It was a quiet afternoon in the red roofed house located in New Bedford.  Everyone was happy and cheerful,  but amidst this euphoria was a girl who sat in the far corner of the room. I noticed that she looked confused and detached from the rest.

Why?

Because it looked like she was trying to do something she’s never done before. She wanted to create a website and had watched countless YouTube videos but struggled and refused to give up.

Then her face lit up. She had figured it out. But I later heard her mutter: “what content should I put up?”

I wanted to help. I spoke and made suggestions but she couldn’t hear me. It was at that point that I realized that I was watching my past in another time.

It must have been hard. Really hard.
But looking back, I am glad I struggled because exactly 1 year and 4 days ago, that struggle became my very first post on Mirrors and Reflections.

Committing to Mirrors and Reflections hasn’t been easy. But if asked to describe my experience in one word, I’d ask for 3 and then say “my inconsistent consistency.”

When I started blogging, I promised myself that I would post weekly on Wednesdays. But that changed quickly. Wednesdays became Thursdaysish curveballs. Thursdayish curveballs led to Sundays and now somewhat Mondayish super curveballs!

It was and is still hard. And even though I – and perhaps my readers – see some inconsistencies, what I choose to see is a girl who refused to give up. A girl who chose to stay consistent even when life disguised itself as inconsistency. 

Besides my inconsistent consistency, today feels surreal. Really surreal. The same feelings I felt when I wrote my very first post have resurfaced.

To those who have been following (and for which I say a big thank you!), my first post opened with a longing for my father. One year and 4 days later, those feelings still remain. 

I miss my father. Missing Daddy reminds me not only of how death yanked him out of my life, but also, the void his absence left.

Lately, I’ve been hearing Daddy’s voice.

“I know you’ll make it Rukute Rukute.”

Daddy would say this with a resounding, unshakable, and contagious faith that made me believe I could do anything.  Now, I wish I could pick up the phone and tell him “your baby made it.”

But here I am. Curled up once more. Thinking about Daddy. About life. My life. About loved ones and about seasons.

Seasons come and seasons go, but sometimes seasons grow us too.

Although grief has been an inconsistently consistent season in my life, it has grown me in unimaginable ways and for that, I’ll always be thankful.