How to Pretend You’re Fine (And Why It Eventually Fails)

The Art of Avoidance: Why We’re All Dodging Ghosts in Broad Daylight

There’s something strangely universal about the way we all pretend to be okay. It’s a global sport, really — one that requires no training, no medals, just a carefully composed “I’m fine” and a strategic change of subject. At work, in family WhatsApp groups, at dinner with friends — we’ve all mastered the silent choreography of avoidance. And the performance? Flawless.

Until it isn’t.

Because here’s the kicker: the things we avoid don’t just disappear. They hide. They camp out in the background of our lives, disguised as busyness, productivity, or that third rewatch of a TV series you already know word for word. But eventually — maybe on a quiet Friday evening over takeout — the curtain slips. One bite into your fries and, boom, there it is: sadness, grief, regret… whatever it is you haven’t dealt with, pulling up a chair like an uninvited dinner guest.

Most of us aren’t intentionally dishonest with ourselves. We just learn very early that distraction is more convenient than discomfort. We avoid hard conversations. We delay decisions. We bury heartbreak under to-do lists and podcasts. Some of us even treat emotional pain like spam email — just mark it as “read” and move on.

And to be fair, avoidance does serve a function. It gives us a temporary shield. It allows life to keep moving. It helps us get through the week without spontaneously combusting in a grocery store aisle. But avoidance is a bit like sweeping dust under the rug — at some point, someone’s going to trip over the lump.

The real plot twist is this: avoidance doesn’t mean weakness. It means we’re human. Complex. Compartmentalized. Carrying loads we don’t always have the time or tools to unpack. And ironically, that’s one of the few things every person shares — the quiet backlog of things we haven’t faced yet.

So what do we do about it?

Well, maybe nothing drastic. This isn’t a call to drop everything and sob in public (though if that’s your style, no judgment). It’s more an invitation to notice. To give space to those little echoes of unresolved emotion when they show up. To understand that healing doesn’t always come in grand, dramatic breakthroughs — sometimes, it arrives quietly in moments of honesty.

Maybe it's during a walk. Maybe it’s in a journal you’ll never show anyone. Or maybe it’s simply telling a friend, “I’m still working through it,” instead of “I’m over it.”

Whatever your method, the truth remains: the pain doesn’t lose its power because you avoid it. It loses its power when you acknowledge it. Even just a little. Even if it's awkward or inconvenient or doesn’t come with a neat conclusion.

In a world obsessed with moving on, maybe the bravest thing we can do is slow down — just enough to face what we’ve been avoiding. And if that means crying over a Friday night burger once in a while, so be it.

Hey, at least the fries were still hot.

When Vulnerability Isn’t Safe: A Follow-Up to Family Disappointment

The Dreamer’s Pause – Part Two: I Should’ve Known Better

If you’ve read “When Family Love Feels One-Sided: A Reflection on Celebration, Guilt, and Boundaries”, you already know the story. The cousins, the ignored WhatsApp statuses, the pressure to celebrate people who don’t celebrate you, and that sharp feeling of being called selfish for simply protecting your energy. But I thought I could handle it better. I thought maybe, just maybe, turning 19 would mean being more mature. You know, being able to have adult conversations with African parents and not walk away feeling like a villain. Silly me.

Here’s what happened.

Yesterday, I made the bold move of opening up to my mom about how I was feeling — again. And like the good ol’ script of “African Parent 101,” it flipped on me. I knew better. I’ve known better for a long time. But no, the author of The Dreamer's Pause thought, “She’s grown now, right? Surely, this time it’ll be different.” Spoiler: it wasn’t.

So I was moody — nothing serious, just a little emotionally tired. I went to sleep early (like 8 PM kind of early), and somewhere in that peaceful deep sleep, I heard my phone ringing. It was my aunt. First time, I let it pass. Second time, I was still groggy. I didn’t pick up. I thought: “I'll just talk to her later. I'm tired.”

What a mistake.

I went to my mom and quietly asked her to let my aunt know I had fallen asleep. Maybe it was my tone? Maybe it was the timing? Or maybe, just maybe, African moms don’t like being interrupted during late-night family calls. Either way, that moment turned into an emotional storm I wasn’t ready for.

She lashed out.

“You say people don’t talk to you! Now they’re calling you and you don’t want to talk? You see yourself?”

And just like that, the whole thing exploded. My dad came out asking, “What’s going on?” Voices were raised. The story was exaggerated. And there I was again, trying to explain, trying to make sense — only to be shut down. You know that moment where you realize you're not going to be heard, no matter how carefully you speak? That was me.

So I went back to bed.

Not just to sleep — but to cry.

But please, don’t feel sorry for me. This is normal. This is life when you grow up knowing that even when your heart is in the right place, it’s never going to sound “right” to those who believe your emotions are disrespectful. I just wish I had picked up the phone. I just wish I hadn’t said anything at all.

I thought I was doing the right thing.

But sometimes, you learn the hard way that logic doesn’t work everywhere.

So what now?

Nothing. I’ll probably move on like I always do. Keep my emotions a little more guarded. Smile a little more when I don’t feel like it. And learn to pick my battles better.

Because at the end of the day, I’m still learning. I’m still growing. And The Dreamer’s Pause? Well… it continues.

🚨“Not Letting Your Kid Go Out Might Just Be a Crime (Yes, I Said It!)”🚨

– A Confession From a Grown Child With Trust Issues, One Friends, and a Passport to the Grocery Store Only

Let’s talk about something that needs to be addressed louder than my mom’s look of disapproval when I dare to breathe outside: Parental Overprotection. Some people grew up with "go outside and come back when the streetlights are on." Meanwhile, some of us grew up with “where are you going?” followed by an interrogation, a background check, and possibly a GPS tracker.

And no, I'm not exaggerating. Okay... maybe just a little. But still.

📍Exhibit A: My Social Skills Were Left in the Oven and Burnt

You know what happens when a kid isn’t allowed to go out, socialize, make mistakes, or even hang out at their cousin’s place without being looked at like they just declared a rebellion?

👉🏽 They grow up into me.

A 19-year-old girl who:

Feels weird asking for plastic at the store.

Has anxiety about greeting her own age group.

Can hold deep convos... but only if I’ve known you long enough to feel like you’re not a serial judge.

Has more confidence talking to 6-year-olds than her own peers (because kids don’t ask, “Why are you so quiet?”).

I am not shy. I’m socially malnourished.

🤔 But Wait, Isn’t That Just “Good Parenting”?

Let’s debate.

Some people say, “But it’s just protection. They love you!”

Cool. I get that. But love without freedom is a cage. You can’t raise a lion, feed it only kitten chow, and then get surprised when it can’t roar in the wild.

Let me go out. Let me fail. Let me come back with a dumb story and a sunburn. Let me meet friends I’ll regret (and later blog about). That’s how humans grow.

😩 When "Walking Around Too Much" = You're Doing Life Wrong

So picture this: I go to netball practice (healthy, social, outdoors). I come back. Then I go to the store for my mom (dutiful child points). Then I try to go see my cousin (someone with the same bloodline!) — and what do I get?

👀 The Look™️

The "you’ve had enough freedom today" look. The one that says, “Why are you not glued to the house like wallpaper?”

Ma’am. Please. I haven’t even lived.

🙃 The Plot Twist: I Still Want to Be Brave

I joke. I rant. I even laugh. But the truth?

I want to be confident. I want to have friends. I want to walk into a store like I own the place (instead of rehearsing my order 12 times in my head).

But you don’t get there by being locked in the house until your social battery is dead and buried.

💡 Final Thought: It’s Not Just About Me

There are so many kids, teens, and even adults who were raised like this and now walk through life unsure, hesitant, scared to take up space.

So to the overly strict, overprotective, overly suspicious parents:

We love you.

But also... please let us live before we have to Google how to make a friend at 30.

🧠 Let’s Argue:

Is strict parenting secretly damaging more than it protects?

Can overprotection count as emotional neglect in disguise?

Or am I just being “too sensitive” like y’all love to say?

Drop your comments. Unless you’re my mom. Then please just pretend you didn’t see this.

Disclaimer: Images used on this blog are for illustrative purposes only and remain the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

🎬THE CINEMA IS DEAD?!? Wait… WHAT IN THE BLUE SMURF IS GOING ON?! 😳💔

🎬THE CINEMA IS DEAD?!? Wait… WHAT IN THE BLUE SMURF IS GOING ON?! 😳💔

It’s official.

Ster-Kinekor — one of the last standing giants of South African cinema — is closing down its cinema in a major Cape Town mall.

Let that sink in.

No, seriously, breathe. Inhale. Exhale.

Because this might be the beginning of the final curtain call for cinemas in South Africa.

🏢 Which Ster-Kinekor and Why Is It Closing?

Reports say the closure is due to financial strain, a massive drop in foot traffic, and the cold, hard truth: people aren’t going to the movies anymore.

They’re just… not.

Why?

Because why pay R120 for a ticket, another R80 for popcorn and a Coke, and your soul for transport, when you can just download a movie on Moviebox (yes, that shady lil' app we all know) for free and watch it in your pajamas at 2 AM while eating bread?

That’s the reality now.

Sad? Definitely.

Surprising? Not really.

🥲 A Personal Cinema Eulogy (From Someone Who Barely Went)

Now let me get a little personal here.

The last time I went to the cinema?

I think it was in 2017. We went to watch a Smurf movie — and don’t ask me which one, I just know there were blue people jumping around on a big screen and it was my friend’s birthday. That’s all I remember.

Before that? I was like 2, to 4 years old when I last set foot in a cinema. It’s honestly wild.

As a child, I used to dream of celebrating my birthday at the cinema like the cool kids.

But then? Reality said, “You? Cinema party? Hah. Be serious.”

Because you see... financial struggles are a curse. I’m telling you, they limit everything. From small joys to big dreams.

💔 What This Closure Really Means

Let’s not lie — this is bigger than a single cinema closing.

This means:

More unemployment in South Africa.

Less space for real-life memories.

Children of Gen Alpha and beyond will grow up never knowing the magic of watching a movie in a giant, dark room with strangers, hearing the sound explode through surround speakers.

Cinemas? They’ll be something you only see in cartoons, old movies, or your parents’ “back in my day…” stories.

It’s giving extinction. It’s giving history.

It’s giving, “We used to go to those things called cinemas, sweetie, now eat your cereal and watch Netflix.”

📉 The Harsh Truth Nobody Wants to Admit

Cinema operators, you’ve got to face it.

Your era is ending.

You can’t compete with streaming anymore — it’s fast, convenient, free (or creatively free, if you know what I mean).

No one is rushing to the mall anymore just to sit in a cold theatre to watch a film they could find online with subtitles, behind-the-scenes, and a reaction video — all in one sitting.

😔 Final Thoughts: I'm Mad. I'm Sad. But Mostly, I'm... Tired.

I’m disappointed. Not because I was a loyal cinema-goer (clearly I wasn’t), but because the idea of cinema — the fantasy, the community, the vibe — is dying.

Even though I didn't go to the cinema often, I always felt like I still could. That it was there. That maybe one day I’d have enough to rent out a whole cinema for my birthday, or just treat myself to that experience.

Now? I can’t even pretend that dream is realistic anymore.

This is more than just a movie theatre closing.

This is another space of joy and escape being erased.

And as someone who’s lived with limitations, this hits deep.

So, yeah. Rest in peace to the cinemas.

Say hi to Blockbuster in heaven. Tell it we miss it. 🕊️🎥

By someone who just wanted a popcorn birthday party once in their life.

(And maybe one last look at the Smurfs on a big screen.)

Lessons from the Dentist: Trust, Money, and Silent Apologies

Four Months In: My Braces Journey, a Rainy Day, and a Hard Lesson

It’s been four months since I got my braces. Every month, I go in for a check-up, and today was no different — except that today left me feeling defeated.

I still remember how I got here. Someone believed in me and sponsored my entire braces journey. I mentioned it once in one of my blogs. It’s something I’ll never stop being grateful for. Every appointment reminds me of that blessing. But today… today tested my heart.

The day started early. I woke up at 7am to a cold, rainy, gloomy morning. Still, I got up, dressed, put on some music, took a bath, and got ready for my appointment. By 9am (not exactly on the dot), I caught my bus. The ride was actually quite peaceful — the gentle sound of raindrops against the windows, the gray skies, the quiet of a city slowed down by weather. I even saw two of my aunties and greeted them before settling into my phone. Eventually, I got tired and just sat back, taking in the stillness.

I arrived at the dentist, greeted the receptionist, and confirmed my appointment. She checked my name — Lilo — and asked me to select a date for the next visit. I did, thinking everything was sorted. I wasn’t jumping for joy, but in my heart, I was actually excited to just be progressing.

Then, I asked if my dad had already paid for today’s appointment. That’s when the mood shifted. She told me there was no proof of payment. No confirmation. She asked me to call him, and thankfully, I had a little bit of airtime left. I called and explained the situation. He asked for the dentist’s number so he could speak with her directly. I changed my data quickly, WhatsApped him the number, and called again to confirm. He said okay.

Then, a few minutes later, I was called in for my appointment. The dentist greeted me kindly, asking how I was doing. I shared a bit about how the braces were feeling, and he got to work. The usual — removing the old metal wire and replacing it with a new one. My elastic color changed too — from pink to black. I hated it. I wish I’d chosen a bright, happy color, but in that moment, I didn’t even have the courage to ask.

Suddenly, I heard my name being called outside the room. Loud and clear. I said yes. The receptionist was on the phone with my dad, on speaker. That’s when it happened. In front of the dentist, the assistants, whoever was in earshot — I heard her explain that braces appointments must be paid for on the same day. And I was confused. Embarrassed. Hurt. Because I knew we had the money. The sponsorship covered it. Why was this happening?

She walked into the room and reminded the dentist that he had already started the appointment, implying that there was no going back. I sat there, a lump in my throat. I could feel my entire mood sink. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t ask for a new color. Couldn’t even look around. I felt like crying.

All I kept thinking was: what happened to the money? The money that was meant for this. My money. The money someone entrusted to my family for me. I didn’t want to believe that it had been used for something else — but the signs were there. Every time I mentioned my appointments lately, my dad got nervous. Not obviously, but in that subtle, macho, African-parent way. Now I realize that was a red flag.

After the appointment, I went to the front desk again. The receptionist smiled at me gently, not saying much, but I knew she could see the pain on my face. I felt so exposed. So small. I walked out of the building like I didn’t care about anything anymore. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to be seen. I just needed air.

I went to buy food, caught a taxi (since I missed my bus), and stopped by my cousin’s house. I needed those hours of not seeing my parents’ faces. Just five hours of being somewhere else, somewhere safe.

Later, I caught the bus home — a long ride, probably an hour and a half, but it felt like thirty. I came in, and of course, like African mothers do, my mom acted like nothing had happened. Just started asking me to do things. I didn’t roll my eyes. Didn’t talk back. I just did them.

Then my dad came in. I thought he had gone far, but he had just been around the neighborhood. He couldn’t even look me in the eyes. And I couldn’t look at him either. Eventually, he tried to make small talk. Then he brought out a packet of sweets — his way of apologizing. Typical African parent move. It didn’t work. Not this time.

What broke me the most is that I can’t even ask him questions. You can’t confront African parents — they twist things, make you feel guilty, act like you’re disrespectful for just wanting the truth. I couldn’t even express my pain.

So here I am now, thinking hard about my life. I’m on a gap year. And I know now: I can’t depend on my family for big things. They try, but the truth is, they don’t have money. Especially in winter, when they earn less. Summer is when they hustle, when things are better. But now? Things are bad.

And I’ve decided: I’ll do any job. I don’t care what it is. Cleaning, lifting, anything. Because this is what happens when you depend too much. I never wanted pity, and I still don’t. I just wanted to tell my story — the raw version. My blog is my diary. And today, I’m writing as a girl who got caught in the rain, not just outside, but in her heart too.

But I’ll get through it. I have to.