There’s something about me you don’t understand.

Not that I expect you to, nor did I ever think it my right to be understood. But there’s something that you need to know about me; something inside me that’s been around for years. There was something inside me that changed the moment I stepped away from Blok F1/29 – not by my own will but by the merciless tides of politics and racial violence.

Something inside me changed, that fateful summer’s day.

I remember the moment clearly. The ’98 World Cup was on in France. The world was in oblivious unison, even as mindless violence marred our lives and tore us from our homes. A child was suddenly aware. The match was England vs Argentina – Beckham was playing – and as the boy observed the senseless flurry of feet it dawned upon him that he was never going back.

Something inside him knew, that home wasn’t coming back.

He cried for days and nights; he cried as he visited the ever-unfamiliar hawker centres, he cried as he played basketball with missionaries’ children. He cried even when he was supposed to be happy, and cried even worse in grief. He couldn’t stop crying… and then suddenly, one day the tears stopped rolling. A new life was born upon the world.

The world was never the same once the tears stopped.

I was never the same once the tears stopped.

I hated goodbyes. I hated departures.

I still do. Very, very much.