Amina - The Goddess
I stumbled into one of the marble-tiled toilet stalls of the 7* Sangria-La Hotel & Resorts - Kelli, eyes blurred with tears, slumped onto the side of the oriental-styled ceramic bowl and bawled my heart out. To add to my extensive list of failures, I could not step off the ledge of the 20 storey-edifice in an attempt to end my dismal life. Like clockwork, I got the customary text by noon from my mother’s hospice nurse: “Hello Ms Amina, your mother is doing fine, however, we would need to replenish her stock of Donepezil.” At 87 years, she had begun suffering from mild bouts of dementia, holding strong for a decade after the demise of the love of her life. How would I pay for this? Her medical insurance quota for the month had already been used up! Fitfully, I fell into a trance-like state: I watched as a Caucasian man drew brush strokes across a painting canvas. His work was brilliant artistry and I itched to take a photograph of it. As he turned about, he said to me: ‘There a...