breathing still

an ode to we—who chose to keep on breathing

for every morning things got dark for me 
the Sun did rise again the next 
in my direction, 
through my imperfections, 
through me,
with warmth 
it’s calm
....
can you feel this? 
breathing through was worth it 
breathing still is worth it 

when life’s in your hands 
and you can decide 
please breathe 
please stay alive 

breathing through was worth it 
breathing, still, is worth it 

(sesa) 

hi,

it’s been a while. i hope this longread finds you well. apologies for not writing any sooner, but i’ve been caught up in life and chasing one of many dreams—if you’ve been here long enough, you know the one i mean. my dream deferred: (out)growing pains.

in august’s longread, i briefly touched on it. i shared how i wanted to give up on this project but couldn’t—because it’s purpose-based. meaning, as much as i wanted to walk away, i physically and mentally couldn’t. i wasn’t super detailed about everything because (out)growing pains has been such a tumultuous journey. it would take pages to tell it from start to finish (and it ain’t even really over yet!!). so back in august, i kept it short and straight to the point. the heart of that longread: there is no giving up on purpose-based dreams!

if you have no idea what i’m talking about or you subscribed after august or you were just living life and didn’t keep up—you can find august’s longread here:

now, the update on my dream deferred/ on august’s longread/ on (out)growing pains: i did it. it happened.

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as mentioned before, the creation process was its own journey. a story within the story. i started filming it early 2023. from the search for inspiration to writing the poems, from bringing people into the process to building the piece—i filmed it all. the struggles. the excitement. the letdowns. the breakthroughs. the disappointment. the joy. i captured both the precious and the painful. and i want to tell that story in a different way. through a different medium. (out)growing pains: the documentary. it’s in the making.

so no, this longread isn’t about how it all came together. it’s not about how the premiere went nor the second show. this longread is about what i was thinking as it was happening: i’m breathing still.

“i’m breathing still… i’m still breathing… it was worth it… staying alive was very much worth it…i’m breathing still…”

(out)growing pains, 2025 © Clarisse Mumbile

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this longread is an ode to myself.
one that is to you too. 
because i’ve learned along the way: we are all just one. 
what happens to me, happens to you too— in a way of your own. 
what i feel, you feel too—in a way of your own. 
we’re all just one. 
this is an ode to us. 
this is an ode to we—who chose to keep on breathing.

this ode is not a romanticisation of the pain.
because if it were up to me, i wouldn’t have gone through half the things i did.
this ode is a tribute to who i’ve become despite it all.
for the longest i believed i wasn’t worthy.
not of love. not of protection. not of people staying. not of lasting joy.
not of living.
many times i wondered if someone like me was ever meant to keep breathing,
not out of hatred for life, but from the exhaustion of not understanding my own.
for the longest i would’ve given anything to be someone else.
i spent years imagining a better life, a softer backstory, being a different person—one people could love. one they’d stay for.
countless are the lives i imagined just to escape mine.
for the longest it used to feel unbearable to be me.
at times i felt like i was too much, sometimes i felt as if i was too less of something. always felt never quite enough. 

this is an ode to the shift.
to the moment i stopped fantasising about escape and decided to be present.
this ode is about the power in not turning away from myself.
in looking at who i am—and choosing her. again and again.
this is an ode to gratitude, now that it has found me.
for not being anyone else. for not being anything else. for not being anything less.
this is an ode to the ones who choose joy when sadness comes easier.
to those who choose softness when anger feels easier.
this ode is for the ones who still reach for the light, even when it hurts. because it does hurt. 
this ode is for those who alchemise.
who spin light from pain.
who turn heartache into something sacred.
this ode is for those who alchemise.
and now, this is an ode for me too—because i’ve turned into what i never imagined i could be.

this ode is an answer to the question of staying.
to wondering whether people ever truly do.
and to the harder question: why should i stay for me if no one else has?
this ode is for choosing to remain.
for not walking out on myself when things got hard.
this is an ode to the thoughts i’ve had.
about death. more than once. many times.
now i know i truly did not want to die.
it’s that i wanted the pain to cease.
i wanted to feel anything other than pain.
i just didn’t know how to.
this ode is for the writing that happened to me.
and then came reflection.
and then came understanding.
and then came healing.
in perpetuity—for you and me. 

this is an ode to the realisation that the brave thing to do is to stay. 
that the braver thing to do is being vulnerable as long as i'm here. 
that the bravest thing to do is staying alive—is breathing through. 
this is an ode to breathing through.
this is an ode to radical breathing.
to radical living.
to the decision to stay alive on purpose.
this is an ode to facing myself and not flinching.
this is an ode to telling myself: i’m glad you’re still here.
and not waiting for someone else to say it.
i’m glad i’m still here.
i’m glad i kept on breathing.
i’m glad i breathed through the lumps in my throat, 
the scars on my body, the cracks in my heart, and the cries of my soul.

this is an ode to the resilience i didn’t know lived in me.
the kind that kept me here.
being me: what once felt like punishment now feels like purpose.
i am a gift. to myself. to someone. to the world maybe.
this is an ode to the pride i now hold.
in being me. in doing me. in breathing me. 
it’s almost unimaginable what is waiting for you on the other side of breathing through.
all i asked was to not feel pain, and i received more than my mind could fathom.
this is an ode to The Most High.
i have a GOD in my life and it shows. 
i had a GOD in my life even when i didn’t know. 

truth be told, i’m not really sure this is an ode anymore.
this might be a testimony.
one that belongs to you too.
because i’ve learned along the way: we are all just one. 
what happens to me—happens to you too, in a way of your own. 
what i feel, you feel too—in a way of your own. 
we’re all just one.
this testimony is about us.
this is a testimony about we—who chose to keep on breathing.

i’m glad we’re still here.

sincerely,

Sesa