| I’m awake.
I keep re-reading the newsletter… and somehow,
I’ve gotten used to seeing beautiful and inspiring stories about other people.
But today, reading about myself it felt different.
Suddenly, I’m numb. Not because I’m ungrateful
but because I’ve never had time to sit with it all. To reflect.
I’ve been surviving for so long, chasing for so long,
that I forgot what it means to just pause and feel.
All I’ve ever known is chasing.
Chasing a piece of bread with peanut butter.
Chasing whiteness, because I thought
it was the only way to be seen.
Chasing city officials, chasing validation,
chasing dignity.
And still even in the chasing I was always saying “thank you.”
Because when you’ve had nothing,
you learn to say “thank you” for every little thing.
You learn to queue even in the line.
You learn to hold your head up high,
even when your hands are empty.
So now, as I write this with tears in my eyes,
I’m trying to find the words. Not just to say thank you
but to speak to you the one who’s still there.
Still standing in the line. Still carrying dreams in your back pocket.
Still hoping someone will notice you.
Love to Give noticed me.
Y’all didn’t just give me a job.
You gave me an opportunity
to become someone I’d only ever imagined
someone who inspires others like me.
People who know the sound of hunger.
People who know how long it takes to knock on closed doors.
People who know what it feels like to keep showing up
even when the world says no.
This wasn’t a silver platter.
This was sweat, survival, surrender
and a quiet hope that maybe,
just maybe someone would believe in me.
So for someone else, this might just be a newsletter.
But for me? It’s dreams realised. It’s confidence rebuilt.
It’s a thank you that comes with purpose.
Because now I see: my story isn’t just mine.
It’s a mirror for the next child waiting in line.
I still remember when Annabel and Alice approached me
with the opportunity to facilitate a plumbing course
through the Citizen Connect program.
And I still remember what I told them:
“I come from a place where if you make it to varsity,
the expectation is you’ll come back and build everyone
a house because you are their only hope.”
And so I carried that.
That pressure. That expectation. That fire.
And today, I can say with pride: I am living in a double-story house.
No, it’s not fully furnished yet. But every brick in this house
carries a piece of the girl I used to be,
the one who queued in the line and refused to give up.
Love to Give didn’t just give me work.
You gave me space to grow. You gave me a community.
You gave me a platform to reach others who’ve felt invisible.
And I’m using that platform now, for you.
That’s what Love to Give is…not just a workplace, but a family.
A culture of warmth, care, and belief in who you are becoming.
I celebrate myself today not to impress,
but to show you what’s possible.
So the newsletter got me in tears and awake that this isn’t just my story.
It’s yours too if you’re still queuing in the peanut butter line.
If you’re still waking up with a dream that won’t let you go.
If you’ve been told “no” more times than you can count.
Let this be your yes.
Let this remind you that even in the hardest seasons,
your story is still unfolding.
And when your time comes, and it will come,
your story will inspire someone else.
And ultimately Love to Give,
Thank you.
Not just for giving me hope,
but for helping me become someone
who now gives hope away.
– Asiphe Cosa
Plumber, activist, facilitator and a member of the Love to Give team |