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I Cry 
by Judith

The deafening silence of the night is affected by the sound of my voice 

It has become a music

I hear it too often

I hurt too quickly

No comforting voice to cushion the echo

This mountain bears it all

At times the sound was thunder

You could hear me so loud

Then it became a whirlwind

You had to stop and stare

But as time evolved and space is clear

My tears have become a slow trickle of water coming from a spring 

As it slowly covers a rock 

Its silent gushing sound

That no one can judge

It fills my night

As I am super woman by day.

At times it ends with a silent prayer

A language no one understands 

But as sure as the morning comes

I cry, 

I tear, 

I spill my pain 

But only at nights

Where the darkness consumes me

I am out of sight

Writing: Text

by Catherine

It was the first time I wept for her touch. She had left us long before she died, maybe as long as three years earlier. But not gone completely. She could sometimes drift back through a crack in her brain, into reality, and know me and her little grand-daughter India. Eventually she drifted away completely. Leaving first a shell of a body and then departing completely. 

It was April when we buried her, and my belly was already ripe with new life. The girl who would carry my mother’s name as one of her own. I was so focused on that new being, and caring for the toddler who was already in our lives. In the months after Sky was born, I was completely absorbed in the world of these two little creatures. Helping them to know each other. Staying strong and capable for us all. Not letting the sadness in my heart mix with the happiness of these months.

Then one night, maybe almost two years later, kneeling by the bath as usual as the two of them giggled and splashed, I picked up the sponge and rubbed soap into it. I squeezed and let the froth run down my wrist and forearm and then kneeled up to reach Sky’s tiny back. The bubbles covered her skin, oozing through my fingers. I circled the sponge gently. As I did so I started to feel circles on my own back. The memory and comfort of this loving movement. I melted. I was feeling my mother soaping my own back. We were travelling back through the years together. I was overwhelmed and began to sob. The two little ones looked up at me with puzzled faces. Their own lips quivering at seeing mama cry. 

‘Don’t worry little ones, it’s alright. I just got a message from my mama to tell me that it’s time for me to remember how much I miss her’.

My grieving had at last begun.

Writing: Text

by Calina

Her hand clasps the cool 

dimpled skin of a lemon.

What a design! 

Strong, ridiculous and proud.

She scrapes its waxy skin

and breathes in the freshness with gusto,

making her long for moments 

of summery gold; 

zing and zeal.

Too precious to slice for her G & T?

She reaches for a knife.




Writing: Text

by Judith

First time I heard the screaming….. Was at 10.30am. The sound of a new born in the world is alarming. Shakes up your ideas, views and fears of what colour to paint the world. I couldn’t wait to hold you, my first, my new born. It was exciting to see who was inside my tummy all this time. Who kept me awake, kicked and brought many uncomfortable poses in my tummy. But I loved feeling you move. You were my expectant imaginary friend. But your scream, that morning, I instantly knew it was for hunger. My motherly instincts kicked in. I was told to fast the night before and I know you were used to mom feeding you ever so often. I also knew from your screams that you needed me. That was your language to me. As time grew on I understood there were screams you would make. The scream of my nappy needs changing, I’m hungry, I need to play, my tummy wasn’t feeling good and, oh, where are you? Laughing, mom needs a break you know. You are so peaceful when you sleep.

Writing: Text

Dream Cloud 
by Rebecca

In my deep sleep, I see things but I don’t know where from,

My dream, my dream is deeper than myself,

My dream is bigger than the cloud,

I wish that I could make my own dream,

If I can dream, I would dream with my eyes open,

Big dream or little dream on the cloud felt like softly fluffy cotton yarn,

Some of my dreams are so happy and wanted to came true but endless,
I wish that I could chase my dreams and stay focused,

Floating on the cloud even when my dream isn’t enjoyable.

Stars in the sky to light up my dream, my soul is fed,

I’m completely like white clouds moving around, dizzy up my dream but smoothly, 

peaceful I am.

Sleep in the clouds, dream in the sky will be my dream,

My peaceful sleep secret is lavender pillow spray to take me overnight and
I love it.

Writing: Text

by Rebecca

I smell lemon: the squeeze, the zest, the secret of my beauty.
Why lemon? It makes me calm, then slice it up with my water, my salad.
Yellow bright, tangy taste.
The sour, I can’t take, but I love it. 
Again yellow like the sunshine in the house
In the hot water, place on the oil burner, smell gorgeous. 
My room pure flavour: yes easy, peasy lemon squeezy.
Whatever the season - my lemons, my tang, the nice smile, my lemon. 
I smile.

Writing: Text

A Journey 
by Catherine

The train jolted to a halt.
“Elephants!” she squeaked and jumped up to look out the window.
“They don’t have elephants here stupid” says her eldest brother.
She turns to her mother for reassurance.
“That’s right darling. No elephants in England apart from in zoos. It must be a red signal to tell us to stop because another train needs to pass. Come and sit down” she pats the seat next to her where Catherine has been sitting for the last hour. But the girl couldn’t let the others see her face. She has made a fool of herself and for this little wild one that is shameful. She so wants to be grown up like her teenage brothers.
Trains and elephants have always gone together for her. The night train from Nairobi to Mombasa on the coast was always such an adventure, partly because of the sudden stops for herds of elephants as they plodded slowly across the tracks on their way to more food or water.
The carriage had stopped opposite a street of houses. They were all joined together with a door and window each but every one the same as the last!
“Ma, Ma, the houses are stuck together.”
“It’s called a terrace of houses sweetheart. There’s less space to build here so they sometimes build houses in rows on each side of the street like that.”
Catherine stares at the grey street under the grey sky. Maybe the snow will come. On Christmas cards they got every year in Kenya from English friends there was always snow. Great mounds of it and children laughing and playing in it.
A bubble of excitement tickles her tummy. The train jerks into action.
“Ma, Ma, the snow is coming!”
“Maybe darling, maybe.”

Writing: Text

The move to St Leonards-on-Sea 
by Calina

He was growing bigger and heavier each day. People said to his Mum:

‘It’s definitely a boy/you are square at the front/not showing at the back/carrying low/your tummy looks like a football/are you craving savoury foods?’ Meanwhile her son was wriggling around inside her, hoping for something sweet: “Mum is eating so many cheese baguettes, which are really nice, but I want a donut!”

His parents waved goodbye to their flat and got into the car. He was getting excited: he’d heard so much about the move from Mum and Dad; all the packing up and then Mum’s apparently everlasting goodbyes: “Gonna miss you! Come and visit us soon!”

He got into the car with his Mum, felt the motion of the road and fell asleep. When he awoke, he could feel his Mummy was walking over some bumpy ground and... there was something else - a new smell?  It made him feel ravenously hungry. His Mum put her hand to her throat and stifled a gag. What is that great smell, he thought? He was hearing new sounds. Could these be from the new place? There were loud crashing sounds making him jump, so that his Mum put her hand to her belly and massaged it. Seagulls eyed her keenly as she sat down on the beach and tucked into her fish and chips. Mmm, her son thought as he got a rush of glucose through the placenta: something new and it tastes really good here!

He could feel his Mum’s enjoyment of her lunch as she stretched out. Her back and shoulders were opening up and he had more space to stretch out his long legs, which were curled beneath him like a long merman’s tail.

Writing: Text

The Rumba, the music and the move 
by Rebecca

Always together as a family every moment so special to them every time after the news on the radio is Congo Rumba very happy rich music with a repeating instrument like guitar and very slowly afro drum but very movingly.

Happy voices, happy people singing about love, every day’s life which is super educational.

The piece have a lot of impact and so much pleasure, specially on young generation.

The family always happy to listen to the songs.

Dad is on the move to show the children some more moves but mum always shy to dance.

The purse makes the family feel happy and full of memories.

No holy, no spiritual but really educational.

My parents are very happy and friends people to be around with, they used to play this tune on the radio for us to learn life skills to be a better person.

Writing: Text

Green sandals with glittery snake-like straps 
by Catherine

We are visiting my brother and sister-in-law in Tobago, but the journey with a six-month-old and a toddler has been horrid.

“I’m never travelling with children again” my husband hisses as we land.

Now we are driving from the airport and feel the warm evening air coming through the car windows.

“Don’t worry guys, the flight will seem like a distant memory by the morning. You can relax. All we have planned is a beach party for New Year’s Eve, and we’ve arranged a baby sitter already!”

What a treat. The next night we all have dinner and then welcome Maria the babysitter before going to our rooms to get dolled up. I slip on my green, open-toed sandals and feel like a real human again.

By the time we reach the beach, the music is wild, the rum is flowing and the beach fire is lit. People dance in and out of the flickering light. I drink my first alcohol in months and really savour it because it’s got to be the only one of the night. Little Sky is still breast feeding.

This is a real party. Bubbling and fun, but with a little sense of naughty too. I slip off my sandals and feel the sand. May the dancing begin! 

Five hours later, as the sun rises, we are all standing in the back of a pick-up truck, hanging onto the roll bar chanting at the top of our voices:

“No more babies! No more babies!” 

My green shoes rest happily in the sand where I forgot them.

Writing: Text

My baby’s 1st birthday party 
by Rebecca

I was wearing my Calvin Klein denim trainer shoes,

Around summer last year, another birthday to celebrate, my youngest daughter baby K’s birthday. No more home party, no more hall party, sorry I’m on a budget ok, what to do now?

“Mama, mama let’s plan it together!” said my older daughter 

Ok for outdoor party, “what our garden?” Oh no, we don’t have outdoor toilets. Don’t want the guests to come indoors to use the home toilet,

Home party is a no-no, “I know, I know” went my daughter, 

Ok we need a big space for family and friends, the park of course!

Let’s plan the invitations, the space, location, activities, dress code maybe, time, food and collecting allergies cases.

It was a beautiful day to remember! We finally found a nice local spot to celebrate like a picnic vibes, all in denim outfits, the music, the food, we had a great time. We had an amazing time and guests went home with a take away and that was a day to remember.


Writing: Text

The heron 
by Calina

The canal is frozen over.
People are pointing phones and cameras,
standing and staring:
I crane my neck around to see:
There is a heron sliding on the ice
and I am transfixed!
It jabs at the ice; looks over at us and jabs again,
Its beak opening and shutting, as if it is talking to its audience:
I can’t hear what it is saying in the freezing wind.
“I wish I could get you some fish”, I shout,
“and teach you to hunt like your brothers and sisters of the north:
make a bore hole in the ice! Use your bill as a jagged dagger!”
It skates over to me and says:
“You are making assumptions about me and my past,”
And then hammers its beak through the ice to the cold water below.

Writing: Text

Dear snow 
by Catherine

Dear snow,
You arrived quiet and hesitant, so I didn’t believe you’d stay. But you did. At least for half a day. I opened my door and heard a young child say ‘Daddy Daddy it came! I dreamt it would and it did!’ In the park there were new noises. Not birds chirping but little ones squealing. They rushed about, kicking and gathering you up into mittened hands. You made their hearts beat faster and their lungs expand. Even weary adults laughed out loud at the change you brought. A glimpse of a promise that things will be different. Things can change. We will be carefree again. Thank you for your fleeting visit. Please go on your way and make others happy too.

Writing: Text

by Judith

Eagerly he anticipated the snow...”Mom!” He shouted “is it today?” He asked. Every day he asked the same question and yet every day I disappointed him. Poor chap. There was a shriek of excitement as he was so sure Mom would say yes. The first time I had said no his poor face went in anguish, with a small shrill of a scream and it got louder and louder. Had to run and hold him tight as he drenched me with tears of a broken promise. Really saddens my heart when I try to tell him the truth approaches. But each day it was more accepting. How strong and brave he becomes each day. But when the day had finally come, his little body lay asleep still in bed. It was dark and quiet, but you can see the bright white snow flakes falling from the dark sky. A little sprinkle of a powder my son would call it. Should I wake him to enjoy the quiet of the early morning, or let his excited face shout and scream....Snow!. I prefer the latter, let him discover it as a new adventure. So I sit by the window in my PJ’s with a hot cup of tea, enjoying the trinkets of the snowflakes as they cover the ground and breathe an air of excitement and screams for the little bundles of joy both old and young when they awake to a new day.
But as sure as the clock struck 7.30, his little body wiggled in bed, expecting to feel the security of his mother next to him, but wasn’t. He flung his head back in ponder where I had disappeared to. Then swung his head left to right to locate whom he thought was lost. He then jumped out of bed as he spotted the clear view of what he asked for every day…..snow! The joy from disappointment lit up his world, and he shouted, “Mommy, Mommy it’s snow! It’s here! It’s here! Can we go outside now?” his second favourite word.

Writing: Text

Good save! 
by Calina

“Throw it over!” the children shouted as I walked past my son’s school yesterday, A lonely football roved in the alleyway. I threw it back over the school wall with a smile on my face.


Among pale blue football shirts and boots, there is a lone checked cowgirl blouse and moccasins. 

It’s her turn for a penalty strike.

She tries to blank the boyish machismo and blinking, she feels her way towards the red-brick Victorian wall and the hand-painted goal.

“Cowgirl strikes! and the ball is.. high!” Over the wall.

She stares at the ground for what seems like a hundred years, breathing in her shame.

From the corner of her eye, she spies movement over the other side of the playground as pale blue t-shirts gather by the wall:

“Throw it over!” they shout.


The football appears high over the wall; travels through the air, on a perfect arc... back to Cowgirl! She catches it! And hugs it, but it dribbles out of her arms onto the ground below. 


I am Megan Rapinoe, I am Rapinoe, I repeat to myself, as I strike.. 

My history-making scissor kick flies.. High! 

Over the school wall.


A woman walks past her son’s school in the alleyway and sees a football. She looks around her trying to find the owner, but... the school is empty. 

The children are all at home. 

The football looks forlorn, as it dribbles down the passage. In the wind, she hears children’s voices whisper to her: “THROW IT OVER!” She picks up the ball and hurls it as hard as she can back over the wall and then begins to walk off, but double takes: there is a girl with a cowgirl hat on in the playground staring transfixedly as the football comes hurtling over the school wall!

“Come on, Megan!” I cry, as I leap high into the air and in an effortless movement catch the ball! I hold it to myself, and embrace it, my head curled over it like my favourite cuddly.

A woman’s voice calls out from beyond the wall:

“Good save!”

Writing: Text

How I became a famous singer 
by Judith

Think I was at my last that day... Felt like the world was against me. I felt judged, wasn’t making the right desicions and I did the only thing I knew... Sing. 

Today again, I am being judged, questioned and need to defend myself. I have an interview to go, to set the record straight. My press manager has been really good; she doesn’t update me or have anyone in my circle revealing the lies and bad reputation being said out there. But the truth can’t be hidden any more - tainted, twisted but not hidden. I know what they say about me, they caught me red-handed a few times. I’m not going to deny the drugs, the addiction and abuse. I’m going to explain to them what fame does. 

The ride to the studio was quiet. I just needed a moment of peace; I wanted to drown the silence with music. I was so tired of being told what to do and how to act. And they knew that I knew they were worried I was a time bomb waiting to explode. But they still didn’t know me. So when I get interviewed by Oprah the truth will be expected. 

It was so exciting to see her, considering all we have heard about her. She is humbling and stunning too; her reputation precedes her. She made me so relaxed, but I had an agenda... The Truth. The prying questions I was prepared for as I laid myself bare to the public. The drugs I explained I can do without, but my music my voice was my essence. I got discovered on a train. The story out there was I was lucky but I wasn’t; my first love broke my heart. And no matter how old you are, it still hurts. My love ended us because he was ashamed of me and my parents. They were poor, and my mom was a cleaner. I can’t be ashamed or abandon them because of a guy. I did choose him over them a few times, but my mom she was a rock. She taught me in hard times and good times: sing. I grew up not able to express myself with words but with a melody. My neighbourhood often times hear me belching a tune or two. But when I am sad the only times the tears come is when I open my voice. I sang on that 2.15pm train, not to be heard but to release the pain of a broken heart. The truth of what motivates and defines me still. That’s what lead to my discovery and what separates me from the other singers. I may have lost my way by misusing my fame and doing drugs but when I step on that stage... I deliver and connect the rhythmic melodies hidden in a heart that only a song can release.
I needed the world to know I didn’t short-change them when I sang. I fell short when I did drugs, allegedly.

And that’s how I became a famous singer. 


Writing: Text

Famous surgeon saves ballet genius 
by Catherine

It wasn’t going to be a normal day in theatre. I had already had to ease my way through the cameras and journalists to get into the hospital. Some had nudged each other or whispered “That’s her, that’s her!” 
I looked at the operating list pinned above my desk:
8.30am Eleanor du Vaal. Open heart surgery. Last chance!
The rest of the day was marked out. Usually there were at least 4 or 5 complicated operations with short breaks between them. This was going to be a long one.
I knew the name well. Ellie was a fifteen-year-old ballet dancer who had already been recognised for her brilliance. She had featured in a recent Netflix documentary about the Royal Ballet School, which I had watched some months before knowing that I would see her name on my list. She had a pop-singer-like following on social media. She was a child star.
But three weeks earlier, she had collapsed on stage during a performance of Swan Lake. One of the elegant swans had fluttered to the floor and lay silent. The curtain came down. The audience had gasped with horror. It was all over the media:
‘Too much pressure on young diva’ ‘Royal Ballet scandal over work ethic’ ‘Child stars worked to the bone’
Since then the weeks had been full of tests and investigations, none of which showed what the issue was other than there being something really wrong with her heart. She was fading fast.
Under the wide white lights of the theatre, I held out my gloved hand out for the scalpel, then made the first long cut before the chest-sawing began. The tiny swan lay still, and the life-saving operation began!

Writing: Text

Hot & Spicy 
by Hannah

It’s 1pm, very sunny bright and hot, My sister is visiting and I will be cooking my favourite food of all. I always love to cook my favourite dish. It tastes so yummy and delicious. I cook it with some lamb chops marinated overnight to give real kick. It can be quite spicy but not so much hot. Mmmmm……the aroma and flavours smell amazing. I cook it with rice and some tomatoes. When it’s all cooked and ready, the colour looks dark red. I love to have it with a side dish; fried plantain and some hot and spicy chicken. I cannot tell you how excited I feel eating my favourite food.

Writing: Text

Oh yes the mango tree is full 
by Rebecca

Oh yes the mango tree is full
and ready to be Chuck, all
The boys, men, allowed to climb
the tree, “girls, ladies and mama stay back”
1,2,3 go 1,2,3 again”back, back girls back!
Oh yes mango rain, yummy, yummy,
juicy,”come ladies, bring your baskets
“Here, here, the street smell sweet, 
So yummy, a quick Wash and ready to eat
my hands are ready, my mouth can’t wait
yellow, soft, smooth, juicy.
Thank you mango tree, Thank you.

Writing: Text

At last I’m old enough
by Catherine

At last I’m old enough to go out to the restaurant with my family! It’s early evening and already dark. The city feels different like this. Not so many cars and people. My favourite dress and sandals make me feel like a big girl. 
We are shown to our table. The lights aren’t very bright in here and it smells strange. My brothers have been before and are showing off. “Papadoms” they chant as a plate of thin and wavey wide crisps arrive. The boys grab at them and crack pieces off. Now I know what the smell is like, it’s the spice bazaar in the covered market. 
A gentleman in a jacket with no collar brings me a bowl of steaming yellow rice with squished tomatoes and peppers and dark juicy meat.
“I made it gentle for you little lady” He has smiley eyes “Not fierce, not kali kali”.
I grab my spoon and dig deep. My nostrils tickle with the sharp steam and then my mouth is alive, every corner of it, so many new feelings and places for flavour to find. I dribble. My face is red. The brothers are laughing, and my dress is stained with red spit. I am about to cry but just can’t. The taste is too good. I am distracted. I need more!

Writing: Text

by Judith

Soaked and screaming, he ran into my room. Poor thing had a nightmare, no different from all the other nights. But it’s a part of my night-time duty, being tired is my daytime job. When he lies there lifeless but stuck to my chest I feel his fast paced beating heart ripping through my memories. The first time I ever held him, the first time he cried and the first time he saw me cry. I had to decide to be strong, every time. Every time he asked for him, every time he blamed me for his absence and for every time he thought it was my fault. The first time I was blamed, it hurt. A physical pain caused by an invisible blade. I walked around with anguish, blood and a defective heart. I had to seek counselling, I needed help. I needed not to be told it was ok but what to do when this happened. I needed to be armed with the medicine that I could quickly spot on my second row medicine cabinet and take one tablet for him and one tablet for me. But life doesn’t always comes with a ready remedy does it? It comes with pain, tears and lesson to be learnt. 

His little face light always brightens my day, and he saddens me when he cries. I am not angry with him when he thinks it’s my fault. But the most beautiful moment is when I get to kiss his tears and turn those frowns to a smile. Most days, I’m drenched in his tears, but those days become lessened when I realise that giving him attention and time is the remedy. You can’t find that on a shelf: it’s in your hands.

Writing: Text

I went to Germany for work
by Calina

I went to Germany for work - on the train, feeling elated, though I had travelled all day. I was MD’ing for a theatre company, and the work was interesting and challenging. I was 6 weeks pregnant and ‘in the closet.’ I happily declined red wine at dinner after the rehearsal and went back to my hotel feeling contented on my secret mission.

I went back to Germany a month later - on a plane. It only took 3 hours, but this time, no baby. The woman I was dining with looked quizzically as I gulped down my large glass of wine, but no questions were asked and no explanations offered. I went back to my hotel and my tears joined the rain onto the pavements outside.

Writing: Text

The Joy of Makeover
by Rebecca

Every aspect of fashion is my thing. My dream: looking good, feeling good. They are young, they are just babies, always had an interest in them, them - who? Young children. Just to build their confidence, there’s nothing much, just add a little of my magic hands on their amazing look.

When they start so young, feeling confident, feeling beautiful, they will build an amazing lifestyle where their heads will be up. I’m no one, with not that much experience, but I give what I am and what I have.

It’s not really expensive by using my afro pattern fabric to create belts, hair band just to jazz up a little bit of their look. Little, but hands full. I had lots of handmade accessories: wanted mums to drop their little ones in my place: “Me first,” 

“my hair,” 

“ yeah, gimme now,” 

“who’s next for hair or accessories?” 

“Ok wait, I will do you next” said to a girl in the queue.

Writing: Text

This Too Shall Pass
by Hannah

Things are getting tough, she doesn’t know who to turn to or where to get help. She searched for every help she could find but nothing came and, just at the break of dawn, the light shone so bright in her corner, she forgot how her troubles started - could it be God? She paused and thought…….. this has surely passed and all her pains forgotten.

To My Dearest Friend Cece, 

I trust you are keeping well. 

I write to inspire and encourage you to live again knowing that God is using your challenges to bring you into a better place of glory.

Battles are fought in our minds daily. When you begin to feel the challenges are just too difficult and want to give up, choose to resist negative thoughts and be determined to rise above your problems. Do not ever quit when you are pressed on every side with doubts and fears. Take a stand and say to yourself “I will never give up, God is on my side”. I have a favourite scripture which I always reflect on whenever I am down to nothing “1 Corinthians 10:13 says No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and He will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the challenges he will also provide a way of escape. 

What am I trying to say in all this is that God knows what you are going through and he will make a way. You are so loved so never think that you cannot get through this divorce and financial hardship. I know how you have been treated and let down in life by the people you loved and trusted but, girl, you are strong, bold and beautiful. You can overcome this, and it will pass. I want to encourage you to hold on to your faith and never give up; be hopeful and believe in yourself. Stay focused and do not stop praying, for God is faithful. 

I believe you know my story; I have been through hell and high waters. I had many questions and thought life is not fair. I wanted to throw in the towel, but not giving up has brought me to where I am now. You are the strongest person I know, so do not allow the trials you are facing to halt your dreams. Keep your dreams alive. You will get through this and it will pass. Remember problems are temporary and you may have gone through life patches for five years but  - believe you me - this too shall pass. 

I know your partner leaving has left you stranded with the kids and you feel you cannot go on without him but let me tell you this, “You don’t find your worth in a man. You find your worth within yourself and then find a man who is worthy of you” Remember that. So Cece, whatever you have gone through and still facing, just know that God always has a plan. I know It has been tough waiting all these years to see a change or some miracle to happen but keep your faith alive and believe that in no time you will see the change you have been praying for. 

In everything you have been faced with, stand firm, girlfriend, keep your head above waters, be hopeful, keep faith alive and never stop believing in yourself. You are stronger than you think. You can overcome this and change is about to happen for you.

Thinking of you and praying for you every day. This too shall pass!

Writing: Text

Dear I care
by Rebecca

I do not know you, but I care
You are who you are, you are so quiet,
You are so shy that’s ok but I care,
Because I care, I want to share my faith with you,
Please smile, you look alive through your smile,
Have faith, be happy, please do not give up,
You are beautiful, kind your name, kind your voice
Give up it’s a no-no, your voice amazing
Please talk to me, say something.
Don’t give up.

Writing: Text

by Judith

I saw you yesterday, you hid that beautiful smile, I could see your eyes were red from crying. I’m not sure if you feel safe enough to talk to me, so I left you this letter folded up in a triangle to remind you that you are strong. And strength can simply just be about being real to you, being strong for one hour or a day or two. But you need to build for that day and you need to have hope and courage. And for the days you feel low remind yourself that:

1. You are doing better everyday

2. More new doors will open

3. You will make it

4. You will build a better life for your family

5. Smile! You are strong.

Always connect the dots till you get three dots, draw a triangle and remember you are strong.

Looking forward to seeing you around with that beautiful smile.

Writing: Text

My baby girl welcomed to the family
by Rebecca

I always wished to have a big family, I can imagine my family at the dining table with terrific plates and yummy food and having fun together.

Number four baby on the way, blessings for all, I have two girls and one son, so one more son will be great for my eldest son to have a brother as a playtime mate, no worries really all thanks to God.

Surprisingly the scan day with all my family to find who will join the family and - oh la la! - a baby girl, silence in the scan room... wooow I cried and smiled with thanksgiving.

“What the plan” asked the man.

“Whatever! It’s the birth that I always wanted” I said.

The plan went smoothly, very well, the midwives so helpful and supportive.

The arrival of my new baby girl! What an amazing and special day or moment I will say. She is so welcome to the family. 

Next day photos day,

The room was clean, good lighting, warm and quiet.

The bed tidied where I placed a warm colourful fluffy blanket, teddies around her, in contentment, baby didn’t even know what’s going on. It looked cute, adorable and relaxed.

My newborn baby girl, dark haired, doll-like, angelic. Super happy to be her mama.

To give birth to a healthy baby is a blessing, and I was and still am thankful to be called mum again.

Writing: Text

by Judith

Does she know how the future will turn out? Was she prepared for the heartbreaks? Would she change a thing? I love looking at this picture…it traps the essence of innocence. You can spot a curious mind in her eyes, but she is so giving and forgiving, perhaps her downfall. But I can tell she was true to who she was, helping and keeping going. There were times I thought I lost my former self; I wish I had a picture of home or me to remind myself of that. Does she know how the future will turn out? Was she prepared for the heartbreaks? Would she change a thing? I love looking at this picture…it traps the essence of innocence. You can spot a curious mind in her eyes, but she is so giving and forgiving, perhaps her downfall. But I can tell she was true to who she was, helping and keeping going. There were times I thought I lost my former self; I wish I had a picture of home or me to remind myself of that.

Writing: Text
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