Someday Maybe

And when news reaches me on the death of a peer’s parents (which has been happening quite a lot lately), I feel a pain that is not mine. But at the same time is. Part of me breaks, to grow tiny hands, grasping onto my own’s feign mortality. In the evenings, I stare at my parents a little longer than usual, studying their wrinkles of a now fading youth, the faded twinkle from their eyes, notice the incessant doctor’s visits. And mahn, they really aren’t what they used to be.

As a first born they say, you grow old enough to see your siblings get away with things you wouldn’t have. You watch your parents grow soft over the years and lenient and you, totally consumed by your twisted sense of justice, hardly notice the physical changes leading to that. until you do. That’s what happens when you stare at anything too close; you tend to take it for granted. It’s only after news reaches you on the passing of a parent of someone close when you begin seeing yours from a bird’s eye view. And it dawns on you how indiscriminatory death is. And someday, maybe… them, before you.

The thing about hard truths is that somehow, we never think we’re going to be the ones to swallow them. Somehow, these realities fail to register that they can apply to us.


Another thing they say is that as a man… I think it’s David Deida who says that… As a real man, you’re supposed to live as if your parents were dead. But I think I’d be damned to live in a world where I turn a blind eye to a blessing, I already possess in order to attain a higher form of enlightenment. A blessing that someone once said they’d give anything to have a moment back with their drug addict of a father. I imagine losing a parent is like losing a part of yourself. Only one that has known you even before you knew yourself.

And it’s unfortunate most of us realize that too late.

I wanna stretch this piece into the stories that got me here but I’m afraid they’re not mine to tell. Or maybe I feel the emotional overload stepping in and I’m simply not ready. Being a part of this cycle of ignorant children myself. So I’ma jump to the end.

Change. The bonds with our parents need to be re-invigored. Nourished. The best way to do that would be; to show don’t tell. That’s saner. Unless you’re the talking sort of family, then sure do tell. Time has never been on your side.

Contemplations, Coping, Death, Family, Grief, parents

Hassan Kassim

Hassan Kassim is a Mombasa-based Creative non-fiction writer, recently longlisted for the Toyin Falola prize, blogger and translator of Kiswahili work. A beneficiary of the Penpen program by African Writers Development Trust(AWDT) commissioned by Culture at Work Africa and the European Union(E.U), and holds his Bachelor’s degree in Maritime Management. Hassan writes about the ill-documented Communities of Coastal Kenya. His work has appeared in Writers Space Africa; his 2 non-fiction stories published in the anthology 'Twaweza,' a collaborative effort of 12 African writers on the African identity and set to appear in the forthcoming anthology for the Toyin Falola prize.

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Hassan Kassim is a Kenyan-based Creative non-fiction writer, blogger and translator of Kiswahili works with over 2 years of experience. A beneficiary of the Penpen program by African Writers Development Trust(AWDT) commissioned by Culture at Work Africa, and holds his Bachelor’s degree in Maritime Management.


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