Half Price

My mother always warned me about buying half price.

She stopped me from buying sweet bananas when I was in class five. She stopped me from looking through a pile of colorful tops at Kibuye market when I was in class seven and in the supermarket she would tell me “look at the expiry date!”

man with red and gray basket on top of her head filled with assorted dolls

I thought I was smart until I walked into Naivas Supermarket and bought two sets of Fa Deodorant (Roll on Sticks) only to get home and realize they were going for half price because they would expire in 14 days.

My mother always warned me about buying half price but all her life she lives as though she is priceless.

It’s from her that I know not to ignore that voice in my head when it tells me otherwise.

It’s from her that I choose to love, let go of love and most of all, not to blame myself for someone else’s actions.

She would always look at me and say “if you truly value something, then half price does not come near it, you can always go above and beyond, but never cut it to half. Well, the best would be to create it then and it’d be priceless, now wouldn’t that be something?”

So, when this love of mine says that I have no heart, I sit back, brew some coffee and think of half price. I think of how far away it is from compromise, and how it can be mistaken for the other. I think of how easy it is to the bear guilt over words that are spoken unto us, words that would become labels, that we wear like our skin, judging us with every breath…and there’s no price I’m willing to pay for that kind of feeling, not even, half price.

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