’s both.

THE TURNING - WHEN THINGS STARTED TO SHIFT

But I never gave up.

I only focused on what I knew to be right.

And what I knew to be true.

And that was to continue writing what I was writing.

I didn’t have a backup plan. I didn’t have savings. I had faith, a pen, and a lot of stubbornness. And somehow, that was enough.

Then little doors started to open. Not big doors. Little ones.

First, one person read something I wrote and said, “This helped me.”

Then another person said, “I needed to hear that.”

Then someone gave me 100 rand to write something for them. I bought groceries. I felt rich.

Slowly, the wire started to get weight. Not fat. Weight. Substance.

And today I can firmly stand up and testify to you: I have never wasted my time. I never wasted my youth.

Everything that I did, every page, every tear, every night I chose the pen over sleep — it’s paying off now.

And the people who were laughing? Guess what.

Now they are the ones on top trying to do the same thing I was doing before.

Now they are holding pens.

Now they are writing in books.

Now they are posting quotes that sound exactly like my old notebooks.

And then they come back to me.

“How did you do it?”

“How did I die? How did I do it?”

And I look at them. I’m not bitter. I’m just honest. I say: “When I was doing it, were you not laughing at me?”

• > “The people who throw stones at your foundation will later ask you how you built the house.”

• > Proverb: You can’t plant thorns and then ask the farmer why he has no flowers.

NOW I’M BRIGHT - LIKE A SUNFLOWER

Let me tell you about now. Because you need to hear this part.

Now I’m like a sunflower receiving enough sunlight and water.

I wake up and I’m not scared.

I write and people read it.

I speak and people listen.

I walk into rooms and I don’t hide anymore.

My heart beats faster, but for good reasons. For new ideas. For new chances. For the messages I get that say, “Your story kept me alive last night.”

I cry now, but it’s different. It’s the rosemary-flowers-after-rain cry. It’s the “God, You saw me” cry.

I bought new shoes. I bought a desk. I bought a lamp so I don’t have to write by candlelight anymore. CEO of Bucket Inc has officially retired 😂

I’m not saying life is perfect. It’s not. But the weight is different. Before I was carrying pain. Now I’m carrying purpose. And purpose is lighter.

I get to help people who are where I was. Thin like a wire. Hiding under their boots. Holding a pen in the dark. And I get to tell them: “Keep going.”

THE LESSONS I’M LEAVING YOU

So to you guys who are outside there, who don’t know me, who don’t know how I started, listen.

My goal to you is this: Do not lean on someone else. Be your own boss.

Focus on what you know to be true.

Focus on what you know to be right.

Aim high... and you will achieve great.

When I was gliding on top of a razor blade, confused, not knowing where to land, I only found myself writing things in books with my own hands.

When I was on the eggshell, I found myself holding a pen again.

That pen saved me.

That writing saved me.

That prayer saved me.

And I’m asking you now: do the same. Pick up your pen. Whatever your pen is.

For some of you it’s music. For some it’s business. For some it’s cooking. For some it’s just getting up every day and trying again. Pick it up.

If you are facing challenges, come to me. Ask me.

I know what I faced in my life. And I don’t want you to face the same thing alone. I’m there for you.

FINAL WORDS - DON’T DROP THE PEN

I was thin like a wire.

I was laughed at.

I was scored.

I was told I was wasting my time.

But I kept what made me smile.

I kept what made my heart beat.

I kept writing.

And now look at me. Standing. Testifying. Bright.

So if you’re in your wire season right now, I see you.

If you’re on your eggshell right now, I see you.

If people are calling your dream nonsense right now, I see you.

Don’t drop the pen.

Write down the small joys.

Pray when you have nothing else.

And keep going.

Because one day you’ll be the one standing up saying: “I never wasted my time.”

And the ones who laughed will be in the front row asking: “Teach me how.”

And you’ll smile, because you’ll remember.

It was never about being the biggest.

It was about never dropping the pen.

• > “The world doesn’t remember who laughed the loudest. It remembers who lasted the longest.”

• > “Purpose doesn’t shout. It writes. Quietly. Until the world has to listen.”

Brand

Join us and be the first to explore stories that speak to your heart.

Know More

Newsletter

Privacy Policy

About Us

© 2024. All rights reserved.

Refund Policy

Contact Us

Terms-conditions

Our Services

FAQ