Stop this nonsense and come back home

For three and a half years I was told, in so many different ways how I’m not cutting it as a boyfriend. Somewhere out there’s a contemporary template that everyone carries around and it has a list of doos, definitely doos and I will lose my shit if you donts. I was often on the worst side of this rigid template.

My history tells a story of someone who doesn’t much value themselves. Everything that you are, and everything that you’re not is exploited in a relationship. It’s just how it happens it seems. So I never questioned this opinion of me. The definition of complacency. Must have been frustrating for him.

It’s not about that though is it? Who did what? Maybe it is, but I’m not wired like that. Lists, templates, rules and expectations. What business did an A type personality have dating me? But then he did, we did. For three years and half.

I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t a long time coming. I wanted to last for long. I could’ve, complacency again? In the same breath, I’m just telling my side of the story. But because he’s still so deeply inside of me, I can feel him screaming for his side to be heard still. For three and a half years it’s what I heard. But he’s gone now. But not so gone? What the fuck is this? I’m being haunted! This is exactly what it is.

It’s the weirdest thing though. I’ve never ever ever ever had anything like this in my life! It’s not like pain. It’s like the fear of imminent death. Like I’m going to die at any minute. I’m going to die. I can wake up, and go to work. I don’t think I’m depressed. But I might just die.

So I want to say ‘stop this and come back home, you are killing me’.

P.S. A new me will be birthed through this death. A little macabre…but what else is there? Life and death…


All my life I had to fight and all my life I must

I’m not much of a fighter, but now I realised that I absolutely need to be. The other day I wanted to repair my shoes, they literally just needed glue. I went to Levingers in Lonehill. I give them my shoes and they tell me it’s going to cost R200 – two shoes for glue. I’m taken aback by this, but I think whatever let me pay. The costs of finding another place will add up, also I’d been procrastinating on it for a while. After paying they tell me it’s going to take 4 days. I was shocked, R200 and 4 days for glue. But I’d paid already, so I swallowed my disappointment and I left.

On my drive home I remember thinking of the things I just accept because conflict and inconvenience give me ulcers. The reality of it is that I’ve never had these ulcers and maybe it’s time for them. Everything started feeling so personal.

I ruminated on being a gay man and how that came with the struggle of my identity being fingered. The endless teasing where I had to puff my chest out to defend myself in the face of ridicule. I thought about how tough I had to be in fighting that battle. I got used to it, I got stronger every day and it worked out. As anyone would tell you, it’s not easy, even though it gets better. It’s a fight with yourself and everyone else.

Then I started thinking about a very dark time at my last company. I worked for a trash company that kept losing human resources, and the work would always fall on my lap. I remembered how I just took the abuse and never complained, never fought back, never said HELL NO. I bowed out of that company, same way I did with the shoe place. With my tail between my legs, like a helpless dog. Which is fitting because I was worked like a dog.

Now I’m sitting with all these thoughts and I’m having an ‘enough is enough’ moment. I am so done! This is not happening anymore. I’m going to get very uncomfortable and sick to my stomach every single time I’m taken advantage of. I’m going to get all the ulcers. Everyone gets to be happy but me. I am the one who has to go through these should’a-would’a-could’a motions. I am so done!

There’s no grace in this. It is becoming clear that I have crippling pride. It’s pride that’s marinaded and soaking in shame. The shame of appearing not to afford R200, the shame of being gay, the shame of appearing incompetent and unwilling.

There’s a quote somewhere out there about comfort being the undoing of us all. I’ve suspected that that’s the thing that’s been holding me back. In comfort there is no grit, there is no courage. It is Maya Angelou who said ‘Courage is the most important of all the other virtues. Without courage you will not be able to perform the other virtues.” There’s so much truth in this. You have to courageous to seek justice. You have to be courageous to have faith. I also remember something that my late grandmother said. She identified something in me. Told me that I needed to be brave in my life. I asked her what being brave meant, she said it’s to trust God and his promise to you. A wise woman! This is how I’m going to honour her! Grit all the way!

Post script

This outlet is so important to me. This post is a clear sign what the issue is. It take humility to share. Also I’m reading a book by Brené Brown – I thought it was just me. It’s giving me much insight to the tapestry of my life. Looking forward to sharing.


Rude bosses

One of my directors was so rude to me today! It was awful! I couldn’t deal. Fell into a spiral of depression for a little bit. 
“The way people treat says a lot more about them than it does about you.” isn’t enough. Sometimes all you just need is to say ‘fuck you’ to someone and your heavy heart will rest easy. But you can’t can you? 
A few weeks ago I read a story about a woman who was arrested after taking a dump on her boss’s desk after winning the lottery. This, I believe, is the result of a thousand pending fuck yous. 
What then do we do until we win the lottery? How do we suffer through the piling fuck yous? I know for sure HR does not have the capacity for every single instance of sheer rudeness. So what then? 
Sigh, growing contempt is a terrible burden on anyone’s soul. We’re going through enough. I have to let go, I have to always let it go, for my own sanity. It’s the best I can do for now.

I’m so awkward and I can hide it

Am I the only one who’s made incredibly awkward by a colleague waiting for them when they park in the morning?


This is the curse of being gregarious. It attracts social lepers from all walks of life. The small talk alone is enough to give me nausea causing anxiety.


When I see a colleague waiting for the lift I take the stairs.

When I see a colleague parking, I bolt out of my car.

Dry work functions? You can miss me!

I don’t even go the loo when I see a colleague headed there.


I’m not wired for forced interactions.


This mask of joy I wear is causing me great pain.


*resting bitch face lessons pending*

More on insomnia 

So I can’t sleep. I’m going to share all my thoughts in bullet points. 

This is in no particular order. 

  • It’s hard making new friends.
  • I hate making plans in the weekend, plans are for week days the weekend is not for plans.
  • A shrewd woman is far more effective than a shrewd man.
  • I hate instances of sulking over fixable things.
  • Monogamy is systematic repression.
  • I wish I could drink more and get away with it.
  • Hedonism is making a come back.
  • I only ever imagined getting married for money.
  • Are you wasting time or taking the scenic route?
  • Not as many thoughts come to you when you consciously think of something  to think about.
  • I might have just cured over thinking.
  • Mind, body and soul.
  • Michelle Pfeiffer is lowkey a mean girl. 
  • Do we have community theater in SA?
  • I love the idea of acting for fun.

I’m going to try sleeping. 

Bye bye.

Transgender Rights

After a long day, I put on some John Oliver and let the episodes just play on loop.

An episode on transgender people came up, please watch.

Transgender Rights: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver (HBO)

As with many other gay men I got my start in a closet (I like to call it my Bohemian Glass Wardrobe). I wasn’t in the closet though, I was put there; I was pushed into a corner by everyone around me announcing what I ought to be. Tales for another day.

A quick look into my sex history

I started out sleeping with women/girls/female/womyn. Then I started sleeping with men/boys/males, then I slept with females again, then males, back to females, then I was all over the place. I seem to have settled with men, but we’ll see.

The bigoted homosexual

I used to be scared to sleep with ‘feminine’ men – I say scared now because I understand shame. My language was so much more brazen and bigoted then. Even when I was ‘out’. As time went on I knew better so I did better.

At the height of my sexual revolution, I congratulated myself for being able to sleep with many kinds of men. Then I met a transgender woman, her name was Surprise (I wish I was making this name up). She was sweet and kind, and she gave me her numbers.  I thought to myself, here’s another milestone, you can do it, I thought.

I didn’t end up hooking up with Surprise. I want to say I chickened out, but really I was filled with narrow-mindedness and ignorance. I was now like everyone else. I sounded like everyone else who damn near ruined my sexual identity and all of me actually. I said real dumbshit, which I don’t care to repeat, about Surprise and transgender people.

It was all extremely invasive and crass. With my words I demeaned transgender people, I stripped them to meat bags, and empty shells. This is essentially what we do everytime when we use pejoratives to sexualise people we know nothing about.

See, as a gay mam the zeitgeist would sooner kill a transgender women before they spit at me. I’ve come to learn a few things about what transgender folk go through. This is world is actually unsafe for them. It is that bad. Please be kind. If you can’t mind your own fucking business. These really are the only two option.

I’m not a rat and this race is killing me

After years of working and education, I find myself feeling more and more that I am not wired for routine.
It’s actually more than that, I’m not wired for:

  • the city,
  • traffic,
  • a boss,
  • an 8 to 5 environment,
  • performance reviews,
  • a monthly salary,
  • individuals called colleagues that I have to interact with, WTF!
  • rules of conduct
  • dressing a certain way
  • absolutely not wired for applying for leave, I mean it’s my fucking life
  • competition to out do people to get ahead

I can actually go on for a while. You know, I’m not even wired for nice things. Yes I like nice things, but I’ve lived and seen people live full and apparent happy lives without nice things. I can do without.
I watched a movie a while back, I don’t remember the title, Helen Hunt was in it. She ran into an old friend; the catch up went something like this:

Friend: “You’re married now, what does your husband do?”

Hunt: “Oh he’s a philosopher.”

Friend: “That’s interesting, which school?”

Hunt: “No, he just stays home and thinks a lot.”
Maybe that’s what I’m wired for.

I won’t even get into motivation and ambition and all that mess. These things are for people in this rat race that I don’t belong in.

I’ll be debt free in a couple of months, God willingly. Going to move back to my mother’s house and think a lot for a year or until I find another way. Or not…we’ll see.

P.s. I’m not depressed, but it is really cold this morning and I work for a soulless organization.

Everyone is dying and it’s not stopping 

I’m at a friend’s father’s memorial service. Tomorrow I’m going to my grandpa’s brother’s funeral. It’s a lot of funerals. 

It’s been a long day. It’s freezing and I’m cold. I’m starving, the pangs keep getting worse. But so what? People are dying and it’s not stopping. 

There are kids at this memorial, kids with a conscious and those without. I look at them and they don’t look any different from anyone around me. It’s the spring in their step puts a smile on my face.

There’s a man talking. I listen sometimes. He seems passionate. He’s sharing anecdotes. Tales of the past. Shared memories. It’s all he has because that’s all that’s left.

I don’t like funerals. I’ve been to many, and I don’t like them. No one really knows how to be. Everyone wears the same face. The face of loss. It’s bare. It’s solemn and every one is dying and it’s not stopping. 

The love of your life

A distinction


I’m 29 now. I remember the first time(s) I fell in love. Between 20 and 22, with two different people. Before these loves, I was completely oblivious to what it was.

I’m now in a loving relationship. It’s going stronger by the day and I’m happy.

The other day my friends asked me if he’s the love of my life. I said no, without much hesitation. He’s the great love of my life, I said.

Those four words, LOVE OF MY LIFE, describe to me what happened between 20 and 22 with those two individuals. The experiences with them were very different. In one situation it was unrequited love, it was acknowledged but not necessarily returned. In the second instant it was everything, I was given mind, body and soul.


This is how I experienced the loves of my life whether things were good or bad:

  • The sound of a door opening, I hoped it was them.
  • A beep on my phone, I hoped it was them.
  • When I turned a corner, I hoped they were on the other side.
  • Elevator doors opening, I hoped it was them inside.
  • In public spaces, it was them I hoped to see.
  • Footsteps.
  • My name hollered.

See this was everywhere. It wasn’t a thing of logic. My body had physical reactions to what I was feeling, a lot of adrenaline. I spent three years anticipating. Every single time it wasn’t them, my heart would sink in disappointment. Knowing this disappointment wasn’t enough; the anticipation would come back, as strong, over and over again. So many moments of breathlessness.

This is what my life was. Excitement, anticipation, disappointment. It was heroin.  I swear there were times when I thought I was going to throw up.


These feelings quelled over time, as most things do. I however wanted to replicate this. This is what I knew as love. I was still addicted to that rush.

It never happened. For years it never happened. I thought I’d reached my love quota. I’d peaked too early.

I then found the great love of my life. A knowing came over me. I always knew. He was the one around the corner, I always knew it was him calling/texting, I knew his footsteps – it was always him. This is, again, how it always is, whether things are good or bad.


I’d rather this. From heroin to kale.



​Time to go

This is for my friend who forgot to follow the music.
So quick to shell’a you, so very very quick. They come at you with their guts and desires. You take them on, for whatever reason you do.

They come to know you. You give to them, and maybe they too give to you. You’re dancing like you never have.
Time passes, things dwindle. The flames quell, as they often do. The lights go on, and home whispers to you both. 
The buck now falls with you. Now you must nurse them out of what they started. Oh they’ll tell themselves a tale of two hearts:
“I’m still in love, but it needs to end, I just don’t want to cause hurt”
Filling your space with gassy lies of favour and pity, apparently for you. 
It’s strange for a while, it doesn’t feel like anything, how can it? You inhale the gasses, you lose your mind. You scramble for your stuff.
Then a time comes. They don’t have it, you must. That bravado that started this is no more. True grit is now with you. 
It’s time to go.