Let’s start from the beginning.
Every story has a beginning. A Disney fairytale has a ‘once upon a time’. The story of God — the book of Genesis. The story of Tinkerbell — a baby’s laughter. The story of time — well, that’s relative or so they say. My story too has a beginning. A start and an end. But, what about my middle? What about the build-up, the climax and the decrescendo? Who is the protagonist and who is the antagonist? The good guy and the bad guy? The co-star and the extra? That’s where I come in.
I used to think I’m a unicorn. A mythical creature that many have heard of, but none have truly seen. A pony with a horn on its forehead and beautiful hair that has a shiny lustre which heralds awe and wonder. Okay, a unicorn is definitely not the first creature I thought analogous to my personality, but I did believe that I was so unique that God broke the mould after He created the girl, the myth, the wonder that is me. Mosa Khemelete. My full names are Mosa Mercy. They are actually the same thing in two different languages. Talk about lazy parents and to this day, I don’t know what my surname means. That is simply one of the things that made me believe that there might be none like me. Apart from my quirky personality, brilliant mind, and inability to sustain friendships in a world where everyone has a buddy, of course. So, in my times of isolation, I allowed my mind to drift into a world of wonder and imagination untamable. In that world, my majestic mind was the talk of the land, my pulchritudinous countenance a sight for sore eyes, and my kindness a trait akin to that of the Messiah. Let us just say, I was really self-idolatrous, narcissistic or both. Truth is, I still could be.
I have come to snap out of my well-nigh blasphemous and downright delusional imagination and recognize that nothing about my story reads like a sappy fairytale that teaches vanity as its lesson and offers a happily-ever-after for an ending. I have also come to appreciate the non-linear nature of my maturity, despite the fact that my age does follow a chronological order. As it does with everyone and with everything. Thus, the inspiration to tell this story. Now, I do not intend on telling it from the beginning because the truth is: the 1st five years of my life are a blur, from ages 6–12, I was barely alert and from 13 years — well, that’s where the drama truly unfolds. I also do not plan on being vain and sharing distorted versions in order to please the reader. I do — however — intend to be candid. There are aspects of my life that need reflection and what better mirror to use than words electronically etched on a blog.
Now that the intention is out there, who are the main stars, co-stars, and extras? Let’s start with the extras: I doubt there are any. If I mention people here, it means that they play too much of a significant role to be reduced to extras. Co-stars: myself and everyone mentioned here. Wait? I’m a co-star in my own story? Yes. The truth is, there is a greater Author Whose words will last beyond eternity Who gracefully penned the story of my life using ink that will never run dry and Blood that speaks a better Word. Which brings me to the main star: God. Inasmuch as I will physically be chronicling my life, He already knows its end from its beginning. He holds it all together. I am only a partaker in His divine nature. A grace undeserved and a privilege that inspires deep awe and adoration for Him. I am nothing without Him. Thus, I dedicate this entire blog to Him. From Him, Through Him and To Him are all things: my witty words included.
Hence the name: the story told. For one, the real story that matters was finished at the cross. Its work the reason I walk proud. Another reason is, I love story telling. Whether it is through music, written word, spoken word or theatre — the idea of embodying a narrative enthuses me. Lastly, I still believe that I am unique and have a unique story to tell. It might not be appealing like a fairytale or thrilling like a blockbuster. Nonetheless, it has a significant purpose to portray and because I believe it has already been told — that is, it is a finished work — why don’t we find a start for it? Its own beginning? My own version of once upon a time? So, without any time spillage: Kwasukasukela…
*Kwasukasukela means ‘in the beginning’ or ‘once upon a time’ in isiZulu — one of the eleven offical languages in South Africa.
