My boys of miscarriage

I lied to myself so many times, when I was single, and said I am NOT looking. Love will find me, I would say. But deep down in me, I knew I was looking for the one person with whom I can talk about things that other people hardly understand nor find interesting.

I went out with friends at night and on weekends; drank, laughed and ate all the fattening food. I socialised and met new friends some of whom felt like I was too much of a pink diamond to be single. So, I was hooked up -unwillingly- many times with other single sheeps. Though disappointing in so many levels at times, the experience was fun and very insightful.  

I met men – and boys - I felt were the right ones. With some, I slept, I had sex and I loved. Many of whom proved to fall for me for the many get-togethers I am loved for. Clearly, boy eyed guaranteed entrance tickets – to a house I do NOT even own - whenever yours truly felt Oprah-ish and fed the ‘nation’; making it rain while he would come in with arms folded. I am guessing his wallet had one big hole through which his cents escaped on his way to mine.

The last one though, boy I mean, was a figure my friends felt was the most ludicrous relation I have ever pursued. He liked me and I liked him back. He had deep issues and I had to have tissues always. Of course, I had problems too.

Nonetheless, he was not a hard tiff to swallow. Or so I thought. He left me bending picking up my jaw when he had no shame sharing with me that his ex did not only have horse of a pipe, but he –my boy- was the only one whom the ex told could take it all in...

Yes, I was single and in like, but I was not foolish that I would dip my being in a hole that had taken in objects dubbed to be larger and bigger than my arm. Besides, I had an ego to grow NOT to bruise it. Imagine, me humping and pumping a ride with someone who’d probably be focusing on how slow my beard is growing.

Oh, what a loss though. But he left me with a lesson; never take too lightly petite boys, particularly those who compliment me every chance they get.

All the same, the one before him was another tale to be reckoned. A song I would have chosen Amy Winehouse to sing. I and he were what many considered a match-made in heaven. However, we both knew we were nothing like that. Instead, we were simply lusting for each other.

I told him many times how much I wanted him. I don’t care what everyone thinks of you, I want you, I would say. He would touch me and get playful with me in public and he let me kiss him whenever I wanted to.

Yet, it appeared he had not only been touchy and playful with me. Right across my house, my coloured neighbour knew him. In fact, my neighbour and his friends knew him very well. He had photos to prove it. I saw the photos, he was right; they knew him seeing that we all had seen him.

Happy read!

Family time

December is just two months and a few weeks away, and I am faced with two options on how and where I should spend it. Either I go home, and spend my December holidays with family or, have my two younger siblings come over in Joburg to spend the holidays with me.

The latter, is of course, appealing, not only to me but to my mother as well. However, when I sat up at night thinking of the costs and comparing the two options, going home came up less costly than having my siblings up here.

As parsimonious as I am, I considered the expensive option and came up to a conclusion that I want my siblings to come up here.

I want them to see the world, and I want them to get the experience I got when I went to East London for the first time. That same experience broadens its self when I came to Joburg to follow my dream. I want to help them get rid of the mentality  that, a person from the Eastern Cape has to hide or run away from home to come and make money in Joburg.

The first time

The very first time I came to Joburg, I saw a place full of opportunities. A place so diverse, it takes people of different tribes to help a Xhosa folk find himself. This place has taught me so much about family value because I have bumped and made friends with people who left their homes and never went back. But of course, now they need their families because they have nowhere else to go for the reason that their friends have abandoned them.

This place has showed me just how to have a good time. Yes, Cape Town offers a very high class way of living. But Johannesburg is a perfect example that a black person can make it and will make it if only that person chews on hard work every day.

This is where I took note of just how much young (black) people are hungry to be independent, be successful and responsible of their families and loved ones. As a result, every time I have to do anything for my family and loved ones, I feel that sense of pride accentuating the mere fact that, I am making it and I am a responsible young black man.

Now, who am I to deprive my siblings all this inspiration? Why procrastinate a deal I can sort out in the present moment? Will I not be to blame when my siblings find crime or sleeping around more rewarding than getting education? What if I die today? Will they ever get to see and experience what made their brother yearn for Independence?

I am the most selfish person on this planet, but I refuse to be so in this regard. I love my family, and loving them means, I must (especially if and when I can) help them get the inspiration I think they need to succeed and be happy in life.  Of course, my primary aim here is to highlight just how much access one can have when one endures education and believes in it.

I know it’s been a while since I have been home, but I feel that this is a one of those things I have to do while I can still afford (or be indebted) to do. I don’t know what tomorrow holds for me. The best I can do is making my siblings happy in the only ways possible. After all, I am a celebrity in their eyes. So, why not Oprah-fy them up?

Happy read!