I write as an act of re-membering HIM, ME and all those connected to US

My father was not just a man, he was one of his kind; a mind of his own, a depth that none could understand. Someone from whom I have learned the love for words. This very love I kept running away for years.
To have had him as genitor was and is no easy legacy, he was not just intelligent, striking, crazily weird but he had his darkest side - a side which my siblings and I saw.
And to be called his physical carbon copy was no easy weight for me to carry. A resemblance that made sick for years even after his death.
He has been one of the most shifting journalists Mauritius has had. He has had his glory days and his doomed days. And our family doomed along with him, deep in his oceans of Rhum. And it went on for years till 19th January 2003 on the eve of his 48th Birthday.
Death does not heal wounds and death does not bring answers to endless questions a child’s heart can carry. So his death never brought justice to neither my siblings nor to me.
When he was here, I would run away from this legacy that this whole world was trying to throw on me and when he passed away, I speeded my pace; away from all that could ever have been HIM.
And for eight years, I would numb every single memory of HIM ensuring that no one could ever remind me of who my father was. I was not a bad person and I am still not a bad person but I was simply fighting my way through that which was paining me for years.
And as I reached my 27th birthday, everything shifted, my whole life crumbled down and within that space, I made the choice to look at that which was killing me slowly. And out of this phase, came life’s shifting questions “Who am I? What ignites me from within? What is it that makes me soar?
There he came shyly, Koomara Venketasamy, he took his time and he stepped into my space again. This, while he waited till I was ready to look, till I was ready to listen, till I was ready to connect.
And from there on, it took me three years to mourn his death. From then on, the words started flowing.
He came to bestow me with one of my gifts – the power through words.
Today, I write because that’s part of my legacy.
I write because this is what HE taught me; this is what HIS storms roared to me; this is what HIS eyes whispered to me.
I write to honor this legacy that I have despised for years.
I write as an act of remembering HIM, MYSELF and all those connected to US.
I write because my heart knows no other ways to sing.
I write because I have learned that there is tremendous healing in words
I write because deep within I know that the world’s magic lies within words
I write because I cannot do otherwise
I write because this is my way of letting HIM know that “I am growing more and more into ME and I will never give up on ME.”
Grieving does not happen overnight and it takes the time it takes. It takes years and lives. It is very challenging to mourn the death of close ones and it is no easy task to embrace legacies coming from them. I know no easy pathway to this but right now, at this very instance, I know that the legacies carry wisdom. I know we are the Guardians of the Wisdom to be handed over to the next generation of Magic Weavers.