Die to live eternally

Maya Roze | Thursday June 19, 2014 23:50

When Micheal Jackson died, I thought it was a lie, because you know he was full of stunts. I remember when Freakie Tah was shot, I was so touched, I was in my tweens and admired everything my older brother did, meaning, all the music he listened to, I thought was super dope. I walked into the living room in our old home in Lobatse and said: ‘Tseli, jaanong ba bolaile Freakie Tah. Ka goreng jaanong?’

My brother looked at me, and continued to fiddle with the video machine, shrugged his shoulders and said: I don’t know. And then when Left Eye passed away; I was on tour with the marimba band in the US. It was a coldish morning and the radio was playing in our host’s home. In the bathroom. I was touched. Super touched. Like I knew her. I got to the tour bus and was mortified, moping all day. I told my bandmates of the tragedy and they had the same distant reaction my brother had.

The deepest cut was Aaliyah, because at the time I was dressing like her, singing like her and just loved her from the beginning. My daughter says I look like Rihanna (yeah, I know – unconditional love from our children blinds them of the reality that is). But I always thought I looked like Aaliyah, always stuck my tummy in hoping to get as close as I can to her body type and always exercised my winding waist to get her moves. I was a sneaker freak and loved me some baggy denims. Never dug dungarees though. The only time I thought I didn’t look like her was when I was dating my first baby daddy and Jay Z and Beyonce had just started coming out of the closet of romance with their relationship. In the back of my mind, because the dude adored Jay Z and still does admire the dude; and I tried my best to look fine, not fine, but fine; so I thought we were Jay and Bey (yeah, go ahead and giggle – big dreams bloom fast). But they are not dead, so for once they don’t get the shine.

It should make you wonder why we become attached to personalities in that manner. Is it the notion of death that suddenly humanizes them. Imagine Maya Angelou, I will confess that I haven’t read enough of her work, and she somewhat has something to do with why I named myself Maya. Also that my dream was NOT to meet her, instead to get her to read my works. For her to pound me with big ups and encouragement. I don’t even know if we were friends on Facebook. But upon her passing, I thought dang! I am using a dead person’s name meaning I cannot and will not disappoint her legacy. I have to complete my anthologies, to tell my stories and share my experiences through literature. So that I touch many people’s lives.

You never know when you’re going to die. Since finding a peace within my spirit, I have no fear of death – so like Mrs Roosevelt implied:’ You have until midnight each day. Never give up. Resilience is key.’

I don’t want Ghandi status or to be martyred, no, I want to know that when my body ceases to be, and my spirit relocates back to its home, what will I have done. There have been shocking celebrity deaths in the past few months, and the older you get the more real and difficult it is to accept that someone is no more. #RIPEDDIEZONDI (yes, I am that old!)

Imagine how you feel after watching those VH1/MTV Marvin Gaye or Nina Simone or Lebo Mathosa or Luther Vandross documentaries. It is sad ne. A tinge of pain as you miss the light and life of that person. It becomes so vivid as you imagine them laying in a coffin somewhere decomposing while they are resting in peace. I am not being insensitive, I am letting you in – into how my mind chooses to accept and process the idea of death for life.

The loss of a life is epic, legend, celebrity or childhood affiliate, especially in this small city of ours. Perhaps it is time for retrospective introspection. Time to reassess the value we place to life and those around us. Perhaps it is worth us trying to get along.

Remember how the folk music community came together for the late greats such as Stampore, Malombo and Andries Bok. Let us do that guys. For me, I want you at my funeral. Smiling and missing me as I lay before you in eternal peaceful sleep.

I am not being morbid, just sharing what I am going through in my evaluation of my life. This thing called art that we live for needs to be done justice daily – from when you rise until midnight. Do not waste your time planning so much. Everything is already there, you just need to take it. Do not worry about it being too late – ‘dust yourself off and try again!’

LIVE LOVE GROW AND OWN YOUR ARTSY SELF!