Winter is coming an ode to the single life

It’s been five years since my last date – 2019 is the last time I sat across a table with a potential lover. What have I been doing in all that time? Healing tons and tons of healing. It never ends – but I’ve left that phase of a gaping yearning wound needing someone’s child to distract me – save me even.

Surely, the time has come – to ‘seriously’ start looking. It’s almost irresponsible for some at the cusp of forty to find themselves without any romance for a period as long as five years. Though it’s not to say there haven’t been fleeting connections; a few WhatsApp conversations that fizzled into nothingness. And then there were the encounters with not one, but three psychologists, all ending in ghosting.  If didn’t have a sense of humour – I’d have taken this as a sign and joined a monastery. Oh yes – I also found my faith in these five years. Went back to my catholic roots. I had an encounter with a catholic priest too – but that’s a story for another day.

Amidst the desert of the last five years all was not lost – I could at least still get phone numbers.

I know we’re not meant to compare ourselves to other people – but what the actual hell. Okay so I want a six pack and the arms of Thor – without hitting the gym – no sir I don’t want to go through all that – but is that what it takes? Are the people getting in and out of relationships and marriages in the gym all day every day? Is that gym Tinder, Bumble and Hinge? Surely the God of Abraham doesn’t want that for me. We are cautioned not to speak to strangers online – it’s bad enough that we get into cars with strangers via Uber. Online dating is not it – it cannot be.

How do they do it – those who seamlessly transitioning between relationships and casual encounters? Are they more outgoing? Do they have a full social calendar, overflowing with engagements? Is that what it takes? Pre 2019 – I was quiet capable of navigating the social scene, perhaps too capable. I was in fact spoilt for choice. I tailored my persona to fit the desires of those I sought, not truly being myself. I felt the need to be gregarious, sound funny and intelligent – irrespective of whom I was with. I’d just switched it on because I believed that’s what the people wanted…and I guess they did.

Me and my millennial friends have grown up now – in a lot of ways. We’re not the chameleons we used to be. Are people our age still resorting to such tactics? Perhaps those of our age, navigating several relationships with ease, are a rarity—especially if they aren’t masquerading behind seven online dating profiles. I don’t know. I have a very small sample size of honest hard working people.

What’s unfathomable to me is that no one is helping. I even tasked an 11 and 12 year old to keep an eye out for a potential for me. They were eager to help – this was last year. I wonder if they still remember this honourable task they’ve been sent on. What then for my friends and acquittances – is there a reason I’m not being set up? It really is obscene that I even have to ask. All my aunts and uncles? In the old days they were central in helping us find marriage – what are they busy with now? Baby boomers are letting us down.

It’s autumn now – as the air grows colder, and the clothes get heavier – spare a thought for your single millennial friends. More than spare a thought – set them up. It’s the humane thing to do.

Post script

Most of what we’re seeking is some practicality more than romance. Community is dead – we need to live with someone who can make sure we’re still breathing every morning when we wake up – or at least every other day.

What they say about you

I am officially this person, albeit temporary, who blogs about relationships.

Oh man, there was a time in my life (actually it’s still that time) where I absolutely loathed being in a gathering where relationships were thee most topical thing. There were hardly any new things to share. It was always a recycled something from old chats. Actually everyone should get a blog – because we’re all relationship experts at this point.

This is a story about the convenient narrative exes weave about you, and their other exes when it’s all over. All these must be taken with a pinch of salt.

The world is so small. I shudder to think what my exes say about me. And because exes have the appearance of know us intimately these things that they say will pack a heavy punch for the average Joe without insight. One might leap at believing each and every savoury detail.

It’s also very easy isn’t it? Who’s going to challenge you? Not this ex who’s now not around anymore. What is it for really? To prove a history/pattern of moral superiority? That you’ve always been so lovely in all these relationships you’ve been in, but you just keep getting dealt a bad hand? You’re just always the victim.

Are victims even attractive? This might be an awful way to ask this question. I’ll let it stand as it is though, it’s practical. It’s always a red flag when someone has been with crazy people, stalkers, cheaters etc. Perhaps there are two perspectives.

1. This person’s lack of intuition, self love or insecurities lead them towards individuals who are grossly unsuitable for a relationship.

2. You might be dealing with the ultimate gaslighter. Someone who’s behavior is so maddening that they’d lead you to the edge of sanity. So people become drunks, stalkers and nutters.

Both will appear to be victims, for different reasons. You shouldn’t date either.

I don’t believe that a person with self awareness would paint themselves as a victim in any given scenario. They’d typically offer a balanced view and take accountability for their part.

I’ve come to date people that I would myself describe as crazy. In saying this, I too must be cognitive of how it sounds. Also, going back to the beginning of this post, what the hell are they saying about me? Does it matter? Maybe it’s a thing of moving on. You shouldn’t care what they say, but at least care what you say.

I think there’s one generic thing I can say about most or all of my exes. It’s goes something like:

He was so lovely. It was really tough sometimes because we struggled to be honest about what we really felt and wanted. A few things went unsaid and it grew us further apart. It got frustrating. We both had our flaws. I believe we’d still be together, we really adored each other. I guess it didn’t work in the end because one of us wasn’t willing to stay/fight.

This will do just fine.

I won’t ever say anything awful about someone I’ve dated. It’s stupid, reductive, unproductive, mean and soul staining.

Post script

I did once date a narcissist with grandiose delusions. Had the self awareness of a tea set with periwinkles and the emotional range of a chihuahua. An old acquaintance found him on Tinder, after seeing some picture of us at the same party, and asked ‘Do you know this guy?’. Had nothing nice to say so my response: ‘Met him at that very party. He’s a friend of a friend. We hardly spoke. He seemed alright.’ It was a lie, but I was really proud of myself.

I also don’t like this old acquaintance much. I was being nefarious. They deserve each other. *evil laugh*

“Closure isn’t a real thing. Just dye your hair and go on a sex binge.”

Have you ever been ghosted? Oh man, the other day I’d said that “Abandonment is the most extravagant way to hurt someone.” Isn’t it just? It’s like when they say, “The opposite of love isn’t hate, its indifference”, and what’s more indifferent than someone just existing your life like Casper? It’s a violent act.

I’m pretty much able to talk through things and navigate heartbreak. At the end of things when there’s a conversation and acceptance, I get my closure and can move on. I experience advanced ghosting last year. I was with a guy from nearly 3 months. It was so great. I was so happy. Then he ghosted me. This isn’t’ one of those where I was posting an arm with a sticker on an unknown face. We went out together, saw friends together. He was effectively mine.

I sent him an email, expressing just how devastated I was. He responded five weeks later. With so little, there wasn’t much really – it was hardly a response. He was basically telling me he’s still alive. Yes, it was that inadequate.

Anyways, now we’re essentially 2-3 months later, he calls me. Cool as a cucumber. I make small talk, because I didn’t care much to talk to him over the phone on serious matters. In the midst of my small talk, he suddenly had a voice: “Let’s cut to the chase”. I nearly fell of my couch. After essentially being ghosted – this entire human suddenly has a chase to cut to. Very quickly I said “I don’t want to do this over the phone, let’s talk in person”. Which he agreed to.

My friend asked a very wise question, “What do you want out of this?” My answer was simple. Closure. The she said “Don’t go there”. She knew.

Seeing him evoked very distant feelings. I think I’d made myself so numb over this time, that I was willing to completely park myself in the safe space where this could be happening to anyone but me. I didn’t see him as a person I’d once loved. He was an ‘other’. Somebody that I used to know. I must remember this, so I don’t attach all this to him. The experience is enough to propel me to healing. The Him shouldn’t matter – he’d taken himself out.

So there I was, about to get my closure, and boy did I get it. It is extraordinary how the human mind works, and what dubious thought it can let out into world, for us flesh humans to consume. Most of it is trauma. We dish out trauma. In generous and nuanced servings – all with the same effect, to draw us further away from our own truth.

Quick background. We went to a friend’s party. When we got back home I’d discovered that he’d taken 2 bottles of gin. I, in shock, told him I couldn’t believe he stole. He hardly said anything in his defense. I was subsequently ghosted.

This was what was shared with me. Welcome to My 2020 Closure Symposium.

“I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that I was with someone who called me a thief. I was verbally and emotionally violated by you. I thought about it, and I knew that I cannot be with someone who sees me like that.”

“Verbally and emotionally violated” I kid you not.

Turns out, in his mind, we were all going to go somewhere else after the party, and he was just taking supplies. That was his story. I had no time to talk about gin. He was still talking about gin. I also wished I’d challenged the gin story, in hindsight, but what would that have done? It’s an unfortunate symptom of relationship failure.

Then he almost admitted that he ghosted me to hurt me as much as I’d hurt him. I say almost, because it’s the one thing I have to give myself – that he can own some of the pain he’d caused. I was quite winded and my cognition was severely compromised at this point. So I imagine he took some responsibility.

So settled for explained exciting concepts like misunderstanding and communication. I can’t gauge what talking about these actually did for him. I hope he was receptive.

I pretty much left after that. I was defeated. I’d gotten my closure, but now trauma had settled in. So I went home to share with a friend. In her wisdom she shared “Closure isn’t a real thing. Just dye your hair and go on a sex binge.”

I have no hair to dye and no sexual appetite. The next best things are a tattoo and a nice holiday.

How the honey moon phase ends

It’s tragic really. I fear that, in limited cases, when the honeymoon phase ends the whole thing must be done away with.

How it can all end:

A. Seeing texts from an old flame that are entertained.

B. A fight about money.

C. A really really insensitive joke.

D. Finding a dating app.

E. Getting caught in a lie.

Maybe all of the above. In this case it was D, cross pollinating with E.

After four weeks of bliss. It’s not any kind of bliss, it was the real deal. Delirious, longing, yearning kind of attraction. We even have matching birthmarks on the same damn spot. A unique shape, both look like surf boards. Made for each other romantic nonsense that’s so lovely to fall into.

How the cookie crumbles.

On the spur of the moment we decide to go out for dinner. So he gets to my place, he wanted to change the music, to something more upbeat. He then goes to the bathroom quickly. I head to his phone to see what awful music he was plotting, his taste in music isn’t always to my liking. I get there – POW Grindr and Tinder. Apps he’d honestly deleted 4 weeks ago. I quickly open Grindr, he’d started a new profile see. He heads back from the bathroom. Sees that I’ve seen the apps. I leave him to it, and go outside to have a smoke.

While I’m out, a phone call comes in from a friend on his. He’s gleaming and going on about how he’s at his boyfriend’s place. Makes me say hello to said friend. I have a brief chat with the lady – (I’m going to come back to this one) then he jumps into the shower. Leaves me with his phone, intentionally, I imagine, so I can see that he’d deleted the apps. Guy emerges from the shower. I ask him, did you quickly delete those apps? Embarrassed, he admits, at which point I say, we don’t have to talk about it now – and he got dressed for ‘date night’.

I contemplated for a few moments exactly how this date night is going to be. It’s delicious you see. I’d had lovers before, and things like this would completely ruin the entire evening. I was determined for this not to be the case. I chose whatever high road Alain de Botton would be very proud of. We get into the car and off we were.

It was tense, and I found myself trying not to be passive aggressive. I was trying to channel the best parts of me really. Trying not to have any octave changes in my voice. The usual traits of a seething scorned lover. I don’t know how effective I was – but we got to our table without much harm.

He carries on with mundane conversation about laptops and chargers and colleagues. It was all hogwash really, bottom of the barrel conversation. Cognitive dissonance at its most heightened form, it’s a horrid thing when you’re confronted with it. He was like a fish out of water, in a pan – basting itself – splitting fins. He finally gathers himself – with a coy “Okay so there’s an elephant in the room”. I knew that he was so far gone that I told him in earnest: “Whatever you’re about say, make sure you’ve thought through it – because I’m going to listen and engage.”

These words clearly meant nothing to him. Not a Goddamn thing! The below is going to both amuse and shock you at how in one lie your entire intellect can be fucked, ridden hard and left wet!

“So you know I can’t find my work phone. So I synced this one with my work phone. The apps were in the cloud, and they just downloaded again. They didn’t delete on the cloud. I was really surprised, but even my colleague confirmed that this is possible.”

What did I tell you? A five year old can poke holes into this entire thing. I did, he was back in the pan – ceviche actually, if you can imagine chopped fish still fighting for life. A bloody mess.

After 15 minutes of me convincing him to tell the truth. He finally spun another story. Not as bad, but you know how it goes – I had to make up my own mind at that point. The truth stop mattering. How sad?

It would hurt too much to retell the ongoing after this. The manipulative devices of future promises. Needless to say, the honeymoon phase has ended. I know have to decide how to proceed or if at all.

That’s that.

P.S. I was going to go back to that bit where he’d made me chat to his friend on the phone. Don’t you just hate it when people do that? I’ve always felt like it’s a cheap tactic to legitimize you and make you ‘known’ like it actually matters. I was going to give more examples, of such devices on this evening, but like I said. It would hurt too much.

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.

Dating Rambo, Whatsapp and Being Ignored

This is an empathy blog post, I’ve heard this story many many times. I was having a conversation with Quest. She was telling me about a guy who’s just acting up for no reason, especially since no one asked him to act down in the first place.

 

If you’re a 20 something year old doing his/her own thing, this has probably happened to you before. I used to do this, but it got done to me, so I think it’s inhuman to do this to another mother’s child (yes, we must think of how people have mothers, and how they’d just bleed if they knew their children were being treated so badly). So I don’t do it anymore. Here’s the deal.

 

And so it starts. One of your friends has the best idea in the world. It usually starts like this: “I know this great guy’. You’re not particularly busy, so it’s chilled, you go along with it. It starts with whatsapp and if you’re lucky, or not, it’s followed by a date. The whatsapp conversations are nothing ground breaking, but you can survive them. You figure that you’re interesting and have things to tell someone, either then twitter and your friends. So you decide, fine, I’ll tell this here niglet things. Then you get comfortable, because somehow that’s just how it happens. Inside of you grows a comfortable excitement, still nothing to write home about, but you do happen to smile about it whenever.

 

A few days later, you go on a date. It’s a good laugh, it could easily be a scene from a B rate romcom. But you’re smart, so your expectations are again left unchanged. Then, this person wants to be dating Rambo at the end of the date. “This was great! I’m so glad that I finally met you. Wow! You’re so amazing! You’re like the best date I’ve been on in eons. We should totally do this again”. For a moment, your ego is on spinning rims. You tell a few friends, your voice goes up a few octaves. But again, you’re smart. You calm down. You get home and check whatsapp…no messages from Rambo…

 

You send a standard message, polite, breezy, chilled, informal and just generally oozing of etiquette, to comment on the date. Mind you, not because you’re ‘trying something’, because that’s what people do after a date. You go to sleep. And wake to “Yeah sure, it was great! Have a good day.”

 

You think to yourself: “Um…what is this now?”. But now there’s a script! So you follow it, “Will do you too.”

 

A day later, dating Rambo is quiet, and you have interesting things to say. You know it’s pretty much over, and he’s just not that into you, but he’s a human being right? So you say hello, and ramble on about something. There he goes, tweeting up a storm and 3 hours he replies. By now the fat lady has sung all the numbers in Mama Mia, she’s done! It’s over. Nothing is ever going to happen between you and dating Rambo. And you’re cool with it. BUT HE IS A HUMAN BEING. So than it starts.

 

You say hello, when whatsapp says he’s online. Literally, 2 seconds later, he’s “last seen”. “Is he putting his phone down because I said hello? What the hell is this bull now?”. 10 minutes later he’s back, not to reply to your hello mind you. So you think “Oh hell no! TF kinda goldfish memory does this one think I have? Does he think I forgot that I said hello to me?” Why is he doing this? You hold back all the crazy that’s brewing, until it all just goes away.

 

10 days later…you’re completely over it. But you have to holla at Obi…because you’re not too sure what happened. Obi’s response. “I have no fucking clue!!!”.

 

But I did learn a few weeks ago that there are studies that suggest that being ignored sends signals to your brain, that closely resemble physical pain. So people just want to hurt you sometimes. That’s the only logical explanation I have for why dating Rambo exists.

Her father’s sins

I miss telling stories about the people I’ve known in my few years on this planet, or rather my few years in university. My varsity experiences were made better by the diverse people I got to meet.

A girl I know was going through a lot. For someone many considered blessed, she was going through things a girl should never go through. Her strength was in her cold heart. A heart that grew cold long before she’d had any say in the kind of woman she wanted to be. It was these things that brought us close. In a lot of ways we shared a common sadness.

It was the beginning of the school term. Everyone was excited to be back after a long holiday. That first week of term is a lot about friends catching up on all the events that happened over the holidays. I usually have the least exciting anecdotes, so I find a simple joy in listening to everyone else’s tales. Little did I know that I was in for a somewhat of a scandal when I visited Kagiso’s room for a quick catch up.

A few months before the holidays, Kagiso found out that her mother’s cancer had returned. While we were excited about going home, she just wanted to be home for her mother. We’d IM over the holidays about her mother’s illness. Although she was weak at times, she was responding very well to treatment and the prognosis was good.

I knocked on her door with so much glee. She opened the door and gave me a big warm hug. We held on for a few seconds longer than usual. This setting a tone for what was about to come.

We started with a bit of small talk. The usual-you’ve lost weight, your skin’s looking good-frivolous things that don’t matter. I could tell that she was anxious to tell me something. I figured it was about her mom’s illness. So I asked how she left things.

Without mincing her words, she jumped right into it.

This is Kagiso’s story

When I was younger my father had an affair. My mother is the kind of mother who believes in protecting her children’s innocence so she’d always cover for him. Yes he was a businessman and he travelled a lot. But there were many nights where my home was without a husband. Not because he wasn’t there in presence, rather he wasn’t there in a way that I could swear on a bible that he was a loving and caring husband to my mother. Although he adored his children. I never questioned that for one bit.

It is for this reason that I resented my mother as a little girl. I felt like she was the one driving him away. I was a child then, it only made sense. I’d often think ‘Why doesn’t mommy kiss daddy hello. He’s been gone for so long. She’s so mean to daddy’.

One night, I walked in on her talking to him on the phone. She was in tears, weeping, begging him to come home. Saying how much she missed him and how much she loved him more than she (the other woman) did. This was a rude awakening for me. Unnoticed, I walked back to my room. I felt heavy and empty at the same time, almost lethargic. After what felt like a great deal of effort, I made it to my room. I couldn’t sleep.

I felt like an awful child. All those times I’d bombard her with questions ‘Mommy, where’s daddy, when’s he coming back. Mommy I want daddy’. Those memories played over and over in my head. I felt real guilty for the first time in my life. I learnt how to hate for the first time in my life. I felt remorse, compassion and empathy. I cried myself to sleep. I aged twenty years on that night.

I said nothing about this to anyone. I kept this to myself. I decided to be everything I can possibly be to my mother.

Fast forward ten years later. I go home for the varsity holidays. My mother was doing better than I could’ve ever hoped for, considering what I’d seen the last time she was ill. Everything seemed normal on the home front. It was home and glad to be back.

A week into the holiday, I get a phone call from Kirsten. Her parents had bought her a new car. She wanted us all to drive down to KZN. I obviously didn’t want to go, but I told my mother about it and she insisted that I go have fun with my friends. I was skeptical. But I went anyways.

We left for St Lucia on a Friday morning. We got there in the afternoon and jumped right into action. Did the things that juvenile girls do on a juvenile weekend away. On the Saturday morning everyone was hung over. But I drink like my father so I could function. I seized the opportunity to drive Kirsten’s new car and I drove to the local grocer for supplies. I wasn’t prepared for what was waiting for me.

I see this man, pushing a trolley a man who resembled my father. A man who was my father. He was with two boys, twins, not much older than my youngest sister.

You often hear people talking about near death experiences, how your whole life flashes before your eyes. The same thing happened to me. Everything I’d buried and masked through the years greeted me in that moment with insolence and spite. I was suspended in time. Everything in front of me was moving so slowly. My subconscious was taking in every single visual element of the cruelty before me. My eyes were fixated on those boys, and yet it was like I was feeling more than seeing. My cold heart was breaking. I could almost hear it over the sounds of cash tills, beeping scanners and trolley wheels.

I just stood there and watched as it became clearer that those boys were his. It was in the way they looked, there was an undeniable resemblence. The way he looked at them was another like a stamp that would forever seal what I felt for my father, nothing.

I watched them walk away as a tear rolled down my cheek. I just then realised that I’m my mother’s daughter. Every time my father walked away, she’d helplessly watch with a broken heart. Nothing can prepare you for anything like that. There was no comfort for me. I felt a loneliness I hope to never feel again. All the company in the world left the store with my father and those boys.

This middle-aged lady briefly saved me from my initiation into hell by coming up to me and asking if I was okay. I don’t know how much longer I would’ve just stood there if she didn’t come. She had such kind eyes, I suppose in that moment Charles Manson himself would pass for someone with kind eyes too. I opened my mouth to speak, but I somehow found myself deep in her bosom, weeping. I didn’t care, I couldn’t care. I’d just lost my father. I needed to mourn him. I was inconsolable. She was rubbing my back and stroking my hair. It was like a granule of sugar in my bathtub of lemon zest, and I couldn’t be more grateful. She kept saying something in Zulu, but I couldn’t hear her over my sobbing.

Slightly embarrassed, I eventually stopped. I thanked the lady, left her clueless and rushed out of the store.

The sun was blinding, but it was different. It felt different. It wasn’t as warm as it was before. I became clear to me that things had changed again in my life. Once again I had aged.

I got into the car. It then dawned on me that I still had things to buy. But I just didn’t want to. I also remembered that I was with four other people, who I so desperately didn’t want to be around anymore. ‘Ah fuck, those fucking perky bitches’, I though to myself. That’s when my good friend Obi called, it’s like he knew something was a miss. He asked me how everything was. I knew I couldn’t handle another episode, so I played it down and told him how much I hate those fucking perky bitches. His advice ‘drink them away’. Just like that, I decided that’s how I’m going to survive the rest of my weekend. It was the only way.

With my head slung low, ashamed for such an extroverted display of emotions, I walked back in the store. Grabbed everything we needed. Then I rushed to the bottle store and bought enough gin and tonic to sedate me until I got back home.

As I was driving, a part of me kept hoping I’d get involved in a freak accident. I just needed a little distraction, some else to suffer through, anything but this. But I had to think about my mother. This triggered another emotional reaction. I hadn’t at all considered her. ‘Did she know? Oh my God, this is why she has cancer again. That bastard is making my mother sick’. My mind was like a network of trains with multiple collisions. I had murderous thoughts. I was fuming! ‘He gave her cancer, he gave her cancer twice’. Over and over again in my mind.

Before I knew it I was outside Kristen’s holiday home. I sat in the car for a bit. Had a croissant and washed it down with a massive gulp of gin. Braced myself to face everyone.

The girls were barely awake. This was a grace I was truly grateful for. I was to get sauced before I could have a conversation with anyone. I fixed myself a good shot of GNT went outside and lit a cigarette.

And so the weekend continued. Juvenile! Most of it was a blur, as per my intentions.

It was Monday morning and time to go back home. It suddenly hit me that I wanted one of them to see that something wasn’t right with me. I wasn’t going to say anything obviously, but not at any moment did one of them come up to me and ask if everything was okay. These are girls I’ve known for over ten years. Couldn’t they tell that I was going through hell? I found this quite disturbing.

As we were driving home. I contemplated the kind of person I was. Questioning if I was perhaps acting normally to my friends. Was this who I was? Maybe I was going through hell long before I saw my father in that store. I was already there. I mean, hell is hell right? How much hotter can it really get?

The girls dropped me off first. We had a quick chat reminiscing about ‘the good times’.

Before I walked in the house, I took a deep breath, as if to channel some divine being into me. And just like that. I decided to be that little again.

With my new discovery unnoticed, I walked into the house. I said nothing about this to anyone. And again I vowed to be everything I can possibly be to my mother and now my sisters too.

As for my father. I don’t have one.

An afternoon with Cynthia

When I was still in college I had a flat mate who changed before my very eyes, in a short period of time.

She was a very sweet and timid girl. She always kept to herself and was careful never to bother anyone. Every time something shocking would happen, she’d have this classic and endearing “deer caught in headlights” expression on her face. Everyone adored her and her life was close to perfect, until she fell in love.

His name was Collins. Not the most charming fella, but he was okay you know? He broke a girl’s heart.  But this story isn’t about him. It’s about the girl. This is about my old flat mate, Cynthia.

 

An afternoon with Cynthia

So there I was, chilling in my room on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. I was putting the finishing touches on my Gender Studies assignment. In walks Cynthia with an offer to take me out for ice-cream. I was quick to put on my flip-flops and off we were. We walked to ice cream parlour then she insisted we take a stroll to the park, which I didn’t mind. When we got there, she seemed restless and uneasy. I figured she wanted to talk to me about something important. ‘Maybe she wants me out of the flat’ I thought (I was such a slob back then). Little did I know that I was a part of a covert mission to stalk someone.

We were having an unmemorable conversation about Janet Jackson’s fading music career. I had funny things to say, so did she I guess. Suddenly she changed the topic, and looked at the opened field.

“Obi do you know that girl over there”, as she signalled to a group of “free spirits” who were relaxing under a tree. I looked and I knew one girl in the group. Stella, an acquaintance I was on friendly terms with.

“Um…I know the one girl, Stella. Party animal that one, she’s probably recovering from a hangover”, I joked. I then looked to Cynthia to acknowledge my joke. No such luck! Cynthia gave me a stern look instead. Which confused the shit out of me and made things a bit tense too.

“Yes, they told me you know her” she said, in a solemn tone. At this point a million things started running through my mind. I looked at her, with as much evidence of astonishment that I could possibly muster in one facial expression.

‘Did she here something about me and Stella? What did Stella do? Oh God, has she gone lezzy for Stella? Mmmmh, if I knew we were doing this, I would’ve gotten three more scoops of this delicious ice-cream.’

She soon stopped the bullet train running through my mind, “Obi, she’s been sleeping with Collins”.

You know I thought I was a good friend/flat mate, but all I could say to her was “Oh”. ‘Oh’ was really all that I could offer her, because I had million questions to ask her dammit! Why the hell was I doing in the park, eating ice-cream and stalking an alleged mistress? Why am I getting dragged into this shit? Why didn’t she tell me about this when she first suspected it?

Needless to say, my meek ‘Oh’ didn’t deter her. She wanted me to divulge every single thing that I knew about Stella. Which wasn’t much, but she was so dynamic in her efforts to get intel, I even felt compelled to embellish a few things. Which I didn’t, I would’ve under ‘normal’ circumstances (being the eccentric I am), but the whole thing of stalking in the summer time was crazy enough.

We got into the whole thing, and I was pretty convinced from everything she told me, that Stella was indeed sleeping with Collins. It had all the clichés of the tales of a cheating boyfriend. Denial, we’re just friends, people are lying, I love you, she’s crazy, etc.

Which again begged the question, “Cynthia, why are we here? Why am I here?”, so I asked her.

“I want you to introduce me to her”, I nearly choked on my last scoop of ice-cream.

“Um, are you sure? Why? Does she know you? What do you want to say to her? Shouldn’t you be speaking to Collins? I mean this is about you two. You’re in a relationship with him, not her.” I replied in a bit of a panic, trying to change her mind.

All her faculties were surprisingly in order as she picked up on my discomfort and vehement protest of this confrontation.  Cynthia put my mind to ease. She explained that she’d been coming to this spot in the park for a very long time before she even knew about Stella. That she only found about Stella once she started sleeping with Collins. She even made farce at how she knew how crazy the whole thing seemed to me. She called it prima facie feeble duplicity (law students). She confessed that if she told me before hand, I might have disagreed, and that she didn’t have the nerve to walk up to Stella alone.

I was convinced, yet I was still sceptical. My curiosity took over and I wanted to see the story unfold. So I walked over to the shaded tree and hollered Stella’s name. Stella was infamous for her zest, she was quick to respond.

“Obi! How you doin’ doll? Come over here and gimme a hug”, I conceded to her hospitable charms and hugged her with my tail between my legs. I felt a bit dirty. But this feeling was quickly watered down by how she reeked of weed.

“So Stella, can I have a quick word with you buddy”, I smirked sheepishly. I motioned her towards Cynthia’s direction. I then realised that she might know of Cynthia, which didn’t matter to me anymore. As we took the short walk towards Cynthia, I told Stella that my friend wanted to meet her.

“Oh, that’s Collins’ girlfriend isn’t it? Is she the friend who wants to meet me? I’m shagging him. Oh fuck Obi, what is this bitch shit trap you’re drawing me into?” she laughed! Then I couldn’t help but smile at her bizarre behaviour. ‘I should hang out with this girl’ I thought.

“Stella, this is Cynthia, Cynthia, Stella”, I was very curt and eager to end this.

Without skipping a beat Cynthia went straight into it.

“Hey Stella. I’m so sorry if you feel ambushed, but I don’t know what the protocol for doing this kind of thing is. I’ve been thinking about this confrontation for a few days now and I thought it was best to do it in person. “

Stella, tried to interject. But Cynthia was determined to finish. She sounded like an automaton, programmed to confront the other woman with as much tact as possible. She continued as if she she’d never stopped.

“A few days ago, Collins ex-girlfriend contacted me. She told me that she’s HIV positive and that she’s not sure where she got it from. Apparently she told Collins and he’s been ignoring her since then. So she got desperate and contacted me. I’ve been trying to get a hold of Collins too, but he’s phone has been off since I told him that his ex called me.”

Tears started rolling down Cynthia’s cheeks, and just like that it felt like the end of summer. I took off my sunglasses and held Cynthia’s hand. Stella stood still like a marble statue. Her face looked gaunt like something inside of her had decomposed instantly. I didn’t know how to comfort her, hell, I didn’t know how to comfort Cynthia.

As if she had a potato stuck in her throat, Cynthia resumed with her monologue that now sounded like an ode to the end of a young life. The most human and most real thing I’ve ever heard spoken.

“I’ve been going to Collins’ place to try to speak to him, find him, to get some sort of explanation. I’ve since found out that he’s run back to his hometown of Orange Groove. I got tested for HIV yesterday and I’m negative. I suggest you do the same.”

At this point tears were rolling down Stella’s face too. This provided me with some sort of relief. At least now Stella was showing some feeling. And she wasn’t being the belligerent sassy girl. She was processing everything and taking it all in. Stella then gestured to hug Cynthia.

Cynthia stepped back. Wiped her tears and then there was fury in her voice.

“You don’t get to sleep with my boyfriend and then have me comfort you. Your God does not love you that much. You have a reputation Stella. For me to do this, I had to think of you as a human being and not a contemptible whore.”

I don’t know if it was the weed, or if this is who Stella really was. But she didn’t respond at all to Cynthia’s scorn. She wiped her tears, told me to take care and walked away back to her friends under the tree.

I immediately held Cynthia in my arms. She was shaking; all I could do was stand there in the middle of the park and hold her as she wept. When she regained composure, we walked home and stopped at Mirror Tables, for a late lunch. We ended up having a liquid lunch and we had a conversation about the whole thing drunk and loud. We both cried and said all that could’ve possibly been said. We had a few comfortable silences, which would end up in more tears and hugs. Occasionally we sang along to a few songs that were played on the radio.

We literally crawled home and both passed out on her bed.

The next few weeks were hell. I’d hear her crying every night, and when she wasn’t crying she was drinking. Sometimes I’d tend to her, but on other nights I pretended not to even hear her. She was not prepared to draw anyone else into this. I suppose then I was expected to carry her through this whole ordeal. But all was prepared to do was that I could possibly do, listen. I listened to her anger, confusion, regret, pain and hope. All the while I was speaking to my mother for some grown up guidance.

She got tested again for HIV and again she was negative. We were both jubilant. But it had become obvious that something had changed about Cynthia. There was nothing neither sweet nor timid about her anymore. She was now firm and a little more selfish.

Somehow she found the strength to graduate and instead of getting work as a legal intern, she decided to go teach English abroad. Her next test was scheduled for just after graduation. But I had moved back to Southville. It’s been three years, and I still don’t know if she took the final test or not. I didn’t care to ask or bring it up. I didn’t think it mattered then and I still don’t think it matters now. What nearly consumed her, saved her in a way. We email each other every now and then and she is the poster child for carpe diem. I couldn’t be more proud.

 

Collins was never heard of again.

I actually heard about Stella a week ago. She married a Muslim Doctor.

As for me…well, I’m just the guy telling the story. It’s not about me, lol.

The Science and Poop Of Breaking Up

Eish another one of my friends got dumped, I’m in bad company, I know. I used to be the worst person at breaking up. I didn’t know how to break up and this sucked for me and the other person.

Getting dumped sucks! I actually don’t like the word “dump”. It’s a synonymous with unpleasant things. We are not trash; we shouldn’t have to “get dumped”. I don’t know if I’ve said this before on my blog but I’ll say it now. I’ve had two great loves, T and S. With T it wasn’t going to work because I was way too insecure then, so I ended it. With S it wasn’t going to work because we were living on hope alone and that isn’t enough to sustain a relationship, drugs do a better job. It was just impractical. Needless to say, when you break up with someone the why trains keep coming because people need closure.

I remember a long time ago my friend was dating this guy, they were “both” very “happy “until he moved to another city. They tried the long distance thing for a short while, but he felt that it’s not working for him so he ended it. My friend was pissed off for a reason I didn’t expect. She had it in her mind that he was lying about why he wanted the break up. She swore it was something else and she wished he could be more honest. We were never able to establish this “truth” my friend was looking for, but she’d soon be proved right. A year later they were in the same city again, both single. They tried to get back together, but it didn’t work. He just wasn’t that into her.

So when you do break up with someone, you owe them closure and closure is honesty, especially if you know how they feel about you. The truth really does set people free even when that freedom isn’t instant. Everyone has some kind of idea(s) why a lover doesn’t want to be with them anymore. Even when they don’t see it coming they’ll have some kind of clue. It will haunt them if that idea isn’t confirmed or dispelled. We all want to hear it sometimes…to be set free.

I’ve seen people lose their minds over break ups and if there’s a common trait in these break ups, it’s a lack of truth. And things like “we can still be friends” and “it’s not you, it’s me” don’t make it better. Those are not things anyone wants to hear when they’re getting dumped; they’re especially not things I want to hear. I’m in the habit of saying this to potentials in my romantic life “I can take anything you throw at me, you just need to be careful how you throw it” this includes how you dump me. As such I always offer friends who are about to dump someone a crash course in sensitivity training after advising them to tell the truth. Sometimes the truth is “I’m bored” but you can never say that to someone. It’s rude and karma doesn’t take kindly to such. Actually relationship karma is the worst kind of karma. Trust me, T and S are being well avenged by karma’s wrath right now. I got so many stray animals after them.

Take home message is be careful how you leave people. It’s fair, do best. We all want love and permanence, when you take that away from someone be considerate.

Postscript and other things (you don’t have to read this bit)

1.       When you’re dating (having a fling, testing the water) you actually don’t need to be the breaking up martyr. This is for people in relationships. Really an email is will do just fine if you’re dating. I see nothing wrong with that. Smses, post-it notes etc are a little too curt. But a well thought out email is enough. Also, if you’re quiet long enough, they’ll get the message. Jokes.

2.       Meera and Robert had been together for four months, but Meera felt that the relationship had run its course. One night they got back from a party together, slightly inebriated. They proceed to drink more on Meera’s request. Robert always knew Meera to be a coward, he just had no idea how big a coward she was. He was in for a rude awakening.

After a number of vodka tonics she had all the Dutch courage she needed to leave him. She tells him that it is over and she’s not in love anymore. She then insisted that he has to leave. They argue for a bit and he tells her that he’s too drunk to drive. So she lets him sleep on the couch. She could hear him crying from her bedroom until she passed out. On the next morning she wakes up with him hovering over her with his lips quivering and his eyes twitching. With his voice shaking Robert asked “can we get back together?” Being the coward that she is, and at this point terrified for her life and her property, Meera took Robert back. They hugged and she convincingly explained that she was stressed and didn’t mean to break up with him. They stayed in bed for a little while chatting. Meera then sent Robert for breakfast.

Soon as he was out of her complex, Meera called Rob to explain that she did indeed mean to break up with him and that she was scared of what he would do to her, so she had to take him back. At this point Robert hung up on her. She rushed to security and informed them never to let him again.

Moral of the story break ups are messy enough, don’t be clumsy.

3.       Lastly, to my T and S. If you’re reading this. I killed a little part(s) of me when I let you (y’all) go. I think about you (y’all) often and I really wish I could’ve handled things better. I hope you’re both doing well. #MeeraTendencies