amuelle

[amuelle]

We gave it all we had….

The first thing that comes to mind is us standing in the line at the pharmacy. We had both done this before but never together. This was a first for us. Little did we both know that this was one of the last times we would see each other. I am not sure if I would have said or done anything different in retrospect. My ticket number flashed on the screen and I approached the counter. We had come together but only one of us would bare the shame of asking for emergency contraceptives. He was there to “support” me. I would have preferred to go alone but he had INSISTED. Randomly asking questions and trying to empathise. It was a strange feeling. Half of him afraid that I would lie about taking them and trap him with a child. The other half of him was afraid to tell me he didn’t love me enough to imagine a child or a family with me. Whatever it was, I felt it. His discomfort was clear.

We had both made a mistake the night before but only one of us was responsible for me not falling pregnant. I realise now that it bothered him that I was so decisive about it. I didn’t lament about having his baby and the joy it could possibly bring. I have always been on the fence about children but with him it was definite no. He had this expression on his face the whole time. As if to say ‘you should want my baby’. The ‘you should romanticize the possibility of a child with me’ face. I was doing what I wanted, when I wanted, with no one to worry about and I didn’t want that to change. I didn’t want my life to change because of him and a moment of weakness (if ever I have children it will be because I want them, not because I had a reckless night of passion). It’s not selfish, its self-love and its survival. I learnt that day that I didn’t want to be with someone who looked at me through a sinister lens. Someone who thought I was capable of the worst, who didn’t let their wound breathe but instead kept it a secret and then let it control them. Someone intent on being sick to garner attention, someone who didn’t understand that I would always love myself no matter how much I gave…I simply didn’t want that for myself.

Hi! I am Amo Elle, a serial runaway with deep seeded fears of commitment and rejection. I also have a strange thing with control but that’s for another day.

After the trip to the pharmacy. Many moons later, post breakup and a meet cute in conversation with My Muse for the Season. He highlighted that some relationships fail. Although many of us never like to imagine ourselves as failures in any form there are moments in all our lives where we have FAILED….but what is failure really? Like really really, what is failure? Google says its “lack of success.” Or “the neglect or omission of expected or required action.” However in the context of the long lesson that is life can relationships actually fail? I ask myself this because if so then my only successful relationships are with friends and I have never had a successful relationship because they all ended. What is really baking my noggin is there is no real answer for what a successful relationship looks like. Does the mere fact that a relationship ended mean it was a failure? Does it devalue the experience, was it all for naught? It's not like anything else where at the end of an experience you get a marker for completion. A certificate for school, a medal for a race, hell in some sports you get a participation trophy. That is simply not the case with relationships. You get heart ache and a new version of yourself after all is said and done. That makes me wonder even more if we were looking in the wrong direction hoping to see the sun rise in the same place it set.

What if, instead of happily ever after you and this person were just meant to get where you got? What if, the perspective you have chosen is the wrong one…..what if just because you don’t like it, it doesn’t mean it's not where you were meant to be? What if the success story is just that you got to give love and receive it and that’s all it was meant to be versus this happily ever after?

Let’s keep this in mind but let’s also open this door that most people don’t want to. Let’s address why we feel we have failed when something no longer serves us. Let’s talk about how we are sold the notion that you need to stick it out to make it work and if it doesn’t work there is something wrong with you. Let’s talk about it! Why do we want to hinge points in our lives especially in our romantic lives on whether someone could or couldn’t weather the storm with us? Is it failure if the journey still served us?

I would argue it feels like failure because you may have not forgiven yourself for the way things worked out. Forgiveness as we have learned so eloquently phrased by Ms Oprah Winfrey herself: “is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different, it's accepting the past for what it was, and using this moment and this time to help yourself move forward.” So I ask you, have you forgiven yourself for loving someone who didn’t love you back, for being emotionally abusive, for staying when you should have left, for letting past traumas inform current decisions, for holding back, for wanting to prove something to someone who was intent on misunderstanding you? Have you forgiven yourself for not giving the best version of yourself because you didn’t know how? Have you forgiven yourself?

Granted, some relationships aren’t meant to work out and some are. What I have realised and what is true for me is that relationships cannot be held to a standard of success or failure because there are no pass marks. It's just you trying to achieve your ultimate goal of giving and receiving love in a healthy manner that grows you. If two people are in a relationship that doesn’t satisfy them but they stay together, have a family and ultimately die still together was the relationship successful? Were they honoring themselves? The same if two people who love each other can’t make it work past a certain point because of their personalities, was their relationship not successful simply because they were aware it wasn’t going to work?

I have been in a number of relationships and after each one comes to an end I mourn the loss, put the hopes to bed and find something new to fixate on. Never in my life, never not never a day in my life did I ever feel like my relationships failed. I always felt like that’s ALWAYS what it was meant to be and there wasn’t meant to be more. I take the lessons introspect and emerge a better version of myself, knowing more about my needs and non-negotiables. Isn't that what relationships are about?

This was just meant to make you think about your growth and what you define as success and failure in relationships. I’m not saying wear your heart on your sleeve, I am saying fill the pages of the book of your life and every so often, read your book! You have grown and therein lies the beauty. I’ve taken a long long road to say, you make the rules in your life and relationships and if it makes you happy, you don’t owe anyone an explanation. Whether you view it as success and failure doesn't matter….whether you are happy doing it does!

Bisou…Bisou

[amuelle]

A thank you for thirty-fine....

Teetering closer to my 35th birthday I had an existential crisis. I asked myself all the questions of the universe as my life now felt devoid of meaning. And so at the first chance I ran home to my mother’s house where she showered me with affection and I got to fall asleep in the safest place in the world. I had an incredible dream that night which inspired this post. I realised that I needed a well thought out reminder of just how abundantly I am loved and so I started to pen a thank you letter, which went a little something like this…..

“I have never been in love with life the way I am now that I get the opportunity to be thankful. I would like to be thankful and specific. To God and every iteration of God that resonates with you as an individual, the creator of the universe who has blessed me so abundantly and shown the light on the path of my life. Kea leboha Molimo oaka.

To my beautiful parents who fell so deeply in love and through that love created me. My beautiful father who spent his life dedicated to being his authentic self and steadfast such that I could be myself and live out loud. To my beautiful mother whose prayerful strength was always at my defense. For your nurturing, guidance, brutal honestly and a push into the cruel world while never letting me forget I had a home to run back to. I thank you.

My incredible siblings to whom I owe the world. For reasoning with me and reminding me that even in the darkest times I will never be alone. For rescuing me from myself and allowing me to make mistakes and letting those mistake be something to learn from and not the defining moments of my life. I owe you my sanity and strength. My brother and sister are two of the most amazing people I know and I am thankful I get to bask in their glory and call them mine

My beautiful roses. My Pona and my Tsoepe. I love you with all my heart and would lay in front of a train for you. There is no sacrifice I feel would be too great to make for you because you are both absolutely worth it. I want to you to live out your wildest dreams only because of the joy it would bring to see you reach your full potential. I’m not being hard on you. I just love you. The unconditional love you have for me has changed my life and made me a better person. But for the two of you I doubt I would understand so deeply how important it is to nurture relationships and love with your all.

To my extended family. My brothers and sisters from my other mothers and fathers. I am yet to understand how you could give so much to me, lead with love and be such shining examples and reminder that goodness still exists in abundance. Space and time does not diminish love. I love you all so much and appreciate you all for your individual talents that you share with the world that make it a better place.

To My Muse, I would be only a fraction of the woman I am today but for your presence in my life. We stopped being friends a very long time ago, you are family to me. I revel the chance to have someone take care of me in such a firm, deliberate and nurturing manner. I love you babes!

To my Muse for the season. I am still in awe of you and how much you have helped me grow. Helping me face the sun and making sure my sails are open to catch the wind when it blows to continue forward, even if it is at a snail’s pace. I love that we grow like vines sometimes in the same direction, sometimes in opposite direction but we have tethered through and I appreciate you.

To my phenomenal Wolf Pack. My chosen family who used to be friends. You have never let me be alone even in the deepest moments of grief and despair. From bereavement wine, to shots of tequila, ewallets, cash sends and books. To you picking me up and the incredible safe space you create for me to be who I am through and through. For the phone calls, text messages and random affection. Parking up the street or down the street from my house for chats that should have ended an hour ago. For letting me be there for your joys, successes, triumphs and tears. For writing the stories of your lives in obnoxiously bright ink such that the it is hard to forget that if you want to go further we must go together. You have been the buoys in the ocean of life. For laughing at me when I am being too serious and always reminding me that it won’t hurt this much forever, I am deeply enamored and grateful to you all.

For the incredible pseudo parents in the teachers who helped me accept that I am an outsider and being different isn’t bad. To my teachers who set a light a feminist blaze in my heart that would later help me have the courage to write, speak and portray who I really am with the surety that I was unshakable. For giving my parents reprieve from their sometimes bad ass kid and believing in me. There are simple no words to describe the deep affection and appreciation I have. You have shaped many incredible lives and I glad to have been a student in all your class.

KB Brookins wrote ‘I remember grief, loves grand finale. What else do we have if not memory of life before this?’ I am an amalgamation of your incredible love, talents, unwavering support and strength. It is not lost upon me that I am not always the easiest person to love but none the less you continue to choose to love and fortify me.

To my ancestors whose love I am product of. As Dr. Maya Angelou once said “I come as one but I stand as ten thousand.” I am thankful that you dreamt of me. Your sacrifice and insistence to exist and live full lives has had a ripple effect across all time and I am appreciative of that I am an example of your ripple. Kea leboha.”

I am grateful for another year.

If you lose your way or forget the love that fortifies you, take a moment and do an exercise in gratitude. I guarantee you, the bright side will return. Even if just for a moment

Bisou bisou…xoxo

[amuelle]

17/01/2022

At roughly 12 o'clock on the morning of January 17th a man stepped into the door way of his kitchen and collapsed. Caught by his son and wife they helped him into bed and where he became unresponsive. They decided to take him to a nearby clinic. An oxygen tank later, the doctor shared the news that they had lost time. He took his last breath at 13:45 that afternoon. The man was my father.

For his departure we packed a pair of black oxfords shined to perfection, blue dress socks, a white t-shirt, a light blue shirt with white double cuffs folded with cufflinks, underpants, blue trousers, a brown sport jacket with a pin that had survived moving house three times and of course, the bunny rabbit tie. “Are the pockets of the jacket empty?” she asked. “No. There is a handkerchief in the breast pocket” I replied. “Is that where its supposed to be?” She asked. “Yes, he will need it.” I answered. “Put it all back in the plastic bag” she instructed. We had forgotten his glasses but now I was sniffling and fighting the tears so I packed the clothes back in the plastic bag and made peace with it. I will never forget that day. I remember how cold the funeral parlor was and how down to business everyone there behaved. It was a pinnacle to what had been an awful two weeks but for the lady at the funeral parlor it was just a Thursday morning. She wrote my father’s name on the plastic bag with a marker and I bid her well….Mokhali Lithebe, 534…

From the moment my father took his last breath my mother became a widow, my siblings and I became orphans and our lives would never be the same. It would have been unnatural for him to bury his children but still for something so natural and inevitable the loss of a parent is UNBEARABLE. The morning he passed I had spoken to him about going to clinic and feeling better. I ended the call with an “I love you” to which his response was to promptly hang up on me. It was his thing, so it never worried me, I’d get to talk to him about it later. I thought I had time and strangely though that was our last conversation, knowing what I know now I wouldn’t change it. I did every single thing within my power to make sure he was taken care of, felt needed and yet now that he is gone I feel like there was more to do. But what more when you have given your all?

By seven oclock in the morning of January 29th, 2022 (the day of thr funeral) I had established to my uncles that of my father’s children, I was the coldest. I do anger easily. Just like my father I’m stubborn and hard to reason with especially when I am RIGHT. All my decisions were based on practicality and not the longing to honor traditions that didn’t serve me or my loved ones. I was uncompromising. They arrived the day before, cornered my mother and then in the most insensitive manor proceeded to point out everything we did wrong. I get no joy out of being hard hearted, I am hard hearted because it serves me. I’m cold because if I wasn’t these strangers would have come into my father’s house, pissed on us and told us it was raining. By the time they arrived I had already parted with incredible sums of money for the caterer, the stone and the cow. By the time they arrived I had already defended my mother against one of our nosey neighbors, helped pick a photo for the funeral program and helped write my fathers obituary. By the time they arrived I had already watched my family collapse in grief. By the time they arrived there was nothing for them to do except comfort a grieving family which it became apparent they had no intention of doing.

I was surely disappointed but further offend that out of thin air there were people who actually considered for a second that I would go along with these traditions to appease them. I was livid and my anger was not misplaced. Of all the things I had wanted to do, mourning the loss of my father took priority but because life has admin I didn’t get to do that at his funeral. I just…did everything else except that.

I remember not wanting to see him for the last time. I realized that if I didn’t I would have the hope in my heart that it was all some terrible nightmare I would wake up from. My daddy was really gone. That was the truth. Something I couldn’t escape or give all the gold of Arabia to change. It didn’t feel like a personal failing but more like a horrendous attack on my family and I that we didn’t deserve it. Little girls and boys don’t deserve to lose their heroes. Wives don’t deserve to lose their companions…but yet its part of life.

I have begun purging my emotions since. When I am not curled in bed unable to even accept that the sun has risen again I am ok. I can face my life and I forget briefly. To be honest, grief is all consuming. I may have drowned my sorrows in some wine and really expensive shoes. We all have our different ways to get through what we have to go through. Just this past weekend I had errands to run and I figured Id get everything done on time because Deddy would take a bath for two hours and take me wherever I wanted to go driving at 30km per hour. Then I realized that there was no more Deddy. Just a gap where he used to be and now all the things he used to do needed to be done by someone else. It’s the gaps that hurt the most for me, the gaps are what make the loss excruciating. I'm not ready to see the positive side of things. I know I cant stay here forever but for now this is where I am. I am not sorry or compassionate to people who expect me to manage my grief in a way that suits them.

I have started thinking about my own funeral, what I want to wear, who I want to speak and where it should be. It sounds morbid but in my short space of grief I can defiantly say accepting death as a part of life makes you want to savor it more.

I hope in the time I have left I can do some of the things my father did. I know I will never match his accomplishments, not all of us break generational curses and ease the trauma and pain caused by poverty and apartheid in their families. Mine is a different journey but like him, Id like to have a closet full of fabulous clothes. Things collected from every corner of the globe. I want to go somewhere….anywhere that has the magic of not being my home. I want to slow down enough to be happy. Many of us are trapped in the race, we forget that we work to live not live to work. I want the people closest to me to know that I love them with all I have got and know how to give. I want to be reliable and flaky at the same time and most of all I don’t want to be a stranger in my own home.

By the time I go, I hope to have amassed a fortune and have experienced more great love affairs. I want a scarf around my neck on the day vintage Dior or Chanel. Perhaps children, most of all I want everyone who comes to bid me farewell to have a special memory of me in their hearts.

Last one!!!! It is very uncomfortable for most people to have conversations with loved ones but it is vital because funerals cost money. The house doesn’t stop needing electricity just because someone died. Get your affairs in order! Encourage your loved ones to get their affairs in order too. Death is not a respecter of age, it can come at any time and any place (Yes I quoted Interview With A Vampire). The satisfaction of looking down your nose at family members who want to turn your family tragedy into a circus because you have funeral and life cover is PRICELESS.

For some good advice on how to get your affairs in order please check out my friend the Financial Bachelor...https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMLk8FVUs/

Bisou Bisou…..

In loving memory of the coldest to ever do it, the husband, father, uncle, diplomat, groovist responsible for my incredibly eclectic taste in music, short temper and stubborn nature Mokhali Alfred Lithebe.

I love you Deddy...

[amuelle]

A gift with my gift…..

I have spent the last 28 days trying to write something profound, something inspiring, something to help me and you start the New Year off on a high. I have come up with nothing. I want to blame writers block and hang it on something outside of myself but the truth is, it is me. Without giving too much away a week ago, The Sasquatch laid into me about not using my gifts and giving in to fear. I know I sabotage myself. I don’t fully lean into my life at times. The sobering realisation that someone else could see it made me feel naked on a stage under a spotlight. It really sucked!

I pride myself on constantly trying to grow from my experiences. I go from here to there but I never want to take the leap. I always build a bridge, survey the neighboring territories, dip my toe in the water and then slowly lower myself into the water. It usually takes forever but I always get there, eventually. The truth is sometimes doing the work doesn’t mean you shouldn’t just take the leap! In April I hit a curb and had to replace the gear box on my car. For the last 8 months I haven’t driven and even after I got it back I still had a fear of getting back behind the wheel because the last time I drove I hit a curb and paid out my ass! I slated myself for it. I spent months convincing myself I could not do it. Cut to yesterday, I had to go somewhere and public transport was not an option. I had a full tank of gas and no cash. The car was the only option. At first I backed it out of the drive way and then parked it back in the garage (this was dipping the toe). Then after a shower and an hour of encouraging pep talks I got in, said a prayer and off I went.

I ran all my errands and even did some light night time driving. When I got home only then did I realize it wasn’t so bad, it had never been so bad. I was just scared and decided to stay scared. Its okay to be scared. For me the downside was I used the fear to create excuses that made driving again even worse than it would actually have been. To loosely quote The Sasquatch ‘Mistakes are to be made. So what you make the mistake? If you stick with it you won’t make the same mistake at a higher level and I can guarantee you, at the higher level there are still mistakes that you will make. Stop being a pussy, just take the leap’. You don’t know what heartbreak awaits around the corner but you still go around the corner if that’s the corner that you need to turn to get to where you need to go. So just GO!!!! It’s December 2021, you are living in a global pandemic, if not now, when? If not you, who?

I have decided to take the necessary actions which includes, leaning into my gift, loving without reservation and honoring myself. To me if I can manage these things I can move mountains. So for the last time in 2021, let me land the plane. Get what you want, don’t intentionally hurt anyone and make all the mistakes so that when you are a better version of yourself, you don’t make the same mistakes. Apologise when you have to but don’t apologise if it’s what you mean and stand behind it. Get out there! The world has people who love you, want to hear your story and you owe it to yourself to be the best version of yourself because we as the world would love to enjoy your unique contribution.

In essence….stop being a pussy and get busy living

Happy New Year (use protection and remember not everyone deserves breakfast in the morning *wink wink*)

Bisou…bisou

[amuelle]

Cinder

If I tried to grab it, it would turn my hands black but it would still be nothing

Remnants of a life taken by fire. It was once something but now its dust.

If you don’t understand the power of a broken heart then I’m not sure you have lived. A broken heart can convince you that air is unnecessary, that the only thing you need is what you have lost.

Someone broke my heart and left me for dead.

[amuelle]

“The train doesn’t stop twice” (J. Mourinho).

The train doesn’t stop twice….just long enough for you to decide if you want to get on. Life, is a series of trips on different trains. Every station a different place in your journey. The next train never heading to the same place as the last train, just trains at the station going to where they are going….

After ignoring all the red flags and convincing myself that some of my non-negotiables were irrational and unfair. I boarded the train. For a year and a few months I would try to convince myself that my relationship with Chocolate Daddy wasn’t one sided. It didn’t start that way. He meant well. His heart was in the right place. I was just starting to resent him for things that I had made comfortable for him. I hadn’t meant for him to get comfortable but now that he was and I couldn’t help myself. I resented him. It didn’t feel right that he was comfortable enough not to try. He knew what he needed to do but he could also comfortably say “Amo will understand”. I had understood and been understanding all along. The ride had lasted long enough, as the train pulled into the station I decided that my life should change in a split second. With the luggage I had amassed on the journey I stood on the platform watching the train leave. I had had enough and decided that I wouldn’t pass another station.

I began to check my luggage. I checked that every single piece of me made it off the train. I wanted to be sure that the things I had before I started the journey and the things I amassed along the journey were together in one place. Most people don’t check their luggage at the station but in my case the station was the last place I wanted to have anything that reminded me of him. I wanted to leave it all right here. Perhaps I’d keep a memory or two in my heart but mostly I wanted a reminder that I’m not crazy, I just want to be loved.

THE PROCESS OF UNPACKING!!!!

The first mistake! I met him when I was on a personal high and thought I had to share it.

I had spent all of 2019 pouring into myself. I fed myself like a goddess, drank from the challis of life and loved every moment. I was a whirl wind of Cartier perfume, faux gold accessories that was never in the same place twice. It was amazing and when I first met him it felt magical. However, magic has never been practical. I would spend most of the time in our relationship apologising for the life I had created because it was so vastly different from his. It felt like love and love compromises….right? I took something that had taken me a whole year to create and tried to share it with someone, turned out to be the wrong someone.

The second mistake! I tried to forgive something that was a deal breaker for me.

Vivid in my mind like the day I heard Agape for the first time by Nichols Britell (from the soundtrack for If Beal Street Could talk). This day is imprinted on my soul. It’s unforgettable. (LISTEN- I WILL NEVER FORGET)

We were laying in bed when the window flew open, it was the sound of breaking glass and a shrill voice cussing that woke me. He jumped out of bed and said he would be back. For the next five minutes an argument ensued. She kept asking if “she” was the reason and he kept repeating that it was over and asking what she was doing there. Only when she came back to the window to find me paralysed in confusion covered in a duvet did things become absolutely clear. “She” was me and she had been the reason Chocolate Daddy had stopped seeing her. He pulled her away from the window but not before she called me a little whore and promised to find me and kill me. I got dressed. When he came back a heated argument that ended in me having a panic attack began. The crux of it being that yes he had a relationship with her while he was with me and that these were the difficulties people endured in relationships. “Other people” I thought. “These are things that other people go through Amohelang, not you. No. This is not on brand for you.” But what did inner me know? She was a girl who was still trying to reconcile being called a little whore and betrayal had stolen her voice.

I remember him wanting to talk about how he cut his finger, how the window was broken, how embarrassed he was this happened in front of his neighbors but not for a second did he want to talk about how it made me feel and still...I stayed. Not because I loved him but because I wanted someone to be angry at. Someone to punish and abuse emotionally and boy did I ever…

The third but not final mistake! I stayed when I wasn’t in love anymore.

After the “incident” a variety of things happened. One of which was at a Christmas braai with my family. My aunts asked me if he were to propose tomorrow what I would say. I was dumb enough to be honest. I told them I would say no because he wasn’t where he needed to be in his life to be with ME. My aunts laughed and told me to stop wasting his time if I didn’t see a future. What I didn’t say was that for all the time we had been together I still felt on the outside of his life. We were strangers. I was the sea side resort he visited when his life in the city was too much. No gift giving, money lending, compromising or rationalising could change the fact that I had no idea who he truly was. We, were a “we” but more for me than him. What I also couldn’t say was that I had caught him cheating and I didn’t trust him. I had gone through his phone, found messages and confronted him about it. It didn’t matter, I was playing myself and he now knew how to play me too. I was in this relationship as a selfish exercise of masochism. I couldn’t say what it really was. The more of him I got to see the less I liked and the more I fell out of love.

The build up to break up….

As a firm believer in advice from the right people. I am sure I put the wise women in my circle through an ordeal from the time I decided I’d start the break up process. I was trying to love but there was no love left. And so, love less and frustrated my wise women soothed my heart and spent the better part of three months telling me that nothing, not a job, a pair of shoes or a man should be this difficult to love. It was the day I had filled my weekend with plans that remind me and everyone in the house of a version of myself I hadn’t been in a while. I came out of my room. Dolled up after two hours of makeup. My sister cupped my cheeks, looked in my eyes and said “ You do you, so well”. On the day of my 34th birthday I decided I was done. When he gave a half-hearted happy birthday and the next day followed it up with an expectation that I would be understanding as to why for two birthdays he had disappointed me. I had nothing left to give. I understood only one thing and that was this relationship was over, it had been over but I wasn’t tired of suffering then but now I was. I turned into more of a stranger to him. I told him I had accepted that our relationship was over and he should do the same. He didn’t argue, just accepted it without a fight. I was disappointed mostly in myself for thinking for a second that after all this time not trying he would try now. I thanked him for freeing me and that was the last time we spoke.

What I can say in retrospect….

I keep thinking if I had listened to him more I would have heard him say over and over “Im not ready to be in a relationship”. I should have believed him but he kept pretending to want it so bad that eventually he was the man in my life and we were in a relationship. Even if the foundation was made of sand it was nice to look at but it would never stand against a gust of wind or a rainy day. It’s a role he filled very well, or perhaps it was easy for him to fill because my cup was never empty. Our lives never intertwined such that I was inconvenienced by his presence. I was okay without him because he had taught me how to live without him for so long. After a while I was happier without him but still maintained we were together when we really weren’t. Confusing, yes. I was very confused at the time.

I had lost parts of myself and it was my fault. I convinced myself that loving him had to come with sacrifice, partially because every time I was ready to end it, he made it seem as if I was leaving him stranded and if I loved him I’d be more patient. Had I just done my due diligence, a true deep dive of who he was as a person I would have known he wasn’t ready and not even the one to pass time with but you learn these things along the way right? WRONG!!! I just learnt it for you, so do be me, do your due diligence!!! Before you are all in get to know the good the bad and ugly about a person. You are too old to figure it out later.

Something that I have also realized is that once you want to hold back and you have legitimate reasons to besides meeting him two weeks ago then something is really wrong. When its really right, you won’t want to hold back because what you give is multiplied and returned. You are not designed just to give love, you are designed to also receive it. So before you are there selling yourself short ask yourself the simple question if this person has invested enough love in you to warrant whatever you are giving….if not…well, I suggest you stop playing yourself.

Let’s go back to the train analogy. So now the luggage has been unpacked and I intended to leave it at the station. I’ve taken the escalator up to street level picking up a pair of sunglasses and a scarf for my hair in the gift shop. Now shrouded, standing on the street, the train station behind me I’ve decided that at this new point in my life. I will try something new. I will explore, taste things and spit them out if they don’t agree with me. Everything is new again, the relief of leaving a bad lover is a comfort I can’t explain. I’m no expert and I can only share my personal experiences but one thing I know for sure, I’m done taking trains. I’m on to yachts now….

Bisou…bisou

[amuelle]

The smell of runaways…

The adrenaline lingers in the air and its distinct odour is only known to a nose that knows. An unmistakable mixture of passion, fear and excitement. The promise of something better. The catharsis, an old life left behind and HOPE! The certainty in being naïve enough to believe that new difficulties won’t destroy you. That whatever you are leaving behind won’t haunt you. The fervour for a new life unknown, that is the smell of a runaway.

The last time I caught a whiff of that distinct scent was in a long distance taxi to Johannesburg from Maseru Bridge. The couple sat in front of me. Cuddled up having decided to runaway together to the city of gold to start a new life. I could tell by the lack of luggage that this trip was impromptu. They had thought about it but never had the courage. Today was the day. She wore a silver stacked “wedding ring” and he moved like a man protective of his most worldly possession. When she fell asleep in his lap. I saw him caress her head and fight the urge to fall asleep himself. They moved in unison and I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy and pity. I was jealous because I hadn’t felt that safe and secure in years. I pitied them because they had the naivety of youth, that allows you to believe that love alone will sustain a life and see you through all the difficulties you cant even begin to imagine.

From what I could piece together he had gotten his last pay check, picked her up and off they went. It was clear they had talked about it repeatedly. That they should traverse life together anywhere but where they were before. He had promised to take care of her and the big city held all the promise of a new life. From the way he was dressed it was clear he hadn’t necessarily been ready for the trip but he was now with her and the only way was forward. And there they were, cuddled up as the sun set and two tons of metal on four wheels hurried them to their destiny, paved with broken dreams but for them it held the promise of something new. I loved it for them. The idea of it, anyway. I said a silent prayer for abundance in their lives because if not now, when? I’d never see them again.

They reminded me of something I had lost as I got jaded by life. Even vampires long to walk in the sun. I had given pieces of myself away and every time I realised I had lost something I’d just LEAVE! I could always start again and again. So just as my taxi Romeo and Juliet. I ran. I ran so long, so hard and fast. Without direction I ran. I ran till I felt like my heart was about to give out and just as I thought it would explode and I was on the brink of sheer exhaustion, rest never crossed my mind because I still wanted to RUN!!!

I was witnessing love in action and I understood why I never got anywhere. For all the miles I ran, I always end up in the exact same place. Right where I did not want to be, the start. Strangers I didn’t even share a word with had inspired something in me. I decided that from this day, I would stop running away. Id stop running away and start running toward something.

The taxi stopped at the rank which was buzzing with everything from danger to serendipity. She was awake now and I saw them exchange a look that made me hopeful. Wherever they go, let it be together and let it lead them to the happiness they seek. This was my hope for them. I grabbed my suitcase, hurried along and caught the connecting taxi to my last destination. I checked my phone and put my family at ease because I was almost home. I was tired and for the first time in a long time I just wanted to be in four walls and sit in silence.

I will not lie and say the urge to run has left me. I still feel the itch. I’ve done it so long that it’s hard to be still. For me, I run because I never had the option to leave when I wanted. When I was a child when the worst of the worst happened, I couldn’t leave. As a young adult when it was do or die, I always did and I never left. The first chance I got to taste freedom, wind at my back, sun on my face, I took it! I ran. I left people, like I had been left and it gave me a terrible satisfaction. I reinvented myself to be who I always thought I was and it was amazing, lonely, but AMAZING! And just then two strangers had reminded me that I didn’t want to spend all my days running. I wanted the comfort of shelter and affection, I just didn’t have the tools to see it through or cultivate that type of intimacy. Or maybe I had the tools and I just didn’t want to use them? Then I thought, what if I was running so fast that the person meant to catch me was suffering needlessly? What if I spent all this time running away from something that wouldn’t be so terrible to face or I ran so much that I couldn’t catch myself? What if it I treated myself like I was worth it, enough to figure it out, just for me, what if I stopped running for me?…Guess I’ll only find out when I stop running and that might be today or tomorrow I just know I’m not running away.

If like me, you are running, I hope its towards something, someone or someplace.

Bisou bisou

[amuelle]

An Encounter….

As if she had been waiting her whole life to meet me she said. “Don’t rush yourself, the worst thing you can do is not enjoy your life. Enjoy your evening sweetheart.” With that she handed the waiter her take away, locked arms with him and slowly walked out of the restaurant.

I once met a woman, who made the world make sense for a moment. Dripping in the diamonds from her first marriage it was clear she had waited for her husband to die. Once he did she began a love affair with life. Trips overseas, champagne breakfasts and brazillian blow outs that made every single strand of hair glisten. She was ALIVE and even though she was elderly and had difficulty walking now, she still had a lust for life that made me jealous.

She caught my eye as I sat down for a solo lunch in the corner restaurant at my nearest strip mall. For months, I kept threatening to go. For some reason that random Tuesday, I decided I would sit down and try their menu. I hadn’t been sitting long when the universe turned me to see her. She walked slowly. Her pace suggested she had nowhere to be except where she was. She looked at me and started a conversation with the greatest of ease.

The Elder: I’d never imagine that a person like you would come to a place like this?!

Me: Well. I make all my own money so I had to find some way to spend it.

We laughed, she got it. I knew she did. She then regaled me with a brief life story. She was frail but you could tell she had stories of a life well lived. I hadn’t expected to relate to her so well. As she spoke I heard something that struck me. I heard my aunties, my grandmother and my mother in her voice. The familiar tone of pain. The pain of loving a man who abandoned you, baring children who betrayed you, all the while holding it together because you hope for better and life must continue. I knew this woman though I was meeting her for the first time. I KNEW HER!

Whenever I have unexpected conversations. I always remember that we all have stories to tell and are always in search of someone willing to listen. I was slightly uncomfortable when she said a person like me. I immediately became aware of myself. Did she mean me as a black person or me as a younger woman? Retrospectively in a restaurant usually full of old people from the retirement village down the road, I could see why when she saw me sit down she couldn’t figure it out. Why she felt the need to talk to me. Maybe the mystic bond between women moved her. At first I thought our conversation would be vapid. What could this elderly woman I don't know have to say to me that could possibly be of consequence? As she stood there, slightly bent forward and we spoke. I felt like the apprentice being given their wand. I was being sent out into the world to practice my magic. The Elder had affirmed me, my whole existence and my stance on life. Although she didn't blatantly say it, she told me that I would be okay and using every opportunity to fill my life was a worthwhile experience. Suffering wasn't a must, I had to create and enjoy my world.

At the same time she reminded me of all the things in my life I give undeserved power. Insecurities about things I can’t change, comparing my inside with people’s outsides. Feeling lost, like I’m losing a race while I know I am the sole competitor. The sticky floor at work that made it difficult to progress without losing a part of myself, my interactions with other women who want me to feel small for not wanting what they want, for knowing no one will help me if I don’t ask. Things, a lot of things that strip me of my ability to balance the equation of my life.

At this moment in conversation with a woman who saw her past life in me, it all made sense for a second. However brief the moment was, it was clear that life would never slow down enough for me not to miss it while feeling sorry for myself. I needed to rise to meet the road. All the time I spent trying to be something I am not to appease a side of me that only made sense 10% of the time, was time I was never going to get back. That made me sad to think that I was in the way. I was the problem and also the solution. As I unpacked these feelings I realized that a lot of it came from how we are socialized growing up. The sad part is most of these things weren’t true in my parents home. However, once you let your child out into the world the world has them. My parents never told me what would make me happy, they wanted me to find it and figure it out for myself. They wanted me to travel the world eating foods, meeting people and chasing happiness. Never not once did they define happiness as this or that. It was always made clear that happiness was something for me that I gave myself that no one could define for me.

Now here with her and her diamonds it all didn’t matter. Every mistake had brought me to this glorious moment. The past was the past. I was just responsible for making what was to come incredible. I can only tell you what I have learnt from a life so far that has been full of high and lows. Ill be honest too, I have no idea what happiness looks like. I only know it is a part of the journey. If I were to describe happiness for me now, I’d tell you that it’s the moments we sometimes fail to savor. It’s going to sleep at night knowing I put in a good days work, saving up and buying things I don’t need that just make me happy. Going on dates and playing with The Sasquatches hair while wondering if he means any of the things he says. It’s breathing. Just BREATHING!!! Long deep breaths that fill my mind with possibility and hope.

It’s you reading this and having a passing thought as to what small pieces of happiness surround you that you might have been in such a hurry that you missed. To echo the words of my new found friend. Don’t rush yourself, enjoy yourself.

Bisou…bisou

[amuelle]

21/07/21

Hold my gaze for a moment.

I want to remember you as beautiful as you are.

I want never to forget the lines in your face, the dimples in your cheeks or the lashes on your eyes.

Every immaculate atom that makes you is beautiful to me.

Put my hand in yours again.

Once more put our palms together and fold your fingers over mine.

Let me hear your laugh.

Smile one last time and remind me,

remind me I promised I'd live and I would live out loud.

*Inspired by The Muse of the season

[amuelle]

The business of falling in love...

How dating in your 30s is a business.

5:30 for 6

After maneuvering my regularly scheduled programming, which meant taking a shower and putting on clothes. I was ready. Ideally our ETA was supposed to coordinate such that he arrived before I did so he could finesse me, show off his prowess with the menu and leave me impressed. Alas impatient me couldn’t wait. Doused in perfume and warmly dressed I got there early and sat for no more than two minutes before he arrived.

As he approached the table I thought well isn’t he just the most handsome Sasquatch ever. I was on a DATE!!! It was all gas, no breaks. The vulnerable conversations had that night could fill a salacious memoir of two adults on the horizon of leaving their youth behind. I’ve used the word magical to describe other encounters but this wasn’t magical. It was the effortless connection of two people who were ready to be their best.

Three hours passed in the blink of an eye and now the dinner date was evolving. Perhaps a drink before we actually head home? I had been prepared for the bill to come and an awkward conversation about how much or how little it was. In anticipation of this, when he asked for it I pulled my handbag closer. Just in case it went pear shaped and chivalry was really dead. He looked at me, said something and in the brief moment my head was cocked back in laughter, the bill was paid, the uber called and we were on our way to the next destination.

In your teens you date for….whatever you date for in your teens. In your twenties, convinced you are grown you start looking for an ideal that doesn’t exist and you learn life's cruel lessons. In your thirties it’s a completely different game, played on a different turf, in a different universe. By the time you are in your thirties you have already been through the blender. You’ve spent money you shouldn’t have trying to impress someone. You've made large contributions to another person’s lifestyle, stayed when you should have left, negotiated when you should have given an ultimatum, you have already, already, already, already done a lot. Whether it jaded you or not it informs your decisions especially when it comes to money

In this case, I could have pretended the R100 uber was too much and asked him to uber me. He could have read the bill out loud to clearly indicate that we had to split it. BUT! We were still pretending, it was a first date after all. Now at the second location reminding myself of my youth having a double vodka and lime. My mind started to swirl around the thought. “How does money impact a relationship in your 30s?”

Through budgeting, perseverance and sacrifice I have created for myself a particularly comfortable life. I afford myself and since I have been with someone who didn’t have the same means and made me feel bad about it, I know that life is not for me. Financial stability has become non-negotiable. Dating someone should never result in regression. This is where the difficulty lies.

The Sasquatch has also created an incredibly comfortable life for himself. I have learnt that if he suggests an outing he is also obligating himself financially to an extent. But after buying my own bottles for so long, how do I accept that perhaps the rules have changed? That it could be he has the money to date me but dating me shouldn’t be me pretending not to be gainfully employed enough to have the tastes I have? I am no longer engaging with someone who doesn’t have the means. Does that make me powerless? Should I turn into a succubus? What is an independent woman of the world to do????!

Falling in love in your 30s is a business. The truth is we are no longer start-ups trying to break even and find our position in the market. Some businesses have failed, others are struggling. In this case we are now two fortune five hundred companies on the cusp of merger. The merger poses potential gains for both parties, however it has implications. Layoffs, optimizing, sharing of costs and in this scenario transparency. Forget the hoe files! You can get past a person’s hoe files. They had to rip and run the streets to become the interesting, colourful person you are attracted to. Just like in business, mistakes are made, risks taken and not all of them pan out. That said, who wants to merge a well-oiled machine with a business struggling to get off the ground. If your aim is to develop the business or swallow it whole for your own selfish gain then that makes sense. However, unless you believe in that business then having the faith to grow it is difficult. It's almost down and out, non-compliant and struggling! Can your brand survive being associated with such?

I spoke to Mr Fix It finance, The Sasquatch, My muse and the Finance Lady. It all comes down to this, relationships cannot thrive when we don’t talk about money. If we don’t talk about where we are financially, our goals, obligations, debt and ambitions. It’s a recipe for disaster. My Muse reiterated this and added that when you aren’t dating for marriage or long term partnership the last thing to do is compromise yourself financially. The Finance Lady added that because people are so different it’s hard to say what is important to whom, where and how. Most women don’t want to hold a man down financially because the fear is “once he get on he’ll leave your ass for a white girl.”

Where does that leave me now? What about the business of falling in love? What’s to be said for reciprocity? Even though I do want him to spend on me I don’t want him to feel like my hands are folded and I’m waiting on him. I also want him to remember I was a whole functioning adult before he came along. The process of wooing me shouldn’t be a painful exercise. After mulling it over for a few days I came to a few conclusions. First, I’m jumping ten steps ahead. There has been no solid commitment made and yet here I am dissecting a first date like it will inform the rest of my life. Second, thinking about it isn’t a bad thing but overthinking will ruin what could possibly be an amazing experience. Third, there are no rules. Other than transparency we owe each other NOTHING. If he wants us to get fat on restaurant food and tequila then fine. If I’m passionate about us spending on experiences vs restaurant food then I should say so and also put my pocket book where my mouth is.

Dating in your 30s as much as it is and will always be to find love and companionship is also a strategic merger. You are not young enough to waste your time with people holding you back or who don’t want to be pushed further than their comfort zone. You are also too old to be holding on to unrealistic ideals because of social media. If you can’t do it for yourself, you shouldn’t expect anyone else to, unless you are willing to make the sacrifices that come with it. This goes for men and women. You can’t afford your own place and you move in, you can’t complain about the heater not being on, on a cold day. Similarly just because someone wants to provide for you part of the way, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t reciprocate and match their energies. That said, I'm not used to being treated well, so before I start buying watches, rings and things I’m just going to let someone be nice to me and see where it goes. I won’t be acting like a thirsty birdy until we are at least four dates in…I’m lying. We will just have to see how it goes. I'm pretty sure its gonna be a great time!

Bisou…bisou

[amuelle]

A wax is a powerful thing

WARNING: This story ends is an embarrassing series of events and no enlightened epiphany…I’m just sharing…

Let’s begin with a confession. In love Amo Elle is  the loving, loyal, ten toes down willing to suffer for her man type. It might take a lot to earn this love and loyalty but I always make the experience of being with me incredible. That doesn’t mean our relationship will work. It also means I take a lot of Ls.

Single Amo Elle is a risk taking, always ready for adventure conversationalist who in a room full of people can focus on one person only to not give them a number at the end of the night or wake up in their bed not knowing their name. Again, this means I have taken a few Ls

Snip snip…that’s me cutting to the good part of the story…..

I’d met him before, the first time when The Diamond Dealer had asked we stop by his place for something. She had met him through a man and for some reason they clicked as friends. After a light chat on one of my more overdressed nights I wouldn’t see him for another four years. The second time I saw him again she had asked we pass by his place again. He was different this time. Lighter, more charming and even though I looked like a hobo I just wanted to keep talking to him. There was something…just something about this Dark Hurricane.

My farewell with Chocolate Daddy was amicable but still left a languishing feeling. I still wanted to be in love but I knew it wasn’t going to be with him anymore. I’ll write about it another day. On that day I’ll write about how devastating it is to realise you are 4:45. The woman who meets him at the wrong time but past his prime. When he knows what he should do to keep you but is too jaded to try. This had brought me to an emotional stalemate. I wasn’t sad but I was THIRSTY for adventure.

As if the universe had conspired to move me out of my rut my horoscope that day said I was on the cusp of a change. “Life added Single Amo to the chat”.  It was the weekend before my birthday and I had passively asked The Diamond Dealer to perhaps slide my number to The Dark Hurricane and see if we struck gold. We had plans later that night and she said she would ask him to join. I was keen but part of me was hoping he wouldn’t show. That night, disaster came dressed in all black and a pair of sneakers I couldn’t stop looking at. NOW!!!! We all know I’m a sucker for a smile but quiet confidence has got to be the most alluring thing I have lived long enough to see. This man didn’t need or want to be seen. If you stood close enough to him you could feel it. It was the kind of confidence that can’t be ignored but mixed in with a reserved nature that made him hard to read and ultimately incredibly interesting.

Obviously, in an attempt to keep it together I drank too much wine. We had things in common but what set the loins ablaze was that he didn’t want to be in competition with me. He didn’t have to diminish me to get his point across. Enjoyable debates were had and by 9pm his leg had found its way between my thighs as we sat at the table with his friend and The Diamond Dealer. I was having a great time. I was back on the market and for the first time in a long time I didn’t feel like anything was obligatory. I didn’t have to pretend to have a good time. I didn’t have to hype myself up to be present because I was with “my” man. On this night I was out with a friend and her friends. One of whom I would have no reservation about getting to know in the biblical sense.

I probably should have called it a night after buying the takeaway bottle of wine. There was something about that night that I didn’t want it to end. Unfortunately, I was doing what I do, clinging to the idea of a man versus his reality.  Granted the footsie playing and subtle under the table thigh stroking had me ready to go. There was definitely something but nothing good happens after two bottles of wine.

Now cut to him dropping me off at home. Retrospectively I realise that I smelt like brewery because the bevs always bev. He doesn’t drink or smoke so I imagine Tipsy grabby Amo was not representing the thunder cat he had met the night before well. Unfortunately, I was feeling confident and super frisky. The winter sun was rising and I should have been home hours go. Now parked down the street at my parents’ house. I grabbed his chin, looked him square in the eye and said “Bye Handsome” I felt like such a bad ass. That should have been a wrap…but have you met me???? Of course there is more!!!

The day of the Brazilian wax, The Dark Hurricane and I weren’t even talking that much anymore. It had been a week since the chin grab. On my birthday he dropped me a line or two. We had nothing to say and to be honest I should have let it go. Not because of anything other than I needed to mourn my relationship. I was with Chocolate Daddy for almost two years and the last thing I needed to be doing was attempting to be bed fellows with anyone. But a cold bed is a cold be and a warm body makes a warm bed!

Before you judge me, if you have never gotten a Brazilian, you cannot even begin to imagine the confidence it brings. Somewhere between the hot wax cooling on your skin and the hairs being pulled from the most sensitive region on your body a rebirth happens. It was pain I need to feel. I needed to feel new and once the initial shock has passed I felt invincible.  That Saturday I didn’t have plans but a friend had offered chilled vibes so down the rabbit hole I went…two bottles later I thought it would be a good idea to send a text.

02:02 Me: I got a Brazilian today, you wanna see if or nah?

02:03 The Dark Hurricane: Nah…but thanks though…

02:03 Me: (laughing crying emoji) I feel like my ego can move on

02:04Me: Now I have to delete you from my existence…a shame coz I find you intriguing

02:07The Dark Hurricane: Eish...that’s great to hear but you know sometimes we complicate our lives

THE NEXT MORNING

08:00 Me: I can’t fault your logic coz you are right. I feel like I can thrive in the friend zone.

Clearly!!! I like a knock out to feel like a knock out and I have no idea when to stop swinging. I had to have the last word and sending hung-over texts trying to reclaim my pride was the order of the day. I was basically a boxer who had been knocked down and counted out but was still swinging laying on the floor…There are few times in life where I have felt that my ego was crushed. I have been in job interviews where I felt I was the perfect candidate and didn’t get the job. But THIS!!!! This was a whole new sensation. Partly because Single Amo had reasoned that nothing could go wrong and in Love Amo had agreed that it was time to throw ourselves shamelessly at the man. Both were wrong, INCREDIBLY WRONG!!!

The sobering reality was that even if the chemistry wasn’t one sided he was not interested. The universe was pushing me to mourn the loss of Chocolate Daddy. Not eat my feelings, drink too much wine and be distracted with another man I didn’t know well enough to call a friend. I have a deeper respect for The Dark Hurricane. His boundaries are clear and he won’t make moves that compromise him. And yes, that makes him even sexier.

That said….don’t get a Brazilian and mix it with wine if you don’t have any one to appreciate it. I’d be lying if I said in four weeks I won’t be back on the table at the spa having hot wax applied to my nether regions. This time I’ll just use the confidence for good… (That’s my hope anyway)

Bisou bisou

[amuelle]

An Invite….

AmuElle:

I was at my parents’ house when I got the invite. “This Friday Lee would like to cordially invite you to a birthday celebration. Bring your party spirit and let’s celebrate my birthday in style.” It was just a birthday dinner with five other people. I wouldn’t need shoes or a dress. Ms. Lithebe always has something to wear. I was rational, reasonable and relaxed. I RSVP-ed. I was surely going.

Strolling through the mall by chance I met up with Lee. As we spoke about the dinner, I realized I needed to get her a gift. A real gift! Not just M100 in a birthday card. Something thoughtful and sentimental. As we talked while pulling bottles of wine off the shelves she mentioned her guest list. She mentioned a few friends and family as I nodded as if my approval mattered. Then she casually mentioned her brother.

I froze. I had forgotten about him. Our interactions and conversations so seldom included him. I had forgotten…but how could I forget? A long standing crush that in my mind should have culminated in a long standing passionate love affair. I was always too scared to say something and he never saw me like that, but that was THEN! This is me now! In the past 17 years a lot has changed. Puberty ended and I learnt the fine art of a push up bra and shaved armpits. I’m not the teenage girl still struggling to find her voice or feel beautiful. She (me) had blossomed into a vivacious woman who doesn’t apologize for being Hennessey in a room of champagne drinkers.

He probably wasn’t the same either. The saggy jeans and durag were long gone. Its slim cut suites and designer shoes now. Maybe like most men my age he has lost his lust for life and settled into the stereotypical role of a “MAN”. Not like I haven’t seen him in all this time but I’m pretty sure I don’t know him like I used to.

On Friday I woke up early to sift through all the clothes I had packed to finally arrive at an outfit I thought said the right thing. My mind went from ‘I wanna enjoy tonight’ to ‘you need to make this man question his God tonight!’ I started considering booking a makeup artist and getting a new perfume. The one I had said “I smell nice, don’t forget me’” but it was apologetic. It doesn’t boldly enter the room as an offensive announcement of my presence, nor does it represent the spectacular seductress that I am. Sense had left my body. After running around town with my bantu knots in the desire for an immaculate twist out. I sat in front of the mirror wondering if doing my make up for two hours was really necessary.

16:30….I should have left half an hour ago. This winged eyeliner took 20 minutes too long to get just right. I looked fine, no, I looked fantastic! Even my nieces’ gave the go ahead. I was out the door. Gifts in the back seat, driving shoes on. I’d change my shoes before I headed inside, least I ruin a great outfit. This was really happening.

 The Poet:

It was the delicate shade of pink on her toes in a snake skin stiletto that brought a flood of memories. Toes I hadn’t seen in years. The last time I saw her was the last time I saw her. We talked till the early hours of the morning and she would disappear for the next two years until today. NOW, this moment here she stood in the doorway holding a bunch of roses and a bottle of champagne. Her skirt almost offensively short but because it’s her, it was incredible.

I’m clutching the camera different now because I’m pretending to be normal. I take a photo of her walking in. As always she caught me off guard. I knew she was coming. I dressed like I knew she would be here but still I’m surprised. I’m never ready for her. I always forget (to my own detriment) how it feels to be around her. She hugs me. “What’s cooking good looking?” she says and I reply cool as a cucumber that it’s all good. She walks in greeting the other guests leaving a trail of her perfume through the door way. I’ll never forget that smell, it’s her smell. Another woman could wear it but it would never smell like it does on her. It’s memorable because of her.

I avoid her for part of the evening to fulfil my camera man duties but inevitably as always I find myself drawn to her.  Then she begins to weave her magic on me. She might be one of the most talkative people I know but when she listens, she listens deeply. It feels like she can hear your heart beat and whatever you say matters the most in that moment. She laughs at all my jokes and asks why everything always ends up sexual. I know I’m not being sexual, it’s her way of planting seeds and it always makes my cheeks tingle. I love how she never says it plainly. I understand that she loves to preserve the mystery and the mystery excites me.

I’ve wondered what it would have been like if we had both been braver back then. Would it have been a love for the decades? Would we be married now? I wonder what my kids with her would look like. Maybe we would have ruined it and now be two people who don’t even speak. Whatever it was, it wasn’t meant to be. I love to enjoy her aura. Her clever puns and sexual innuendos after the occasional touch on my thigh and her gazing into my eyes like she can see my soul. But this is all it was meant to be for me.

The party winds down and after letting her laugh at me for an hour, I have to leave. I need to leave. She has that look in her eye. That one last drink before we end the night that might lead to expectations and disappointments. I’m not that guy, I’ve never been that guy. Not the one she wanted anyway. I’m still full of life and youth. The freedom of it all is seductive.

She came outside to say goodbye and for some reason I touched her shoulder as she walked away. I was just making sure she was real. I wanted her to look at me over her shoulder and wink. Instead she turned around and asked why I was being weird. Before I knew it the words had left my lips. “I wanted to be sure it was you.” Her forehead crinkled and she asked who I was expecting. I thought. No one, baby girl. Just you. 

 AmuElle:

I got home just in time to beat the curfew. Of all the things I took into consideration when planning my day, I had forgotten that we are still in a lock down. The police are on the roads patrolling…looking for spot fines and I can’t put myself in a situation I cant gauge.

That awkward touch on the shoulder was warm. I had forgotten how warm and soft his hands were. Not half hoping, I was full on hoping I’d grab my phone and there would be a text saying “you looked beautiful tonight, it was wonderful to see you”. But no text, not even a butt dial.

Then for some reason after every stitch of concealer, foundation, contour and high light was gone from my face, I get phone balls. I don’t know what he will say or think but after tonight I have a deep certainty that the magic wasn’t one sided. I just remembered why I was so afraid back then. Even after all my blossoming, I still had the same fear. I started typing. It didn’t matter now, this wouldn’t change things I convinced myself. Sent. There we go, its done.

Good night world

The moral of the story is nothing, shoot your shot and live!!!

Bisou bisou

[amuelle]

In a dimly lit living room…

On a tail end of too much gin and way way too much wine. We sat not watching the TV with all the lights off…then this conversation happened…

My Muse: Nothing, will fulfil you.

Me: What do you mean?

My Muse: I mean getting married, having a child, getting your dream job ALL won’t fulfil you. Nothing will fulfil you if you still haven’t figured yourself out. If you don’t know how to be happy and at peace then nothing you do will ever be enough. You need to have yourself figured out before you get all those things or they won’t mean anything….

I just remember thinking ‘God, I don’t know how to be happy! Will I ever be happy? My God, she just ruined it for me with the truth…Urgh…URGH….UUUUUURRRGH!!!!” (Deep eye roll) I love her but she is always doing this mature shit that reminds me I don’t actually want to grow up. URRRRRRRGH!!!!

Lets give the conversation context…..

We had started discussing a not so mutual friend and her inability not to project. We also discussed how she wears her internal pressure to settle down on her sleeve. Then as a woman who has a variety of things that many people (myself included) covet she gave wisdom from the other side. I can be honest about myself. Who I am, what I am about, what I want and my secret jealousies but ask me honestly if I’m happy and I’ll tell you that I’m not sure if I am but I’m not sure I’m not either.

I do well for myself. I’m trying to get my life together but I fall into the trap of believing happiness is any and everything that I don’t currently have. I always feel like if I lost 3 kg, drive a better car, register for that short course and become really good at makeup then my life will be prefect. I will be happy only after I get those things. In reality none of that will make me happy if I don’t unpack what makes me cling to being unhappy. I’d say she ruined my life at that moment but I love her too much not to be bias. It just hurt because it came from her, she was being honest and the biggest kick in the pussy was SHE WAS RIGHT!! Fuckity fuck fuck FUCK!!!!

I know plenty of people addicted to the disease of the next but I never thought I was one of them.  The balance of trying not to be wholly influenced by someone you admire is difficult to strike. She is My Muse. She can do no wrong. HOWEVER just because she said it doesn’t make it true but because she said it, it meant it was worth listening to.

I might be unhappy.

It easy to be a mess. A mess is low maintenance. It doesn’t need order, honesty or effort. It’s a mess. By design its meant to make you feel like there is nothing right about it and nothing to salvage with in it. Even if you try to clean up a mess, you will spend a lot of time trying to figure out what goes where. There is no formula, just time and commitment. The worst part is it’s not easy to clean up a mess. Why would you even want to? You can just bundle it up and throw it all away. But what if the mess is you? I’ve been a mess and not because I want to be but because its EASY!!!

I get drunk and listen to the saddest songs trying to coerce myself into tears. I never manage to cry. It’s not because my heart is hurting so badly that I can’t cry.  It’s because I have nothing to cry about.  I just don’t know how to be happy. This feeling had been looming for months before that night. At the tail end of it all, heading to Afri ski the next day to zipline and enjoy childless sleep. I still for the life of me couldn’t just be fucking happy…..what was missing???

I would love to say nothing is missing and bring this to an enlightened conclusion. I don’t have that level of enlightenment. What I do have is the ability to own my truth. So here goes, Ill issue a trigger warning, I don’t want you to be blindsided.

There is a scene in the Matrix where Neo goes to see The Oracle. As he sits in the waiting room he sees some bald gifted kid bending spoons with his mind. The kid encourages him to try bending the spoon and says “Do not try and bend the spoon, that is impossible. Instead try and realise the truth that there is no spoon. Then you will see that it is not the spoon that bends, it is only yourself.” Huh??! Yup, just that! There is no actual reality where happiness is outside of you. You can convince yourself it is, but you know better. You bend and sway. You create a life. YOU DECIDE TO BE HAPPY! There is nothing outside of you that can make you happy if you have convinced yourself that all you currently have is not enough. It’s the equivalent of spitting in Gods eye because you are diminishing the value of what you have because of the imagined value of something you don’t have.

Being happy isn’t as hard as we think. Society and I don’t mean social media, church, schools and patriarchy. I mean our friend’s, family, mentors and colleagues, the people whose voices matter. The people who mean something to you don’t always share their hardships. When we are busy coveting things we don’t have, convinced that they will make us happy we don’t actually account for the sacrifices and hardships that it took to have them. Even if they do share their sacrifices we are so enamored with them (like me with My Muse), we don’t believe it was that hard. They are strong, resilient and have an unimaginable knack for maneuvering through life well. We think “I’ve had the same amount of time on earth and I haven’t done all they have done. They are just better….” NOT TRUE!!!! Their outside, their façade is the only thing you have and we compare it to our inside like its apples and apples. It’s really NOT!!! Its absolutely NOT! You can’t compare your inside with someone’s outside because a large part of it you have IMAGINED! You fill in the blanks because you don’t know the whole story and while filling in the blanks, you romanticise EVERYTHING which is UNREALISTIC! Just like real love stories, real happiness is rainbows and sunshine with a few storms in the mix. That’s just life. It’s  what you decide to focus on that can either put a smile on your dial or ruin your day.

I’m still a melting pot of emotions. At least now I know that its not so bad. My gas light is on, my car is dirty, I have R 26.00 in my bank account and my boyfriend is stealing my friends. The bright side is, now I don’t care as much as I did before about the things I don’t have. I care more about the moment I am in and the awesome things I still plan to do and have already done that make me happy. That is happiness to me. A conscious shift to focus on the good things in my life and enjoy them, sleeping in on a Saturday, serving LEWKS, drinking wine that’s been chilled to perfection and most importantly making sure I love on the people who love me.

Maybe I am just a tad bit enlightened now….who knows? Anyway, get a life and get happy, it’s a choice!

Bisou…bisou…

[amuelle]

And now ladies and gentleman for my next illusion I present…Privacy

“We (she was referring to herself and the other ladies in the office who don’t really want to be my friends but want to know my business) want to know who this new man of yours is.” I smiled. Then in her prim and proper voice she said “I think it’s weird not to have your boyfriend on social media.” It was an attempt to garner support for her statement. She was embarrassed and felt it necessary to double down. She had created this image of herself, like she had the cheat code to healthy relationships and a great part was due to her righteous nature. The girl who lost her virginity on her wedding night after a 3 year courtship. FOH!!! She was just like the rest of us, but now that she was on the other side, with ring and baby on the way. She had reinvent herself and threw subtle insults. I have great distain for such women.

Moments before she had asked why I don’t have Chocolate Daddy on any of my social media. I had replied quickly that it was because I was hiding things from him. I then burst into laughter and so did the other ladies as we stood huddled around a cake shaped like a sleeping baby. I have nothing against these office baby showers. They force us to mingle, regardless of how awkward the mingling is. Some of these girls aren’t here to make their money and leave (which irks me a little). They want to be ‘friends’ so they can give unsolicited advice and judge the few elements of your life you are willing to share. They need you to WANT to their acceptance and slate you for being antisocial like you owe them friendship just because they see you every day.

“It’s because you think it’s normal not to have privacy. Everyone thinks they should know everything about everyone’s life and it’s not normal. You might have known all the 700 people on your Facebook at some point but that doesn’t make you friends. Some of them you have on there just to make sure they catch the best photo shopped moments of your life.” I had gotten carried away and forgotten that most people don’t truly enjoy my brand of honesty and so an awkward silence fell until someone remarked about how delicious the pastries were. They really were fucking awesome and the conversation moved on.

I’ll admit her statement had caught me off guard. I had never considered why I really didn’t have him on my socials. There was no point now because the moment had passed. No one cared anymore. If I kept talking about it post pastries, I would seem like I was over explaining so I stopped talking about it and started THINKING about it…HARD! Yes 10% of me not having him was me hiding things from him. But I knew that wasn’t really IT. That couldn’t really be it, could it?

I want to talk about how secrecy and privacy are not the same thing. How setting clear boundaries can help you avoid running good things in your life because you only tell the people important to you. You know all that already. I should tell you why I really don’t have Chocolate Daddy on my socials….

Many of us have a false sense of entitlement to other people’s lives due to social media. We feel like we know this person through our interactions on these platforms. I feel this way about celebrities and distant acquaintances I connect with. I don’t personally know these people. You could swear we are best friends from reading our posts.  In my mind we could strike up a great conversation over wine but the truth is that is highly UNLIKELY!!! We are all carefully curating our lives on social media. The guard I have up is exactly the same guard other people have. We might kiki in the comments but we are STRANGERS.

The first and last time I ever spoke about the gentleman I’m seeing to someone who wasn’t in my inner circle I led the conversation with “I met someone and I think he is fantastic” after some fishing she got a name out of me and upon confirmation of his identity she proceeded to lay into me about things that I felt were not her place to say. Things even I would have had a hard time saying ALOUD. It’s not like she told me he was a thieving crack head with a harem of women. “I’m happy for you baby girl” would have sufficed but no, she dived in. I can’t fault her, perhaps those are the things she needs to hear when she meets someone new. We all do due diligence in different ways. For me, if the gay community can’t claim you and there is no other person who is in a relationship with you or thinks they are then we are good to go. That’s not how it works for everyone. Some people want, five years’ worth of bank statements, a profit and loss report and all the hoe files!

It wasn’t that she ruined it for me, she just reminded me that sharing can sometimes dilute an experience. Had I kept my big mouth shout I wouldn’t have been caught with my pants around my ankles. Sharing your life on social media (or with people in general) can put you in a compromising situation. It can have people who last spoke to you five millennia ago asking you about a boyfriend you broke up with a century ago and triggering old emotions. It can have a current boyfriend asking you why there are so many pictures of you with men he hasn’t met when you aren’t ready for him to meet your best Judies or road dawgs. It’s a glimpse into a life that isn’t a reality. A suitcase of memories and memes that aren’t necessarily a reflection of who this person knows. And because we give it so much weight, we can make things on social media true when they aren’t because…it must be true if it’s on Facebook.

It’s no secret, I think people are awful. It’s like letting people into your home when they have nothing to lose. They will take and break because hurting you won’t hurt them. They will sleep well after robbing you of your joy. (And now we begin our descent as I land the plane). So why the mystery about Chocolate Daddy? It’s really simple. I don’t want to share this piece of my life with anyone I can’t call at 4am in hysteria. Not everything warrants sharing it with people, especially because once it’s out there I can’t reclaim it. I can’t change my mind about if I want people to know or not once I have posted and tagged. Some people find the perfect rhythm and I’m happy for them but that’s not me. Its smoke and mirrors, carefully shot nondescript images of hands, shoes and tattoos for me and that’s how I like it. I like to know that for this part of my life is inaccessible to people whose intensions I cannot judge.

Most of us are secretly assholes on the inside. There is rarely a need for your secret asshole to surface unless someone pushes a boundary and you have to rebuttal. That said keep some pieces of you and your life to yourself and your inner circle so that the voices that you hear clearly are the ones that matter the most…

Bisou…bisou

[amuelle]

Let that man/ woman/ girl/ boy SUFFER!!! Part 2.

He was quite. As if his voice had been stolen. Beads of sweat started to form on his forehead . I sat on the bed looking straight at him.  He was going to find his fucking voice and answer me. So I asked again. “Who is she?” For a moment it had seemed his world had stopped and now it had sped up and he was struggling to catch his breath. He shifted uncomfortably. Moved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, made a dismissive gesture with his hand and said “No one”.

NO ONE???! She couldn’t fucking be NO ONE. She was some-FUCKING-body!!! I had read the messages on his Facebook. I knew exactly who she was. She was the girl he was having unprotected sex with  and the reason why every time we were in Maseru he acted like he always had no time to see me during school holidays. She got the good morning and good night texts. I got the good morning and good night kisses. He lived with me. 18 months dating and only after 6 months living together and discovering those messages did I learn I was the side.….I….WAS…THE…SIDE.

The previous academic year had not gone well for him at all. He hadn’t passed most of his modules and got excluded. He lost “everything”. (As much as you can lose as a student, anyway). I had been blindsided when he asked if he could stay with me. I was content watching him suffer, he had to go through what he had to go through and that’s life. His appeal to me sounded logical. He appealed to the side of me that wanted to be a dutiful girlfriend. I thought I wanted to be that type of girl (retrospectively…miss me with that. I’d rather be paid sipping lemonade in the shade, miss me with suffering for affection). Either way, my dumb ass I let him move in.

My room at res was glorious. It was twice the size of every other room on the floor and had two of everything. Two wardrobes, two desk, two shelves and the space that was meant for another bed was bare. Just spacious enough for two but it was meant for one. It was meant for ME. After all the things I had gone through in my varsity life I should have kept it that way but no, nice Amo let him move in and then I discovered that my make-believe house was built on sand and the tide had come to wash it away…

He had really said she was “NO ONE”. I should have kicked him out right then and there but I was hopeful we could work things out. He was a hoe, a low down dirty hoe living here for free.  I should have ditched the bitch. Perhaps I thought she was really was no one, but the crazy….my crazy had taken hold. From that evening of the confrontation every morning while he was in the shower I would check his phone. All the messages got a light skim read. It was the conversation with his best friend that got a good three minuet read. I had to time it well. From the minuet he left to hop in the shower I would leave a five minuet window in which he could possibly come back because he forgot something. If the five minutes passed then I knew I had a whole ten minutes just me and his nokia. At the time going through his phone seemed more logical than just breaking up with him and kicking him out. I never found anything of use and I never got caught either. I was looking for something solid but what was more solid than my own intuition? I already knew who and what she was and most importantly WHAT I WASN’T.

I couldn’t let go! I needed deep in my soul to make him suffer. He deserved to feel something and so with cruel intention I made sure he did. For the next 30 days I would randomly get dressed in my sluttiest outfits, put on some lipstick and heavily line my eyes finishing it off with three coats of mascara. Put on a pair of heels and as he came back from evening lectures, tired and expecting to find dinner and comfort, he would come to find me spritzing myself with perfume and heading out. He would ask where I was going and I would always reply “Just out with friends, Nothing big. We might go to Florida road, I don’t know”. Nothing big randomly during the week? Florida road on a Tuesday? Nothing big, huh?….He would always give me a look, grunt and continue about his business. Then clikity clak I’d walk out and make sure I told him to cook something and most importantly NOT to wait up! At my pettiest he came back from lectures to find me trying on shoes and when he asked where they came from i smiled coyly to myself and said they were a gift from a friend. It wasn’t by birthday and nothing special had happened I had just bought them for myself and I figured Id really drive the steak through is heart. (cue 80s soap opera villain smile and dramatic exit)

Most times I wasnt even going anywhere special, just downstairs to a friend’s room to complain about not knowing what to do because I couldn’t just kick him out. Id rationalise by saying to myself he had nowhere to go. The truth is I had let him stay because I had wanted it all to be a terrible nightmare. One where I would wake up from and we could go back to playing house. Where he was my loving boyfriend who imagined our wonderful life together as I did. The relationship was flawed from the beginning. Me a budding feminine feminist and him a young man unaware of how patriarchy had hurt and used him. He had incredibly misogynistic views. I would laugh away his flaws and ignore his insulting remarks about women because I couldn’t understand why they hurt me, I just knew that they did. But one day, it all changed. (Cue dramatic music)

I had been on the phone with my best friend retelling this awful ordeal I was going through. She asked me in her serious voice. “You let him stay?” I told her the lies I had told myself and then she asked why I was ignoring the truth and the depth of his betrayal. That day after lectures, I strolled back to my building taking in the humid air, feeling the warm sun on my back and thinking for the first time that maybe just maybe this wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t let him stay with me. I remember how much I loved the purple dress I was wearing that day. The halter neck straps always dug into my neck a little bit but it was nothing I couldn’t ignore. Not like this, this I couldn’t ignore, it gnawed at my soul, distracted me and made me wonder if I even had any business trying to be so much to someone else when he didn’t set my soul on fire.  Six flights of stairs later, back in my glorious room looking out the window pensive. I could see clear to the ocean, how wonderful it would be to live here ALONE!! And the clarity came.

I had brought a cursed person into my home and now I had to get them OUT!!!!

Bisou...bisou...

See. Full circle....

[amuelle]

Let that man/ woman/ girl / boy SUFFER!!!! Part 1.

We had fought that morning. I woke up, made him breakfast and as he ate I asked him coldly why he was sleeping with other people and lying about it. He was writing an exam that day and for some reason that morning the demon in me had risen, sat on my shoulder whispering evil into my heart and I loved it. I had decided not to double down, the tension between us was already palpable, we needed a resolution

To calm the waters I sent an sms to apologise saying we needed to talk and that I was ready to be mature. I wasn’t. It was a trap. When he arrived I opened with an apology saying I wished I never invaded his privacy and to that he said he understood. His comfort in my presence began to return. His shoulders rolled back and he exhaled. I let the moment linger. I think he thought for the first time in weeks he was safe, that I had come to my senses, believed his lies and things would go back to normal. Id cook, clean and encourage him like I used to. Perched on the bed in my purple dress I looked at him as he started to put down his bag and get comfortable because he thought I was done. The cruel denouement followed. Being his girlfriend was too hard for me. I wasn’t mature enough. I simply could not do it anymore. He could stay till the holiday break started later that week but he had to go. He wasn’t welcome anymore.

He froze and in an instant he had tensed all the way up. It felt like I had just taken off a pair of uncomfortable shoes or a jacket when its too hot and you’ve been seating. I was free. I WAS FREE OF HIM!!

OR SO I THOUGHT!!!!

He dragged out our breakup and kept popping up where I lived and I ultimately had to change my locks. The point of the story is, don’t bring cursed people into you blessed life.

I’ll say it again

DON’T BRING CURSED PEOPLE INTO YOUR BLESSED LIFE!!

If I took a moment to tell you about how I even go to the point where I was living on campus with my course load manageable with no toxic friends looming and generally at peace, I would shed a tear. From late night buses to bad jobs and walking dangerous routes back to my granny flat when I first moved to Durban. Its was a difficult journey.

I spent a year praying to move out of my first res because it was off campus and they bused us to and from campus. It was in Sydenham between an informal settlement and a coloured community riddled with drugs and gangsters. Many of us learn how resilient we are in varsity especially if you don’t have the finances not to worry about feeding and clothing yourself. Then there are social pressures. Partying when you should be studying. Resisting the temptation of older men with money putting you in compromising situations. The self-doubt that rises when you are struggling with your studies and you don’t even have enough money to call you mother to cry. Your young stupid friends who have childhood traumas and unhealthy relationships influencing you to do dumb shit. Having many people in the administration treating you poorly and because they don’t believe that “girls” should be in any form of engineering and to top it all off RACISM…..

After the initial shock and two painful years adapting, I toiled and toiled, made friends with SRC members and housing staff resident assistants and finally….FINALLY on the verge of collapse, when I started my honors one of my classmates was moving out because she had gotten a job and a car and she whispered in my ear. I had done the leg work so when I went to go cry at the head of housings door he was already tired of me….”Mosotho, you are back here again?” he said that morning. That was the last time I would see him because after he authorised, I would move to campus and enjoy living in the land of milk and honey. I’m not gonna lie, it was incredible. I remember going to the orientation parties  for the first time as an honours student and realizing that this was HOW life in university was supposed to be. And after all that suffering and toiling the first thing I did when I got a chance because I thought I was doing something good was bringing a cursed person into my blessed situation.

Granted its not like he could have done anything to ruin my life, I had already created an incredible life for myself. My marks were good, I had a part time research assistant gig with six months left on my honors and ONLY my dissertation left to write but I managed to somehow go out and get the bed bug and then cried about it when it BIT me!

I’m talking to you, you reading this right now don’t you dare forget how awful your life has been and how hard you have worked for it to be less awful. REMEMBER, you are the sum of all your mistakes and triumphs, all the times people didn’t believe in you and your own betrayed you. All those times luck struck like lightning and you were prepared to conquer the small victories. When you kissed your own booboos, bandaged them and pushed on through your tears. You did that alone and don’t you forget it. I’m not saying don’t share your life with someone worthy. By all means, do! Sharing your life with someone is incredible but there are some people that you don’t need to be entertaining AT ALL!!!!

I could smell the curses on that mans life a mile away but I was young. I didn’t have a definite dating style or boundaries. He had too much going on for one person and I thought sharing my blessings would somehow help him. All I got in return was trauma and a deep desire to never live with anyone ever again. The upside was that I learnt that I cant date a man who doesn’t get the double bind of womanhood and doesn’t want to learn about it. The fact that it didn’t work out between us was also a blessing. So take it from me, protect your peace. Don’t go looking for trouble. If someone is a hot mess they wont stop being a hot mess till they decide that’s what they want. There is NOTHING you can do about it. Don’t bring them into your home to disturb your peace and ruffle your feathers. LET THEM SUFFER (insert evil laugh)

I’m joking but I’m serious, don’t bring curses into your blessed situation. It will throw you off, upset your balance and briefly make you forget what you prayed and worked hard for. Don’t play with your blessings. They didn’t fall from the sky and you still have more to do because your life is meant to be phenomenal.

Take my advice, let people suffer with their curses, offer them sympathy from the comfort of your couch with your doors and gate locked and them on the other side.

Bisou…bisou...

Ps. Read part two for a full circle moment...

[amuelle]

Breasts…

They grow with you from birth. From just nipples to mosquito bites to juicy juicy mangoes. Big, medium, small they are just there. Others have silicone in them and others are all areola. Some cause back pain and fill out bras well while others are barely noticeable. They come in all shapes and sizes everything from tennis balls, pineapples, and watermelons to beach balls. Full of personality, they refuse to be ignored. They are also very telling. They swell, shrink and itch and tell you things about yourself. If you have gained or lost weight, if your period is on its way, if it’s going to rain. They change as you change. A reminder of where you have been and could still go. Your breasts are for you to love or hate. No one can tell you about your breast…

In my early 20s when my breasts still pointed to the sky and required no assistance in backless tops I had a conversation with my father about driving. I had taken an interest because I saw the freedom being able to drive gave my friends. But whose car would I drive? There was only one car at home and….and nothing! I asked him and he said “Ahhh, its simple, you will drive your own car.” I was puzzled. Then he related a story of his first car. How he got it out of necessity to make sure he could get around with his wife and two small children. He didn’t know how to drive well at the time but he learned because it was a must. That conversation stuck with me. I accepted that he wasn’t going to teach me and I moved on.

When I first started working I paid for driving lessons, passed my learners but never tested because I didn’t feel ready. It wasn’t a must. I didn’t need it but getting the basic skills was something to do, so I did it.

I want to describe myself with one word but that wouldn’t do me justice. I am a late bloomer an over thinker and sometimes suffer from paralysing fear. But once I have decided I want something I am prepared to steal, kill and drink baby blood for it. I’m restless, inconsolable, focused and completely consumed by the goal. I never felt that way about the car until I moved to Joburg. From the first month I started working there it became a MUST. I was wholly consumed by it. I got my licence because it was TIME!! I had no savings, my credit was terrible and I had just broken up with a bad employer but I wanted a car. I decided I would struggle along for a few months save, work side gigs, ke be mme oa mokhatlo, hell I was ready to get a sugar daddy. All I knew was what I wanted. Now everything felt like “IF” I had a car things would be better. I spent the whole of 2018 and 2019 beating myself up about not having achieved the goal. I could be better, save more, this, that and the third but my life was in shambles. (I have said this before trying to achieve a goal when you are heartbroken makes everything more difficult)  My father was hospitalised and after he recovered my mother did her stint in the hospital and when we thought she was on the road to recovery she had to be hospitalised again. After a brief reprieve my grandmother passed way. Emotionally I was fatigued but still found time make myself feel bad. Friends got married, had babies and I got a promotion. I figured out how to get to Centurion from Krugersdorp using public transport which is no small feat but no, not a moment to clap for myself because all I knew was that I hadn’t achieved the goal.

Cut to a few weeks ago. My breasts now look me in the eyes and are tad bit fuller than before. I now own a cute periwinkle hatch. Lady Lola Coco the First. Not covid, bad investments or boyfriends I balled out on could distract me from my goal. I still couldn’t really drive. But Lady Lola was here and I was PROUD!!! My brother and my father came out with me on a drive or two but my confidence wasn’t up there. I asked my brother to go somewhere with me and he asked me when will I ever enjoy my car if I never drive it alone. It hurt to hear but man was he right, I wasn’t the best driver but I was save enough to venture out on my own. I had had a licence for years and so that Saturday I called a friend and decided I was venturing out solo.

The first time I ever drove alone 5 minutes into the journey from Ngoana oa lla to Salang I hit a pile of rocks and blew out my front tyre. I didn’t let that defeat me though. With some assistance I changed the tyre and pushed on. I figured it would have all been for nothing if I turned back. I went, picked up my friend got air in my spare tyre took a mini road trip. I dropped her off and finally when Lady Lola was parked in my Daddy’s garage. I climbed into the back seat and had a glass of wine. I was at wits end. So much had happened that day.

What do you do when what you hoped for comes but comes with difficulty? One torn tyre and all I could think was that I was the worst driver on planet earth. Accomplishing a goal doesn’t always mean you are emotionally ready for the toll that accomplishment will have on your life. I’m not a perfectionist but the things that I do, I like to do well. If it’s being a friend, quantity surveyor, blogger, putting seat covers on cushions for a functions or blowing up balloons I just don’t want to look stupid doing something. I put in work because showing up is part of it but being willing to learn what you don’t know is a whole magical aspect of life that sets you apart from the people who didn’t do what they wanted the most. Unfortunately, looking stupid is part of the journey…

Now, red wine drunk, swaddled like a baby in the backseat of my own car it hit me. Bitch, you still got more to do. And guess what??…..BITCH, I CRIED!!!!  I let it rip and NO I didn’t feel better after. Lady Lola has been in the garage for weeks. Now that I’m riding on a biscuit I’m too scared to drive. It’s riskier than before. I can convince myself EASIER that I’ll do it later but there is no later. Just like when you breasts first start to grow you can’t ignore it. YOU NEED A DAMN BRA!

I’ve come to the conclusion that emotionally you are never fully grown. Physically you stop growing. BUT life isn’t static your body and emotions will always have to adjust to your changing life and do the dance. Which means you have to change bras sometimes. You can’t wear a lacy number to a Zumba class, you have to get the full support of a sports bra to deal with the jiggle. I know in this current growth cycle my breasts are starting to settle, who knows maybe in time they will begin to droop and go from looking me in the eye to pointing at my feet. Maybe I’ll have children and use them to feed my young or fill them silicone, even I don’t know. What I do know is that this is the phase. In this phase I am a new driver who has no real reason not to be clocking the hours to become a better driver. Sure, I haven’t been thrown in the deep end but that day is coming. My sister brought me training bras before I had boobies big enough for a real bra. That was so I learnt how to put on a bra and dress for different tops. It’s the same way I have to get in the car and DRIVE till I get better. Ill drive slow and have mild panic attacks about rocks in the road and 4 plus 1 drivers but a bitch is doing the damn thing. It’s part of this growth cycle and it sucks but I am WILLING! Breasts change and adapt to different bras all the time. I’m learning to be like my breasts, getting on the road, taking up space and I don’t care who I inconvenience because I am here to GROW to my perfect comfortable size!

That said, fuck it! I still want to be wealthy enough so that I don’t have to drive!!!

Bisou…bisou