Kite strings and heartstrings: A journey of joy and reflection at the Kite Festival

This past week, I’ve been sitting in my feelings. Not just passing through them - really sitting there, in that space where everything feels a little heavier than it should. It’s been one of those weeks where the weight of being a mom feels like too much and not enough all at once.

The endless balancing act of wanting to give your child the world while quietly worrying about how you’re going to hold your own together.

When the weekend came and we decided to go to the Kite Festival, I honestly wasn’t in the mood. My heart felt tired, my mind cluttered, just a week ago mom was admitted to hospital with a heart attack, we had a birthday coming up, which means extra expenses and and and...

But my six-year-old had been counting down the days, bubbling with excitement, asking if we’d fly our own kite, if there would be rides, if he could get candy floss.

So we went, because that’s what we do. We show up, even when we don’t feel like it.

The moment we arrived, the sky was alive with colour. Kites swirled and danced against the blue, their tails streaming like ribbons. Children were laughing, music played in the background, and the smell of popcorn drifted through the air.

It was one of those scenes that should have lifted me instantly but I still felt stuck inside my own head. I smiled and chatted, but deep down I felt disconnected, like I was watching life happen from behind glass.

And then I saw him. My little boy on one of the small carnival rides, eyes wide with pure joy. He threw his head back and laughed that deep, from-the-stomach kind of laugh that only children have. It was so loud and honest that it cut straight through the fog in my chest.

I stood there watching him, tears stinging my eyes, because in that moment, he reminded me what happiness really looks like. It’s not perfect. It’s not planned. It’s just there.

When the ride stopped, he came running toward me, breathless and smiling, cheeks flushed red from excitement. He looked up at me and said, “Mommy, did you, ma and pa also fly kites when you were small?”

And just like that, I was six again. I could see my dad walking through the door, long bamboo sticks in hand, his eyes bright because he knew what he was about to make. My mom would sit beside him, helping him cut paper and string, both of them building a kite from nothing.

We didn’t have much but I didn’t know that then. All I knew was the feeling of love filling the house. The warmth of the sun on my face as I ran with the kite tugging in my hands, feeling like I could touch the clouds.

That memory hit me so hard I had to take a breath. Standing there, watching my own child look up at the sky with that same sparkle in his eyes, I realised something. My parents gave me everything that mattered: love, time, togetherness even when they had so little. And now, here I was, doing the same without even realising it.

Maybe giving our children the world doesn’t mean grand gestures or fancy things. Maybe it’s this showing up, even when we’re tired. Laughing with them, even when we’re worried. Teaching them what joy looks like, even when we’re still trying to find it ourselves.

As the kites swayed and dipped above us, I felt something inside me loosen. The heaviness of the week started to fade. Watching my son’s laughter fill the air reminded me that love really is enough and that the memories we make, even on the hard days, are what they’ll carry with them long after the kites come down.

tracy-lynn.ruiters@inl.co.za

Weekend Argus