Unseen

Title:Unseen 

Asha watched him from her phone screen, the boy with the sun-kissed curls and an easy smile that could split the clouds. Every day, she scrolled through his feed, his laughter echoing through perfectly curated videos like a song she could never sing along to.

He was Khalil — the kind of guy whose presence commanded the room, whose eyes sparkled with a charm that made every girl stumble over her words. But Khalil wasn’t hers. He was already taken, already in love with someone whose world revolved around him, and he revolved right back. His posts were flooded with comments and hearts, each like a reminder of how invisible she was to him.

Asha's friends told her to forget him. "You’re just another follower to him," they said. "You’re invisible."

But Asha couldn't. Every day, she woke up with his name lingering on her lips, like a secret she couldn't shake. Every night, she whispered his name to the ceiling, as if the stars could deliver her wishes to him. She imagined him holding her hand, laughing at her jokes, dancing with her under the moonlight. But that’s all it was — a dream.

Khalil didn’t see her. Khalil didn’t know her. Khalil didn’t even know she existed.

The day Asha saw his engagement post, his arm wrapped around his fiancée, she felt her heart splinter into tiny pieces. His laughter was the same, his smile just as dazzling. But it wasn’t for her. It would never be for her.

Asha stared at the screen, his smiling face framed by thousands of hearts and congratulations. Her eyes blurred, but she held back the tears. It was time to unfollow the boy who would never look back, the boy who was never hers to begin with.

And in that moment, Asha finally saw herself. And that was enough.

Justice for Jemérite: A Reflection on Crime, Community, and Responsibility

Justice for Jemérite: A Reflection on Crime, Community, and Responsibility

On May 6, 2025, 19-year-old Jemérite Ndaya Mulengele was murdered in her own home in Turffontein, Johannesburg. A Congolese student and the eldest child in her family, Jemérite was reportedly at home when an unknown man broke into her residence. She was tragically stabbed, and the assailant fled the scene, taking her phone and laptop. Jemérite was a bright, young woman pursuing her education online, aspiring to build a future for herself and her family. Her life was taken in an act of senseless violence that has shaken her community and sparked outrage on social media under the hashtag #JusticeForNdaya.

As a 19-year-old living in South Africa myself, Jemérite’s death feels close. It could have been me, it could have been any of us. It’s not just a Congolese issue; it’s a human issue. But when people in the Congolese community point to xenophobia as the cause, I struggle to fully agree. Crime in South Africa is complex. It’s not always about targeting foreigners — it’s about desperation, opportunity, and the harsh realities of life in a society plagued by violence and poverty.

And yet, in the wake of Jemérite’s murder, many are calling for President Félix Tshisekedi and First Lady Denise Nyakeru to intervene, as if their presence could somehow bring justice. But why are we so dependent on political leaders who, realistically, may not even be aware of every tragic incident? Why not focus on what we, as a community, can do? Why not empower ourselves with knowledge of our rights and push for accountability from local authorities?

People say I’m a sellout for not supporting the narrative that this is purely xenophobic violence. But to me, it’s more than that. It’s about how we respond when tragedy strikes, how we unite in grief and anger, and how we seek justice not just for one of our own but for anyone whose life has been unjustly taken.

Jemérite’s story is heartbreaking, and I pray that her family finds comfort and that justice is served. But beyond that, I hope that we — Congolese, South Africans, all of us — can look at her death and ask ourselves: What can we do to protect our communities? How can we hold those in power accountable? And how can we ensure that no other young life is cut short so tragically?

Rest in peace, Jemérite. May your story inspire us to do better, to care more, and to fight for justice for all.

Limerence: When a Crush Becomes a Haunting

Limerence: When a Crush Becomes a Haunting

Have you ever found yourself trapped in an endless loop of longing for someone who doesn’t even know you exist? Someone far away, untouchable, already in a relationship — yet somehow, they’ve taken up all this space in your head. Maybe it started as a harmless crush, something simple and fleeting. But then you find out they’re taken, and suddenly, their face is everywhere. Social media keeps throwing their photos in your face, reminding you of a life they’re living without you. And every time you see it, your heart does this weird, painful thump. Just one beat, like it’s trying to get your attention, like it’s mocking you.

And the more you try to avoid it, the worse it gets. Their name, their face, their life — it’s like they’re haunting you, popping up ten times more than before. You hate it. You hate that you can’t escape it. And you hate that you even care so much about someone who has no clue you exist.

But what makes it worse is that you’re letting it take up space in your head. You have other problems, real problems that actually matter. But instead, you’re stuck here, obsessing over someone you’ll never have, feeling stupid, feeling worthless. You keep telling yourself it’s going to go away. It will pass. It always does. But right now, it hurts like hell.

Why does this happen? Why does limerence feel like a haunting? It’s not just about the person; it’s about what they represent — the things you feel you’re missing in your own life. Maybe it’s the idea of being seen, being loved, being chosen. Maybe it’s the fantasy of being close to someone who seems so perfect, so out of reach. But it’s all a mirage, a fantasy that can never be real.

Sometimes, it feels like a joke. How could something as silly as a crush make you feel so miserable? How could someone who doesn’t even know you exist make you feel like bawling your eyes out? You feel the pain, but you keep it in because crying won’t change a thing.

So, how do you cope? Maybe you try to distract yourself, avoid social media, avoid reminders. Maybe you remind yourself that you’re worth more than this, that your life is about more than someone who never earned a place in it. Maybe you start taking back some of that space in your mind — space they never deserved in the first place.

The Great Equality Hoax: Why We’re Never Going to Be the Same

The Great Equality Hoax: Why We’re Never Going to Be the Same

You ever heard someone say, 'We’re all equal'? Yeah, sure. And I’m a unicorn with a trust fund. Let’s get real — an equal society is about as likely as me waking up tomorrow as Beyoncé. It’s a nice dream, but it’s not happening. Not now, not ever.

Look around. Power? A few people have it. The rest of us? We’re just here paying rent, watching them play chess with our lives. Some are born with gold crowns and fancy titles, while the rest of us are trying to figure out how to stretch R200 until payday. And it’s not like power is ever handed out like free samples at the mall. If anything, the powerful hoard it like it’s the last bag of chips at a sleepover. Sharing? Nah, that’s not in their vocabulary.

Then there’s money. If money talks, most of us are on mute. While some are out there buying private islands and eating gold-flaked sushi, the rest of us are praying our debit card doesn’t embarrass us at the checkout. Rich and poor have been around since forever. No amount of motivational quotes is going to change that. 'Work hard and you’ll get rich!' they say. Yeah, tell that to the person working three jobs and still coming up short.

And can we talk about opportunities? Life is like Monopoly. Some people start the game with hotels on every property, and some of us start with, what? A shoelace and some lint? It’s not fair, but it is what it is. The world isn’t exactly handing out equal chances like Oprah handing out cars. You get a chance! You get a chance! Nope. Some people have connections, resources, and backup plans. Others are just hoping they get a break before they break down.

Now, health. Listen, we can eat all the kale in the world, but genetics doesn’t care. Some people live to 100 drinking nothing but soda and eating bacon. Others? They do all the right things and still get hit with a random illness. Health isn’t fair, and neither is life. And let’s not even get started on access to healthcare. Some people have private doctors and therapists on speed dial, while others are just hoping they can afford a pack of Panado.

And finally, beliefs. You ever tried to get ten people to agree on pizza toppings? Good luck getting eight billion people to agree on how we should live, what we should believe, and who we should be. We can’t even agree on whether pineapple belongs on pizza. (It doesn’t, by the way.) Some people are convinced their way is the only way, and everyone else is just... wrong. Equality of beliefs? Ha! We’re too busy shouting over each other to even hear what the other side is saying.

So, is an equal society an impossible dream? Yup. But maybe the point isn’t to make everyone the same. Maybe it’s about accepting that life is unfair and people are different — some are born with silver spoons, some with wooden ones, and some with no spoon at all. And that’s not okay, but it’s real. Maybe instead of chasing equality, we should be chasing something more real.

The Art of Doing Nothing: Why These Monuments are a Complete Waste of Bronze

The Art of Doing Nothing: Why These Monuments are a Complete Waste of Bronze

Picture this: a city square filled with towering statues of people who, quite frankly, have done nothing monumental. Welcome to America, where they tear down the statues of historical figures and replace them with bronze depictions of everyday people holding phones and looking bored. The latest installment? A series of statues of Black women that are supposed to represent... what exactly? Diversity? Body positivity? Complaining on social media? Whatever it is, it’s definitely not actual accomplishments.

Let’s back up. When did these monuments start going up, and why? The wave began in 2023 when several cities, including New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago, commissioned new statues to celebrate racial justice and diversity in the wake of the George Floyd protests. The goal? To shift the narrative from honoring problematic historical figures to recognizing marginalized voices. And who were these statues of? Random, anonymous Black women depicted as everyday figures holding phones, looking pensive, or just standing around.

One prominent example is the 12-foot-tall bronze sculpture titled Grounded in the Stars, unveiled on April 29, 2025, in New York City's Times Square. Created by British artist Thomas J. Price, the statue depicts a plus-size Black woman in casual clothing, standing with her hands on her hips. According to Price, the artwork aims to challenge traditional notions of who is represented in public monuments and to amplify traditionally marginalized bodies on a monumental scale .

How were these statues constructed? Well, millions of dollars were spent on bronze, sculptors, and installation, all to send a message that, apparently, being a random person with no discernible achievements is now worthy of public display. Meanwhile, the statues that were actually celebrating people who did stuff—like founding fathers, generals, and war heroes—are being torn down faster than you can say "cancel culture." Why? Because apparently, if you did anything that wasn’t perfectly politically correct by 2025 standards, your legacy doesn’t matter. But if you held a phone and looked annoyed, congratulations, you’re a national icon!

Now, let's talk about these specific statues of Black women. I have nothing against celebrating Black women. In fact, there are countless Black women who have done incredible things worth celebrating. But these statues? These are caricatures. Big, body-positive women standing around doing nothing, looking like they just stepped off a TikTok rant about how oppressed they are. It’s insulting—not just to Black women, but to Black people as a whole. It screams, "This is what we think of you: angry, unproductive, and oversized."

And for what? To raise awareness? Oh, please. Awareness without action is as pointless as a statue of a woman holding a phone. If they really want to uplift Black women, why not build a monument to someone who’s actually achieved something? A scientist. An entrepreneur. A politician. A mother who raised five kids to stay out of trouble and get college degrees. But no, let’s just build statues of people who look oppressed so everyone can feel good about how woke they are.

What a joke. What a waste. What a monumental failure.

And before anyone says it, no, this isn’t about being anti-Black. It’s about being anti-stupid. We’re living in a time when people are more concerned with virtue signaling than with actual virtue. And these statues are the perfect example: giant, hollow, and utterly pointless.