Missing Stars


I missed the stars I could say. I must have done things so differently last new year eve. I have this custom of sitting out in the dark and watching the stars in a usually clear end of year sky. I would pick my star and follow it across the sky. I would have my eyes on it, among the hundreds in that constellation. I would follow mine as it crosses over others, and sometimes descends to the far end of the sky. At that point my mind would be drawn to the things that could have been life transforming throughout the year, I would think of myself among the stars and mesmerize the magic of existence. My star would fade eventually among others, and somehow reappear, or so I would think, and I would follow it again until midnight. This is when I would cross into a new year, and everyone would be jumping around in celebration of crossing into another season.

But I missed my star last year. I couldn’t take myself to watch it. My spirit had been weighed down by my miseries, the what-ifs and questions of what to celebrate. This time, as the clock ran close, my mind was 600 km away in my home village of Kobala somewhere around my mother’s grave or maybe millions of miles in the stratosphere, probably if heavens exist somewhere out there with her spirits. Eighteen months since we lost her and one almost loses the sense of time, because suddenly it looks like the whole world is in a serious spin. You want to let go yet you can’t, wish to move on but where to? You don’t want to forget her and still can’t find yourself looking at her picture because you’ll break a dam. Grief is an animal. It strips you until you lose a sense of belonging.

But thoughts of her never cease. Pictures always flash through my mind of the good times; like when she would pose for a picture, then run into the house and change clothes for another picture without notice, or when I would call her at 7:30 pm and she would complain that I have a bad habit of calling her just when she’s setting herself up to watch ‘Maria’ on Citizen, or when she would call with a village gossip and you’d hear her lower her tone like all the villagers would be listening. So I come to think that how God works is a mystery. Just when you think of not believing it’s actually happening, that you’ll never see her again, you come to think of it again and console yourself because you better believe it. This is one process that has no reversal, at least on earth, so to speak.

How could I pick my star this night again when I was lost among them? As I closed the year, I thought I should put my burden in a moving cart, and let it roll downhill, steadily it should because I didn’t want to load myself with thoughts, and I said to myself that I would want to begin a new year with a lighter spirit, where I get to accept the gift of life and its troubles. Maybe that way, I can accept that God has given me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.


I have been on a break of writing partly because I have had a very heavy heart for some time, but I’m grateful I was able to break the ice. For more than a year that I have not written any other blog I still get to see hundreds of you getting to my blog on a monthly basis to read and I get encouraged that my stories could be actually meaningful to you. I’m therefore encouraged to soldier on.

I used to think of my blog as the biggest secret from my mother, because yes, I am usually not very kind with words here, or let me say as one of my readers once told me, “Osano you really have a bedroom energy in your writings”. I asked her to explain this and she told me it’s very hard for me to write an article without someone having sex in it. Another avid reader of mine called me a porn writer when she read BROKEN JOYSTICK. Well, I’m not too sure about that, be my judge, but guess what? I’m not a cat to shy away from sexual intercourse in light, I mean how do you avoid Genesis when you want to read the whole bible?

And so just you know,

Papa is back!


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