I broke his heart...

I am sitting here contemplating whether or not to write this post. But then again, the ‘other party’ has been blogging continuously about the matter at hand. So why not let out what I feel in the only way I know how?

I am single. It’s been two months now if not more. I can’t even remember because I don’t think I want to remember.

We broke up because it was time. I mean, we both knew things were not going well between the two of us. He was very much aware of that, but he just didn’t want to let go. I could have let things be the same too, but I value my happiness more than anything in this world. As a result, I decided to be the one who says it’s over.

Obviously, he did not take this very well, and for reasons –known by him only- he felt that I didn’t care and that I was sailing through life very smoothly now that I ended things with him.  He also thought I was leaving him for someone else. What he didn’t know is that, I lost my focus at work because I was trying to figure out how do I keep him in my life but not be in a relationship with him.

I knew very well that him and I could never be friends, but I thought since we shared a very tight and special bond, we could create something that could fall in-between a relationship and a friendship.

Sadly, the conclusion I reached did not match any of my wishes. Instead, I stopped speaking to him. Basically, I cut all communication between us. The aim here was to get him to get over me quickly. Having said that, I knew how much that would hurt him.  He hated me, as a result.

Why did we break up? I simply could not find myself in him. We not meant to be.

In realising this, I failed to communicate with him properly. I kept this to myself, but eventually I reached a stage where I was very uncomfortable and unhappy with what we had.  Hence I decided to be open about it. After all, I come first in preaching honesty to all my friends. I could not be caught dead being dishonest to someone I love.

We spoke about this and we came up with ways to sort it out. Later, however, I realised that he had stopped living his own life. He started living for me. He stopped socialising and communicating with his friends. He started worrying more about my friends, my problems, my hard time at work, my family issues and all those kind of things. I didn’t like this. And I told him, but I was farting in the water, it seemed.

I know I look for myself in all those I date. But if I find that one lacks that ‘me-ness’, I tell them, but I don’t want them to shape themselves to fit that. It’s just something I expect them to have at a go. Unfortunately, I was experiencing this with someone who was already insecure, because things came to a point where he felt all the guys I was friends with wanted me and I loved them more than him.  

This was absurd, and therefore I did not intend to entertain it. I hated it, and we often fought about it.

I fuelled his insecurities by disclosing –out of honesty, I thought- crushes I had on a couple guys he knew. This was the boiling point for our problems.

I knew for a fact I was wrong; for telling him this, and for letting things reach a point where I look for a ‘perfect’ relationship while I’m in a relationship. I was wrong for getting involved with a kid.

You can just imagine the sort of damage it did to him, when I dumped him. I felt so bad. I felt so evil for causing him so much pain after having told him a million times that I love him, and that no matter what I will stick with him.

He is too young to be in a relationship like the one we had. He needs someone who is not going to complicate his life. Someone who will help him grow up. In fact, he needs someone of his age exactly. Not me. I am a mess that needs solving. Unfortunately, he was not the pertinent creature to help me in this regard. I needed myself to sort this out.

Having been hurt so bad by two people whom I thought loved me, I broke someone’s heart. I put him through the same pain I hate to go through. The one dent that never goes away.

I am to blame.  I would love to shift the blame to the issue of gay relationships that never last, but only last when faithfulness and cheating are considered the prime principles. But, I will not.

Happy read!

Solutions

Instances, examples and problems,

Emergencies, pain and silliness;

My body inevitably fails to connect and reasons cannot be defined.

Less sleep, more pills, mind drugged, my soul is dead,

And my young mind perished in the name of love.

Can I testify and say I was an actor, stage names, lies and imperfections defined me.

Forgetting lines, having no father but trusting in a man,

Failing schools tests, lacking direction but finding joy at varsity,

Limitations and boundaries dictating the light in my tunnel-shaped journey.

Instances, examples and problems,

Emergencies, pain and all;

Tradition abandoned, rules broken while hearts are in a process of being repaired,

Oh I cry, in the name of ancestors as a black soul

I cry in the name of those who live in the moment

I cry in the name of love; that which never existed.

I defined myself in the same way my enemies scrub their floors,

I explain my existence to those who felt I owed them.

I analysed my behaviour to a woman whose genitals stretched as God moulded my parts and shaped my heart, the same heart I have in my hand.

Instances, examples and problems,

Emergencies, pain and cluelessness;

I sleep around, I am sick; I no longer reap, but suck fruits less tasteful than bananas.

I forgot I was a man, I knew I was, but I had to thrust my being where my feet are forbidden as a man.

I forgot I was a loner, I knew I was, before I fell in love and felt good about it,

Deception fooled me; lust blinded me hence I often came quickly.

My traditions have found me, I chose you though I know you ditched me intentionally,

My heart is all repaired; I had to sort it, even though men stabbed me repeatedly in it,

I have found myself through instances, examples and problems,

Emergencies, pain and all.

Survival....

Enduring life, living under circumstances

and suffering in poverty, lacking dreams

as the mind is frustrated.

Simplifying terms is hard, you're calculating your meals so hard

and your stomach cant relax

as your intestine is confused.

Your mind is standing up while you're sitting down,

you can't resist the charm of crime

and you tired of waiting because

you're running out of time.

Siblings are here, they are looking at you,

your father is dead

he left your mother lying there,

hopelessly waiting on you to go out there

and come back with something that can feed these hungry eyes...

You dropped out of school,

Yes you are no good,

but who am I to point a finger at you

when my back encloses two young responsibilities

and a mother who brought home acronyms

on her way to get food me.

Every night I let my face soak in the sea

because every time my mind hits conclusions

I see a limited number of my family,

I see a couple of eyes without family

and I just cannot decide without having her...

Ndive ndisitsho

Gqabi elintsakantsaka,

Lintlakantlaka lithwaxwe zimbalela,

Labuna, labola, lavuthuka.

Uqwalasele kugqutha,

Ufifi lombono lwavela,

Luveza intlantsi yenkwenkwezi,

Ikhanya phezulu phaya,

Umilise izitho emgangathweni,

Welula umqondo, kwahlaziyeka imbilini.

Nkazana entushuntushu, nkazana emfutshane

Siqishimbana sentyatyambo, ndisinekile nje ndiyakubulisa.

Nango amehlo am enyibilika,

Nantsi intliziyo yam intlimpinika

Noko, akophi gazi, luvuyo nje, nokundweba kwengqondo.

Chula ukunyathela ke, simomondiya

Musa ukunyathelwa ke, zizihikahika

Ndikujongile, ndikuhoyile, ndikubukele

Ndikubambile, jonga isandla sam, sikukhongozele

Ndikuqwalasele, ndikuncumele njena, yiyo lento ndikonwabele

Mother earth, The universe or God...?

I knock, I knock and knock

through doors that never seem to open.

I knock and knock through doors that ignore me.

I knock through doors hidding messages from me,

doors that are depriving me of all the good

I was born to inherit.

I knock my knuckles so painfully

on wooden doors, that are holding nothing

but detours and impediments.

I knock and knock and knock

on doors in hopes, in dreams and in plans to find answers.

Mama wam...

One cold morning in July

I kept clicking and snapping my fingers

to a rhythm my life was making.

Still today, I still hear the song

written by my clenching teeth.

I knelt down, picking up

my past experiences and memories.

I bent over, looking to find

happiness in my mama's face.

Instead, a storm crashed my backbone

having me paralysed.

Again, I knelt down, picking up

pieces of shattered dreams and broken hearts.

I bent over, looking to find

healing in her eyes.

Instead, the end is written in her face.

Every now and then,

the drums of bible scriptures

make a sound in my ears,

instilling faith, hope and contentness.

My nostrils exhale and release

confusion, disturbance and fear.

I clear my throat with a glass of tears,

I dry my eyes with a towel of loneliness,

fear and desperation.

Yet, again I knelt down, picking up

my brother and sister, I lift them up.

I bend over, looking to find

fulfillment joy and hope

instead I see misery, confusion and hurt.

I looked down, shoke my head

not giving up, but thinking of a plan.

Right there, she looks up,

she nods, she applauds and she likes...

Guilt

My mother use to work for a place called, Spargs supermarket, in Mthatha. She worked there for as long as I can remember. According to her, she started working at Spargs when it was still a small shop. Now, the place is as big as any Franchise could get.

Even though she no longer works there now, for reasons I cannot know because I'm a “kid” (Of course, I can take a wild guess), I posses fond memories of the time.

Memoirs of time...

Each and every day, my mother would come home with a very fresh white loaf and two packets of fruit. Back then, Spargs plastic bags were red and black. Plastic bags were free. Today, however, they are white and green.

I would approach her, as she would be walking unsteadily, with heavy plastic bags, towards the gate. I knew that when we get inside the house, I hold the power to choose first, whatever was worth my lips. I don't know how and why I don't get fat, that woman fed me, alright.

Amongst all the goodies my mother would have, I would find sandwiches that were given just one bite and take aways that are were touched, but not really touched.

Questions of a child...

At some point, I felt the need to ask my mother what was the deal with the touched, but not really touched take-aways and half bitten (for a lack of a better word) sandwiches. She replied saying, one of her colleagues likes taking her out to eat during lunch time. This friend always buys (my mother was as broke as a church mouse). She would buy all the stuff my mother felt was -only- for rich people.

My mother says, she would only bite her sandwich once and not touch it again. And then, she would chat non-stop till lunch hour was over. That was the strangest thing ever, I thought.

Nonetheless, she justified herself to me saying; she didn't do this weird act because she didn't like the food. She loved it. But, she never felt right chowing all the goodies that her children are not familiar with She never felt right eating not knowing what her kids could be eating. Instead, she felt it was better to bring the touched, but not really touched take-aways and half bitten sandwiches home, for her kids to share...

Bad Habit

Later in the years, I found myself suffering because of this weird act. A leaf does not fall far from its tree, says a saying and that's exactly what happened to me.

I am the kind of guy who dine with friends at restaurants; Mugg n' bean, Cappello's, Metro restaurant, etc and I would order all the stuff I feel I like, or that I have never tasted. But, every time the plate is placed in front of me, the first thing to touch the plate would be my guilty conscious.

I would begin to think back home; Eish, do they have food to eat, if they would see me now, would they think I'm selfish or maybe I have forgotten about them? Am I wasting money? This whole thing would inflict all the memories of my mother bringing us her leftovers. However, I would continue to eat my chicken-a-la kings and drink the sweet rose.

I don't keep on eating because I don't care. Lord knows I do. I work -if I can call it that- and from the little amount I earn I give some of it to my mother, every month. She appreciates it, I know she does. She raised me up to be a different person and to be a man who is responsible for his family. Of course, I am all that. At least, I believe so.

The feeling of guilt never seem to fade, instead it grows. But, I always suppress it by thinking of the call she usually give me, every time I had just sent her money. She wants me to spend 'my' money however I want. She doesn't want me to do things the way she did. She wants me to have fun with it, but most of all she wants me to take good care of myself with this money.

Yeah well, in that case, the First Lady has spoken. Screw the guilty conscious; Let me dine in the company of true minds, life is not life without a dish of good food and an exquisite taste of dry white wine. I admit, it costs. But, I am worth it and I worked for it...

Happy read!

Each day

Tall, slim and fat

black and white people

walk, run and pass the streets.

Rushing for deadlines,

sad minds and night shifts.

Hands in their pockets,

morning breeze blew their hair

while licking their lips endlessly.

Each day mothers promise their babies for tomorrow

today cooking porridge for nations,

Heads aching, hearts breaking and souls resting

just at the end of each day.

Each day, I smell the smoke of fire

from nearby firms,

from and to a place that holds

the expression on my face

happy, satisfied and successful.

Of course, I am still a student

I take in and hold my breath

for every word you utter.

I exhale and release my breath

for every story you tell.

Eish, I am a race,

I put on a vintage beige blazer

just to maintain my integrity.

I put on my ragged brownish scarf

just to warm up the neck and my dignity.

Each morning, I freeze myself deliberately

because, My mama deliberately wanted the best for me...

Wait, I redeemed her good will.

Each evening, I wipe away the shadows of failure

in your face, her face and mine.

In your place, hers and mine.

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!

A gay song

Whatever happened to Joe Thomas? That guy advocated for women left, right and left again.  If it wasn’t Joe, it was Jaheim letting us know that he can do Anything his woman wants, and Just in case he doesn’t make home on a certain night, he asked if he could make love to her just for the last time. Women worship these songs. They live by them and they shape up their relationships with them.

Yes, straight men on the other side have the likes of Celine Dion who Drive all night to get in their rooms. Men love this. A woman who shows initiative and ‘drive’. How beautiful. How wonderful. How lovely that these two groups complement each other this well.

Having said that, I feel that the world would have been a much better place had Luther Vandross, Michael Jackson, George Michael and Ricky Martin not hide their sexual preferences by proclaiming they had love and feelings only for women. Maybe the gay industry would have been so much more on the faithfulness side of things and less on the sleeping around seeking for true comfort.

Yes, it is very nice that all these famous men come of their glass closets. Such actions inspire many souls in South Africa and in other states as well (Ghana, Afghanistan and Zimbabwe). However, now that Michael Jackson decided to take his little secret to the grave, let us all stand up in unity and help the last men standing gain confidence and pride in singing to and for their lovers of the same sex.

I can hear Ricky Martin already singing, Mi hombre y me golpeó toda la noche... While on the other hand Will Young cries, Él me ama y mi drama...

Who knows, maybe the rate of gay men committing suicide might decrease, and the world would be a very happy place. Of course, this process would entail serious counselling for the infamous homophobes like George Bush and Lulu Xingwana.

As for the closeted souls, we shall continue to compose songs and poems that might inspire all of you to step out of the closet. A closet is such a stuffy place to live in. Trust me, I know. I once lived there.

Happy read!

Karma, bitch!

I stay in house with a friend of mine. It’s his house,but he insists I consider and call him my flatmate. Him being a pink pet, and I brighter bull, people assume that we’re dating but I am keeping it descreet because he’s old enough to father both my younger siblings.

Funny how I use to think and say the same about some of the people I knew from way back when I was still at varsity. Now that the tables have turned, I find it very laughable.  However, when one of the people I am friends with cornered me, this one time when I went to visit him, and insinuated that I have some sexual relations with my flatmate, I somehow felt angry.

Karma is a bitch, really.

Making money eGoli

From an early age, I knew of three places in South Africa where one can make money regardless of whether or not one is educated. Those places are Gauteng, Western Cape and Kwazulu Natal. From what I heard, back then, Gauteng was the best place to get jobs, with the mines supported by hard rocks that are made solid by the sweat of every broke illiterate black men.

My turn came to come and see this place my fellow Xhosa peeps dubbed eRhawutini. Of course, before coming here, my perception of the place had changed from that which I had when I still wiped my snorts with a tongue. I had grown and therefore all that I saw and still see is of the view of a grown up.

The young

There are many young people here and most of them –if not all- possess the same aim of making and having lots of money. Yes, they are inspired by the old and rich people of this city and they want to vacate their homes for better houses in Sandton, Kyalami and Fourways.

To a few, this is a feasible plan while to many it’s a dream and an impossible one to attain because of the lack of one of the most important useful tools for success; education.

With that being said, uneducated youngsters do manage to make this money. A few do part-time jobs in Petrol stations, in the retail industry, supermarkets and restaurants. A lot, however, get this money from practically pick-pocketing people on the streets. The latter, in my opinion, possibly makes the same amount as the young men and women who are ill-treated by attention seeking celebrities in restaurants. They merely chose this path in life because for them it is the easiest, despite the danger it involves. Funny enough, most of the people who do the pick-pocketing end up living on the streets. It is then that the dangers of this path prevail.

The business people

I am not referring to business people in the corporate sphere nor am I talking about street vendors but disabled people on the streets who live to beg people for money on freeways. Yes, I consider them business people because to them what they do is way of making money. Of course, they don’t have to work. Showing the car drivers driving by that they are blind, crippled and homeless is enough to earn them a living.

I look at these women and men and ask myself as to why do they go and beg on the streets instead of walking to government’s social departments and apply for disability grants.

In my opinion, if they have the minds to get into a taxi all the way from Soweto or Joburg CBD to Sandton streets, Fourways or Randburg just to merely stand all day long and beg for money, they are smart enough to know where to go in order to apply for free money.

I am thinking, they realised that the easiest way to get money is to manipulate pity and guilt out of those with good hearts. They know how to stand for one to pity them, they know just what to say for the old grannies to feel sorry for them and they know what kind of expression they need to apply on their faces just to get that one young man feeling guilty.

Many years back, this business was rolling. These days, however, people do not buy in it. I think maybe they have come to realise just how much of a scam this is. Only a few people submit to it by giving money to these people. Some went as far as taking some of these people into their homes in an effort to provide sustainable help to these beggars.

Sadly, those who helped live to tell a very shocking tale of someone whom – after being helped – found a way to rob the helper of every valuable possession s/he had. As a result, these people end up going back to beg for money on the streets.

I have come across two people who tell you upfront that R5 or coins are not enough. I found it surprising that at such a state they could be so choosy.

Happy read!

After 9 malefactor

In all my two decades and some years of existence on this planet, I have always advocated for heterosexuals whom my friends and fellow gay beings accused of sleeping with gay peeps in secret. It is very unfair and totally wrong for us to consider every good looking man to be gay, I would say.

Of course, siding with straight people was not backed by any tangible evidence from my side. Except for the fact that it is possible for straight people to be very good friends with gay people and yet not be sexually attracted to them.

My friends and fellow gay beings, however, would reveal very explicit details about some of the so called “straight people” we know.  A few are ordinary people while a lot is in the public eye. Still, I stood and still stand by my premise that up until I see him (straight one) doing something sexual (even if it is kissing) with another man, or have him admit to having had an affair with another man, then I will come forth and agree and admit to being wrong.

Nonetheless, things have happened; straight men got caught in bed with other men. Straight men admitted to having had affairs with brothers-in-law and boys next-door. Married folks are “taking care” of feminine high school boys while their wives are struggling to find better ways to restore the youth of their sagging breasts as a result of trying to restore the spark in the bedroom of a man who is sexually attracted to men. Not that they know what their men are up to after 9.

Sad... Really sad

One friend said every man is gay. Again, I disputed that, stating that we as gay people refuse to be alone against the homophobes of this world. We refuse to stay ordinary, and so we want to have famous faces to admit or at least be associated with homosexual acts. That way, we are represented in almost every aspect of life.

However, famous men have been caught in the act by their female partners. Dignified women kept their mouths shut while the attention seeking ones vented through media. Mine at this stage is to stick to my statement, which is, I will only believe these men are gay once concrete evidence is at my exposure.

Having been in denial still on behalf of the straight people, news continues to be delivered in regards to men who sleep with other men in secret, but yet remain homophobic in the public eye.

In recent revelations, Eric Massa, (former) American Democratic politician, is alleged to have sexually harassed two male assistants. Massa, nonetheless, denies these allegations stating that he was merely tickling the one guy "... until he couldn't breathe, then four guys jumped on top of me. It was my 50th birthday. … It was kill the old guy... “

Another revelation is of one of the most famous bishops in the world, Bishop Eddie Long (despite been a prominent homophobe) who has three men alleging that he sexually assaulted them, with one claiming that Bishop flew him around the world with his private plane and sexually abused him along the way.

Acts of sin... Poor men

Is this rape? Is it really assault? Or someone wanted the “do” to last for longer? Or maybe the “victim” felt cheated and jealous when the perpetrator recruited other men for the same services? When and how will we ever know? Is this war between the gay community and straight Christian community? Are men like Massa and Long gay or they simply use gay men (or any men, for that matter) for sexual purposes?

Long and Massa are two individuals who have lied by presenting a false image of themselves to the public. Yes, maybe they are not really homosexuals but their curiosity sure led them to enjoy being sexually involved with other men. So, where do they stand now in the society?

I should think the same men they stood with when opposing the whole homosexuality issue want to know, in case Massa or Long advances his experimental tactics to the other straight men and to their kids.

I wonder if their communities still think homosexuality is disgusting, contagious and sinful now that a Bishop has sexually harassed not only one man but THREE men.

Maybe the bible has a scripture somewhere in which it clearly states that only popular bishops can lay other men, despite having no love but sexual feelings for them.

Having named only public figures, it does not mean the ordinary men are relaxing. Their stuff is merely circulating amongst their neighbours, lovers, families and friends.

Happy read!