The Biggest Piece of Me

An Essay by Temashengu Litchfield Tshabalala

You know when you are driving from one place to another, and in between there is nothing? Or, should I say there’s ghost towns? Places that don’t have much but schools and a church, and a tuckshop that operates like a drug store?

One thing that always exists in these places is a breathtaking bed and breakfast. It’s in the middle of nowhere but it’s necessary; even if you don’t remember it. I have come to compare myself to them — I call them halfway houses.

The people in my life come and go. At first that used to hurt me; it used to split me in half and leave me feeling naked and empty, used. I look at all my interactions with people now and I appreciate that I fulfilled a role in their happiness or betterment.

I am the B&B in a desert town halfway from where you started to where you are going.

Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī said, “What you seek is seeking you.” I’ve always sought to help people in any way; and like Rūmī’s quote, as I sought to help people, people sought help from me.

I sought solace, a place that I am and comfort is as well. Where no one needs the other but a mutual love. I found a home, and a home found someone to live in it. I found words and they just started pouring out of me. This may sound romanticised and beautifully sad, but this is just me. Being a halfway house taught me how to love myself. I gained self-love from loving others. Being a halfway house has helped me accept that I have to be self-reliant. Being a halfway house means I run on luck not recommendations, but that’s okay. I’ve always had tit-for-tat relations with people. Maybe that will change, maybe not.

There is no love I’ve known like that of my fingers touching a keyboard or pen. I feel oddly complete, like my voice isn’t too loud, like I don’t swear too much, like my image of myself doesn’t matter, like I’m whole. What my mouth cannot say my hands are not afraid to write.

Anything can be taken away from me, anything, my happiness, my self-pride/love, my patience; anything, including my intellect which I’ve worked so hard to safe-guard thinking I had no other skills or traits. The one thing you cannot take from me is writing, or the happiness I get from it.

I have a home now. I hope it won’t treat like I’m a halfway house; I hope I’ll settle, make a home, and never leave.

“When I write, I am myself — it is the rawest part of me. Without writing I wouldn’t have an identity because it is my identity.”

Temashengu Litchfield Tshabalala, from South Africa, started at ALA in September of 2017. She is passionate about entertainment, media, the arts, and political science. She also writes, sings, and debates. Email Temashengu at temashengult@gmail.com.