The year's end approached, mere days until a display of colourful sparks would taint the night sky in a fresh yet ashy taste of resolution.

I didn't want it to end this way. A day's joy was enough to erase the dreadful memory lest it haunts you the rest of your new year. But even knowing so, mama was the type to cling onto the past, bring up all your flaws the unfortunate day you decide you'd wrong her.

Not once did she look up to see me struggle with the load of suitcases. My dad had a very similar look, not giving a care in the world about where their first born child ended up doing with her life.

  I didn't want it to end this way, the angel on my shoulder cannot hope to convince me otherwise. Shame on those who someday hope to follow in my footsteps. My sisters.

"You're the oldest, very wise that you set an example for them. A positive one." That's what they always said. Screw them! I wanted to say. But since I was leaving, not a fibre of my being felt the sympathy to say anything one last time, whether they listened or not.

'Well father, what are you gonna do now? Hey mother, who are you gonna blame now?' I was leaving, and no second thought can ever hope to turn me around. 

It was around half-past-five in the afternoon. A quiet one because the entire community migrated to this side of the streets. They had snobbish looks on just behind their hands which all sense showed how much my departure would bring good, sweet tea at the dinner table tonight. Celebrations were forgotten like my existence in a small town as such. Today will mark the forever absence of me. The last time I played dress-up for the sake of Christmas was about a good decade well past the equally good days. It also happened like trick-or-treat by the way, except this was the south side of Africa, and instead you'd get blessings-or-treats.

  But now I am leaving. No prophet can ever pray to keep me at bounds.

Only three wheels rolled across the gravel road. As harsh as my parents' delusional attempt at parenting. As rough as the hazy future I faced ahead, the dust was unbearable for someone who had a hard time breathing, medically confirmed.

To be honest I'd grown tired of it. Siyolise this! Siyolise that! When were they ever going to stop robbing me of a care-free life... or one at all.

"Yiza ndik'ncedise." Let me help you.

This bus driver is the only human kind enough to sympathise with me in this yeah forsaken world! I handed him my ticket and he pointed to the door. Thank you, dear stranger. Now that I put my trust in you, take care to drive me away to a different corner far from... home?

Its engine clattered and soon the bus rumbled away, drowning out the gossips bound to profit the respectable journalists of town. Talking my neighbours. It drove off, disappearing behind the mounds and hills and fields and... guilt? The community of the people shrunk to mere dots in the mirror. Their faces still masked by sadness under the shade of the setting sun.

Yeah, I am leaving. No apology can ever hope to turn me around.

At the thought of venturing out to Gauteng, I suddenly shivered. Not in coldness, but because of fear. It is the first time leaving my home, a place that felt like a world of its own.

Whatever happens with the engine as the bus sped through King William's Town, I appreciated it. I appreciated the cacaphony I knew wasn't about me. Finally! I appreciated the baby's whining despite her mother's efforts to keep it silent. I appreciated the rushing landscape outside the window and the bus's swaggering. But not the smile the big lady sitting next was putting on in a ridiculous attempt to looking friendly.

Thing is about each province is that it still felt segregated. Reserved to its significant people whose love for members from other cultures was genuinely fake.

The journey took twelve hours in total, spanning from the eastern province, round the interlocked country, through the kilometres long and laboriously straight roads of Free State and to Gauteng.

Sandile was late to pick me up from the Bosman Bus Station. I didn't like looking out of place and helpless as that attracted sketchy hustlers begging to help with the baggage.

Nearly two hours passed by with me shivering in the morning sun. I had no phone to call him, no courage to borrow one but thanks to my own thoughts I was able to perform a reality check.

Name is Siyolise, eighteen years, fair complexion of melanin and eyes the colour of coffee. Teabags for the dark hangs at the bottom of each due to the lack of sleep. Yes, that's all I knew about myself at the moment. Most peers mistakened me for a sporty girl judging by my tall and slender frame.

Mama mistook me for this lazy, stubborn and rebellious bitch whereas father saw working on his farms as the best way I'd be useful in life.

Having left the world behind - my home, remember? - oh how I wished to start my life all over again. Forgetting all that's been and keeping my head straight. After all I was here, I was in Pretoria, a city of many opportunities. A city worthy to be considered a fresh start.

It wouldn't be so dear, would it be diary? Had I spent another hour breathing in the shit of that hell. Even the lustful gazes eerily gave me better comfort. That's how different this feels to me.

And a part of me itched with regret and a sinking feeling. Screw it! I thought to myself. Now's not the time to reel back. I escaped didn't I?

The question must've hung like a balloon over my head, if you get what I ain't sayin'. Because when I sighed, I couldn't help but say it out loud:

"Same shit. Different day..."