First Borns

My cousin insists that over 80% of the guys that are suitable for us to date, have kids. I can't agree with this, but I understand the frustration in her exaggerations.
Our grandmother was one who fell short of insisting that we give her great-grandkids before she passed away...none of us did. Doesn't help that she thought one of my boyfriends was a gangster cos every time he'd come pick me up, he'd be driving one of four cars (one was his, the other three belonged to his parents and sister. He didn't wanna come in the same car cos he didn't want people to "mark" him RE: hijacks. I didn't explain this to my gran.)

Which brings me to my mom. Now, I've only ever brought two guys home. The first doesn't really count cos well, he lives two seconds from my gran's house and everybody at home knew him; we dated for five years. The second, was a guy I was with long enough for my mom to put a face to because she had had to make several calls to when she couldn't get hold of me [if I was not home, chances were that I was with him]. We had made plans to think about having kids this year, actually. That relationship ended a year ago, unfortunately.

My lifestyle doesn't allow me to even think of entertaining having kids right now. I don't like "hooking up" with guys. I'm a relationship kinda girl. I fall too easily and too hard when I'm with a guy so in order to avert a potential disaster, I spend all my time on the road or on my phone (dodging guys who seem to wanna hookup to pass the time). So you see, babies are not really a part of my short-term plans because of this. However, I DO tend to get broody and have on many occasions mapped out a way I would balance motherhood with my love for the open road and impromptu crazy YOLO (You Only Live Once) moments. The latter happen quite often, and I like that cos I kinda [read: really] hate routines. That I haven't been in a relationship for over a year may also be the reason why I've been yo-yo'ing on this having kids thing. I mean, I have no one to have this talk with...so I have all the current time in the world to free-style the fuck outta this crazy life that I'm living.

About 5 years ago, I dated a guy who had a 6-month old baby. He and the baby-mama fell out before the baby was born cos he felt she was trapping him (pause! Only just realized that I got given "the line" :-(...*sigh*). Long story short, I got annoyed by his whining about the baby-mama and having to run off to see the kid every two seconds (slight exaggeration here) which kinda lead to me mistakenly sending a text about my annoyance, to him. I was upset and frustrated and venting all that in a text that was meant for a friend of mine. I can't remember what I said but knowing me, I couldn't have used euphemisms; unkind words tumble outta my mouth and thumbs when I'm upset. So that's how that relationship ended. I wasn't about to apologize for any of that and neither did I want to patch things up cos my three weeks of step-motherhood became the bane of my existence.

I've since known that I didn't want to be in a relationship with a dad cos essentially, there are four people in that relationship (additional kids obviously add on to the count). For someone who has attachment and sentimental issues, it just doesn't make sense for me to find comfort in having My time with My man, shared with his past and future that have me playing a supporting cast member in his life's story. I've fooled myself into thinking that I could be that girl: The one whose understanding knows no bounds, but I'm not. Not even having fallen for a dad recently has changed my mind. It's a beautiful thing, seeing how he loves his kids...but I want to be with someone who'll be a first-time parent, like me. I want to be with someone who I'll experience THAT first with. It's not to say that guys who've fallen out with their girls become some kind of Kryptonite, no. It's just that that's not what I want for me. It's also a nightmare assuming (from fear) that the baby mama(s) would probably make life a living hell for me as a baby-less woman who is now with the father of her/their kids. I mean, in addition to having had a fall-out with someone you created a child with, you now have to trust some girl who know nothing about motherhood (let alone YOUR child) to co-raise the child with you and his/her dad. That's gotta take some kind of special, non-vindictive person to trust. I don't want to be a part of that equation. There's also the fear that the kid(s) may reject me *sigh*.

I cannot accept the 80% shot in the dark that my cousin fired. Cannot because I happen to know a lot of guys who have no kids (99% of which are having beers in the zone I've sectioned out for them in my friendship circle). I especially know of one who doesn't look set on having kids anytime soon...which makes him someone I should be hanging out with a little more often than I have been. It's not like I'ma catch babies if he sneezes, if anything...it just may be a flu that'll keep us bed-ridden for a while, having a few practice runs for when we DO decide to create a living testament of our love for each other

Tri-messed-her

Look, I’ve read all sorts of things from women who are being cheated on. When they start saying things like: “he cheats with you cos you’re not good enough to be THE woman”, I feel like slapping some sense into them. How does that make sense to you?  So, you’re staying with his philandering ass because YOU are THE woman? Someone needs to explain this to me as I may be looking at this from too much of a black and white perspective. Yes, it sucks that he’s cheating on you and that you (don’t) know the girl, but don’t pacify yourself with bull shit ideologies. Same ideologies are the ones that have women stay in fucked up relationships for the sake of the trimesters they went through to birth niggaz' kid(s). Can’t be turning yourself into a victim when you could alter your life and be with someone who believes you’re enough woman for them OR you could alter your thought process (seeing as you believe you’re THE woman) and wait for him to get over the side chick (in hopes of there not being another one thereafter) and while you’re at it, you could come to the realization that his cheating ways may be independent of you and what you may or may not lack as the woman he loves enough not to hurt.

I’ve been one to think that men cheat cos they want to. Hell, women do it for the same reasons. It’s not always about you as the main chick/guy (I was gonna use the crass euphemism for penis for the sake of rhyme, but…). I had a boyfriend who after I had an elicit cyber relationship on the side, was so broken that he took to look for an extra-mural activity with one of the students he tutored. I stumbled upon that extra-mural info and when I stepped outside of myself and watched how we both - with the straightest faces - lied to each other for weeks on end, something in me shifted. That moment still gives me the chills. When either name (my cyber-person and his student) came up in conversation (cos the suspicions hung like an old woman’s breasts in the atmosphere), we both dismissed that shit nonchalantly. The battles that followed those two mishaps lead to the final demise of that relationship cos the truth is, neither of us could look past our cheating ways (emotional and intending) and the hurt that came from being cheated on. More than anything, I think it was the shocking revelation of how it was so effortless to lie to each other when there was so much love and so many plans mapped out for us, between us. It doesn’t help much that I allowed myself to be in a threesome with only two people knowing about it, soon after. But I know myself. I self-destruct before I re-group and I guess that’s what happened in the months that followed the breakup.

Looking back, I didn’t think of that other girl as being more nor less woman than me or whatever. She was there as a childish response to my childish philandering ways. I can’t allow myself to think that I would’ve stayed in that relationship had they gotten intimate while I waited in the shadows for him to first come back to his senses and then to me, when he was done clearing his one head of stressful thoughts and the other head of some sperm. I know I could not have handled it and I know why I couldn’t have: I want to be with someone I can and want to be with…without having to fight off anyone. That’s what relationships should be like, ideally. There’s nothing wrong in still believing in the ideal. It’s when illusions cloud judgement that you should worry.

A man will cheat because he wants to. A woman will cheat because she wants to. These things can’t always be avoided but it’s a beautiful thing when you love and are loved by one.

Stalking 101

When I first registered for Facebook, I knew almost nothing about social networking. I joined because one of my girls insisted on me joining this social network that had become a global phenomenon; so I signed up. I didn’t even have more than two profile pictures for the longest time because I hardly went and checked on what was happening there. I was mostly confused so I opted to observe for a little while. The mind-fuck was in that I only had people I knew personally as friends, and so when I saw other people inviting me who were friends of friends, I always asked them how they knew so and so. I remember how Lesego Mmusi once responded to me and said: “I’ve never met Flo Mokale…he’s just on my friend list”, this after I accepted his friend request on the basis that Flo was our mutual friend…alas!

Five years and more than 1000 “friends” and just under 50 photo albums later, I’m back to being mostly a spectator on Facebook. I’ve had one public relationship, of which I disclosed very little about on that network, and I made a lot of friends in these past years. I was even “discovered” by people I hadn’t seen since High School, and some as far back as Primary School. Facebook had its fair share of fun times, what with my flirtatious ways having landed me in hot water over a man I cyber-dated for almost a year. Like most things that fail to capture my attention, I got over it. I’m on Twitter now.

Well, I’ve been on Twitter since 2009 and technically only started tweeting a year later cos once again, I had to observe how this 140-character social network operated. The day I got the hang of Twitter, all hell broke loose. The world suddenly got even smaller than I had imagined it could be. All the people I admired in the entertainment industry were there. It felt like I was a part of their thoughts and daily habits. Everything seemed to be easily accessible. My thirst and love for all things interesting was being quenched in 140 characters. That was powerful! Having had conversations about nothing and sometimes something with artists I’ve been listening to and never thought would be part of my personal life (even for a few minutes) was just insane! I loved THAT more than anything. You could ask your favourite producer about a beat and any artist about their lines and you’d get a response…well, sometimes (if you’re me, you get a response :-P). The best thing about Twitter however is the immediacy of news. I’ve watched so much TV via Twitter that you’d swear I spent too much time in front of the box. This probably put a lot of tabloids out of business for a little while because celebrities were able to, with their 140 characters, dismiss fabricated articles. But then like almost anything that thrives under spotlights, these very celebrities came back and filled page 3 of daily papers with all the drivel they shared in their unprotected tweets. (Protected tweets kind of defeat the purpose of Twitter…)

Anyway, here’s where the limitations annoy me: people tend not to use their real names on Twitter. I don’t know if this is to further hide behind their tweets in order to bully other children or if it’s to keep a safe distance away from their partners who would possibly frown upon their flirtations and derogatory tweets that are submitted in the name of being mischievous and/or cool. Whatever the reason, it’s annoying! Especially when I have my eyes set on someone whose profile gives almost nothing away. Google can only assist so much, you know *sigh*?

This is where the combination of Facebook and Twitter is an absolute winner. Facebook has people’s history and more info than a congested bio and tweets can offer. I can literally probe profiles and click through photos to my heart’s content (provided that those Facebook profiles are not protected), until I’d feel like what that person was willing to share on the public platforms had further stirred enough curiosity in me to want to get to know them on a personal level.

Social networking has handicapped me into believing that I can get to know people without them having to feed me any information, directly. We share so much of ourselves on these networks that we don’t realize when sharing becomes over-sharing; right down to the photos that we post and revealing the state of affairs that we live under. All these things add up to anyone being able to piece a whole picture of you without you having conversed with, let alone met them.

There really isn’t any prophetic reason for this post. I’m just annoyed at not being able to Google anything further than the twitter handle of someone who grabbed my attention. And if you know me well, you'll know that I hat enot knowing things. Curiosity is a cat that needs to be skinned, and I'll gather the patience of an ugly virgin in my quest to find out more about this man, shears et al in hand.

Dear Possibity

Things have been quite crazy and weird between you and I in the last year, more so in the last 6 months.

When our eyes met for the first time a year ago, it was as though a page had been ripped out of a movie script and personified itself into our moment. In a room that was full of people, yours were the first pair of eyes I met; and we held on to that moment with the understanding that that moment was so much better than the bullshit we were both dealing with in our separate lives. It was beautiful. Those few seconds of possibilities, were beautiful.

But I guess anything that resembles a promise of being different is worth the escape, when you're consistently bombarded with the not-so-in-your-head voices that tell you that most of who you are is not good enough for them. So in the days that followed our meeting, we drafted the blueprint of an escape route that only you and I understood...which lead to date number 1. There are so many possible outcomes that could've sprung from that afternoon. For one, I could've not pitched or not enjoyed myself; which would've lead to date-number-2-until-this-moment, not having happened.

I've questioned your presence in my life because at the moment, more of my parts are made of skepticism than they are made of faith. I'm hoping that this is a temporary malfunction, as even I don't recognize this glitch. I've loved that even amidst the questioning, the exclamations that've been cheering for you (few as they've been) have been annoyingly louder.

I guess I'm writing this to let you know that my interest in you has not waned. It's just that I can't reveal the events that lead to the break in transmission just yet. How you're still interested in me (even with all these unfortunate-looking mixed signals of late) is beyond me. I guess it just boils down to the promising possibilities that we mapped out in the moment our eyes locked for the first time; they're worthy of being explored.

I got the Love Jones

I remember a morning back in '99 where I got up early for school so that I could catch "Love Jones" on DSTv. I loved that movie THAT much. It helped that the soundtrack kicked ass and that the young Larenz Tate was super hot. Forward to 2012 where I got the movie as a birthday gift and I couldn't help but see how it had shaped me into the person I've since become: A writer; a believer; a Hopeless romantic.

In that same year (1999), I "fell in love" with my friend's best friend. I knew that said friend was into me...but I was more into his best friend cos we had a "Love Jones" moment: that I-got-it-bad-at-first-sight type of moment. As an English assignment at school, we had to come up with our rendition of  Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "How Do I Love Thee (Let Me Count The Ways)". I can't remember what drivel I manipulated out of my pen, but it was enough to fuel the love for poetry and the power of words in relation to the emotions they evoked. My subject for that poem was said best friend to future boyfriend. Let's call Best friend "Blue" (Blue 6's "Sweet Love" was our song...LOL). So anyway, I went on to write quite a lot of love-inspired rhymes for Blue; he heard/read none of them.

A year later, I met a hot little something during the first of five years together with Blue's best friend - go figure. No, his name's not "go figure". Hot Little Something went to the school down the road from my house so I saw him almost everyday after school. He (let's call him Love Jones for now) reminded me so much of Larenz Tate that I just HAD to watch the movie again with my girls to make sure that I wasn't making this up in my infatuated head. So I eventually got Love Jone's numbers and we furiously texted each other daily (remember those cute SMS's that managed to fit images like Teddy Bears shaped outta punctuation marks into 160 characters? Yeah, we sent those to each other thanks largely to the ExactMobile booklets that we bought the SMS's from). I became that girl who puppied after the Soccer Captain of a random school, same girl who'd ditch her friends and run home so that I could catch a few minutes with Love Jones before he got on a bus to town, and then a taxi home. This crush went on to kill me right up until two years into tertiary where outta the blue, I got a call from him and I almost went into full pathetically-in-love-again mode. I even remember what I was wearing on the day that he called *as I roll my eyes*: An olive green Indian skirt, with an olive/brown top and sandals. My dreadlocks were tied up at the beginning of that call and were a royal mess by the time I hung up. We decided to hook up some days later and I dunno where I got the sudden proverbial kahuna's from but I braved being with him...at his house...just the two of us! A cricket Test match was on when I got to his house so we watched that for a bit. I don't quite remember the events that followed but I do remember how nervous I was. For a reason I can't muster now, I decided to wear a VERY long skirt with a top that exposed my tummy...so while we were on that couch together and I had one of the cushions covering my flat tummy, I just felt his hand move over mine and the next thing I knew I was having a Darien and Nina moment - four years after I first laid my eyes on this fine speci-man. It was an intense kiss - I probably fainted at some point cos the only thing I remember about that afternoon, was that kiss. The only thing that had stayed solidified in all the time that had passed between me and To U M In-love was our mutual hormonal love for each other. I had to jolt out of that house before his mom got home, so we decided to continue this uhm...."thing" some other time. It didn't happen. I don't remember why but that was the last time I saw him. And because I had also changed my numbers and didn't remember his, communication came to an abrupt end.

I haven't thought about this guy since '06 or something, til a week ago when I watched this movie again and the scene with Darius (topless) making breakfast for Nina just made me swing right back to the years 2000-2004. I swear Tumi looks *clears throat*... or looked *cringes* just like Larenz Tate in that breakfast scene...that smile...mmmmmmmmm! I'm almost itching to track him down. Knowing the way my world operates, I'll probably find that he's been under my nose all this time. It would be quite a blog-post if I discovered that he's still Yummy Tumi; kid-less out of choice and not attached to some wonderful woman. However, if I find that he's a father and/or husband, shem I'll just secretly wish him well and not bother him at all. I'm so Hopeless *cues Dionne Farris to sing me a lulla-Bye to Yesterday*.

"I miss you" - - - *crickets*

Everyone has that one person that they like but feel incredulously uncomfortable around. Right? Just me, then? Ok. I'll be the poster child for all other fumblers that are hiding behind waterfalls and under tree trunks, then. I don't mind. Well, I do...but. Ok. So anyway, I dunno why I always struggle to come up with a confident and truthful "I miss you too" when presented with the opportunity. Did I say "Opportunity"? *sigh*...

Alcohol helps. Alcohol helps a lot; and all the times that I've been around him, I've needed alcohol to give my vocab a boost so that I could at least string a conversation together and be on cue for the jabs of humour that he throws around. I otherwise fumble and trip over my tongue without the -OH (this is how Chemists represent alcohol: -OH...I miss studying Science...oh Gosh...I digress...). So, to avoid what could be an incredibly embarrassing situation (even though I've decided that I don't get embarrassed), I need some alcohol in my system...lest I elevate to drooling cos my words find it hard to roll outta my mouth.

So it's either I really like this guy (and my friends don't like him at all - LOL); or I'm hoping he'll be a passing fad, eventually. I do nothing to keep him interested; in fact, we hardly talk. But when he's around...and we have those moments that make me picture us lying on a grassy hill, head-to-head facing the opposite direction...I lose all clarity and most of my control. It's in those moments that he'll look me in the eyes (if we're together) or change his tone (if we're on the phone) and say: "I really miss you" and I'll respond with "eerrrr...uhm...yeah, we haven't hung out in a while, ne? My fault!" Works so much different when we text though. I guess it's true that texting makes things so much easier cos you have time to think of a response, unlike with verbal conversations where you have nanoseconds top come up with something that'll keep the conversation flowing non-interview-esque. I go from being an older, sexier PowerPuff Girl, clad in tight leather on a mountain-top in the Captain Morgan pose...to a whimpering Ugly Betty, within seconds.

I wish I had enough time on my hands to conjure up a Nobel Peace winning psycho-analysis of why this guy makes me nervous, alas! Being generally shy also makes such a possible analysis all the more futile cos I combat this shyness with lots of words (most of them unnecessary; so as to have command over the conversation) or with silence cos the neurons in my head get all limp.

It would be interesting to see what events would unravel if I were to gather up some proverbial balls and string a sober sentence together. I might even be able to remember our conversations this time. Yeah, let's see what happens the next time I'm around him. Or maybe I should just start by getting comfortable with a truthful: "I Miss You Too."

How are you?

I'm one for conversations. I love chatting...I love talking. I don't like small-talk cos it's awkward. I don't like one-sided conversations either. What I hate the most though, is the "how are you?" that's asked without the slightest interest to know how I am.

More often than not, I find myself having one-sided conversations...cos I'm the curious one, right? I'm the one who'll quiz you and want to know just HOW you are...and you'll give me *gag* one-word answers (aka: conversation murderers) or even worse, brush my reponse to your "how are you" with a swift meandering shot into the whole purpose of you hitting me up in the first place, which is usually preceded by "anyway...".

I guess I can't shy away from the fact that people find me "intriguing". Who is this girl? What's her story? Why does (insert artists' name) speak to/of her? I've read on more occassions than I care to remember that I can't be real...all cos I have conversations with random people who text me on these social networks. So because I'm so "unreal", their "how are you?" usually translates to: "I'm not really interested in how you are or why you have a knee-cap on, I really just want to know how you can get me to link with (insert artists' name)"; or "I'm not really interested in how you are or why you feel so down today, but do you wanna go out on a date with me? I think I'm in love with you". I dunno what definition of social networking others either than myself use, but the whole point is to communicate with people you may find to have common interests with, right?

So when I get non-meaty responses to MY "How are you?", I immediately tune out. It's like when the 5-second rule elapses and you're left with an edible you now have to toss out cos any risks you might think of attempting with it, may just kill you (or kill your soul, in the case of conversations).

Is it not better to just say "Hi Tlale...listen...I just wanted to know if you can give me some light on a) b) and c)..."? I think it is. I prefer THAT to "Hi Tlale, How are? I just wanted to know...".

This can't be too much to ask, surely? 

Of Cuts and stitches (part 2)

I haven't screamed enough
I haven't screamed at all.
Somewhere in my voice-box, my sounds got muffled.

I didn't scream at all
when my walls were trespassed.
The sounds lay muffled in pools of despair.

The cuts are still raw
They bleed daily.
There's little I can do with cuts that like being fresh.

I could try to scream now, to make up for that silence.
I could kick and scream it all into a distant memory.

The idea is appealing
The reality, not so forgiving.
I could scream until the pain subsided,

but these stitches would still unravel.

Of cuts and stitches

It would seem that my thoughts have thoughts of their own and when that concentric ripple occurs, I lose myself...somehow. I used to be one who expressed frustration by biting my fingers until I almost crushed the bone; used to slam doors until I could feel the vibrations in the frame; used to break things and smash them against the wall or through windows; had an argument with an ex that left both our t-shirts bleached cos I kept whacking him with a Domestos bottle. When I was upset, I went out of control. I was that girl. One with a bad temper that felt non-rehabilatable until I one day just decided that this behaviour was not cool. It was after a fight with a different ex (these poor guys...*sigh*). I won't go into the details cos well...they're not really important, but I was left with a chair in my hands (one that I don't know where nor how I got the strength to pick up and hold over my shoulder) that I was ready to fling out of the window from a hectic argument. What happened between that moment and him holding me, I can't really remember, but when my puffy eyes had subsided I found that the window was still intact. That was the last crazy thing I ever did...well...last one that constituted physical breakage/damage.

These days, I go about my days by dismissing annoyance with shrugs. Last night however, that whole daffodil-dancing-in-the-wind-AKA-"Zen"-mentality was put to the test. Ever had those spine-chilling-thoughts where you want to jump into a propeller...or jump over a bridge and onto a freeway? No? Well, I had those very images having a field-day in my head. The best thing I could do was cry...because I've forgotten how to get angry and allow the release of that anger to fulfill its cathartic purpose.

Some cuts are just too deep for tears and time to heal. Some cuts need things that'll accomapny the therapeutic bandages that are meant to heal them. Some cuts need to be left alone to bleed until there is nothing more to give, so that they can heal. My cuts, I have no solutions for...I just know that I have to break something...or smash something...and wait for the angst to seep out of those cuts before I stitch it all up again.

Four-leaf-moments

I've always trusted that every once in a while, God amuses himself by making our moments, days or months by shooting some excitement into our lives; you know, kinda to give us something to relay to our grandkids, excusing the mundane rat-race routine that'll probably be the foundation of "you need to study hard so that you can have a good life".

That fundamental conversation never quite made it to my cochlear, thus the free-spirit I am. I live for those "OH-MY-FUCKING-WORD" moments. You know, the ones you get when you look back at the epic day/night you just had and just smile. A friend of mine had one such night,  a few nights ago. It went a little like this:
Boy was roaming around The Mother City waiting for the clocks to strike 8 so that he could roll down to a Jean Grae and Pharoahe Monch gig (mind you, I expressed my utter jealousy at my not having being able to be in Cape Town). Anyway, so Boy went and chilled in front of said gig's venue and then came Girl who stepped up to him and asked him to accompany her to the shops nearby. The gentleman that he is walked Girl to the shops as as they "exchanged syllables and punctuations"and subsequently hung out together at the Hip Hop gig. He says that they really enjoyed that gig and when Pharoah and Jean were done, they chilled until the morning - listening to the DJ's spin some...CD's hey? Seeing as vinyls are being *gulp* wiped out.
This lead to a pizza-breakfast on Long Street, after which, Girl offered boy her couch so that he could get SOME shut-eye before he went home...which he politely accepted. Upon his waking up, Girl made some beats for Boy to rhyme over. Boy says that they were really dope beats and all they used was her Mac.
When he relayed this story to me, he had just left her place. So I asked him: "so, are you gonna see her again?" he said "I dunno"...which I followed on with: "do you want to"? And he came back with "She's 28, Mot!” I wasn't gonna argue with my 23 year old friend. He decided to leave it at that. As to whether they eventually did get together, I dunno. I just really liked his story.

Mama, I Got Dreams

Sometimes, I say things cos I really believe that they will happen. Sometimes, I say things cos I wish them for myself. Either way the notion of “be careful what you wish for” seldom keeps me from my mumblings.

Last year, when I heard that Phonte and 9^th Wonder would be coming to South Africa in 2012, I didn’t wait for date confirmations. I went on a tweeting spree expressing how excited I was and how I couldn’t wait for the gig.  The dates came in and I just started saying how I couldn’t wait to meet and hang out with my favourite rapper; as to how that was gonna happen, I didn’t know. Nor did I care to think of who to call to help me make this happen.

I thought about introducing a “#TlaleMeetsPhonte” trending topic on twitter…then I realized just how lame that was, so I abandoned that idea. Then came April 5^th 2012 and I start seeing tweets from 9^th and Phonte announcing their arrival and I kept my cool…right up until I got a response from Phonte (to my "DUMELA") that read: “@Tlale_K: sawubona to you as well”. This is my FAVOURITE rapper. Tweeting me. In MY territory. I stayed on that high right up until the next day when Lindiwe and I rolled through to the press conference that we wormed our way into (neither of us are media personnel…LOL). Still, I kept a level head… until the moment Kabomo introduced me to him and said: ”this is probably your biggest fan in the world…” and Phonte interrupted with “oh yeah, Tl..Tla” and all the cool that I had mustered, evaporated  as I said: “holy shit! You know me?!” and gave him a beeeeg hug before we took the above photo, with Kabomo. Hehehehe!

The Foreign Exchange

It’s interesting how Phonte and Nicolay got together via the interwebs and the very person who introduced me to their music is someone I am yet to meet, as our interactions have only ever been via the interwebs and a few telephone conversations in between.  I fell in love with that boy; we shared music and broke down lyrics and beats as we journeyed through imagined conversations we’d have when we met.

One of the songs he sent me, was “Nic’s Groove” (a Foreign Exchange featuring Little Brother, song).  This track had me by the nipples for the longest time. I had been hearing a lot of Little Brother from a regional radio station that used to play proper Hip Hop. I think the first track they broke Little Brother out with was “Good Clothes” and the line that I and the show’s host used to always exclaim was: “Take that coat off, nigguuurr” LOL! But I hadn’t vested enough interest in Little Brother to have noticed that it was a trio made up of two rappers (Phonte and Big Pooh) and a producer (9th Wonder)...until I heard The Foreign Exchange’s “Nic’s Groove”.

Little Brother

I still haven’t found the right words to describe what I felt when the bass came on and the chorus kick-started things, coupled by a few adlibs...and then slipped into Pooh's verse and got even better with the second verse: “nah it ain’t about me, I’m just an average cat/that goes to work, freestyles and kicks battle raps/and damage any nigga fucking with my habitat/me and Pooh connect like he-man and battle-Kat...” Dunno what it was about that verse, but I immediately replied to said Boy’s email and asked: “who is THAT, on the second verse?!” and he responded: “that’s Phonte. He’s one of the rappers in the Little Brother trio and the vocalist in The Foreign Exchange duo”. I’ve been on Phonte‘S music since that day. A dope rapper, that sings with equal amplitude? Come on! How do you not want to hear more of his material?

With that, came my struggle to explain who this guy was when I got asked who my favourite rapper was cos I didn’t give responses like: “Pac; Biggie; Jay-Z or Nas”. So when the news came of their imminent trip to South Africa for a gig in Joburg, I went NUTS. NUTS!

The sold-out Bassline was so electrified on the night of April 6^th that there was hardly room to manoeuvre around. Blessed was I who was in the company of a guy with whom for the past year, I’ve shared my love for Little Brother and The Foreign Exchange and Hip Hop in general with...amongst other things. I couldn’t have imagined a better way to have spent that night. From the time 9^th Wonder came on and I was at the bar...you could almost feel the place about to erupt, that’s how the excitement reverberated...and when 9^th introduced Phonte on stage, all hell broke loose. I can’t even remember what song he opened with. I was embedded in pure bliss. The moment I had thought about for so many years personified itself in front of me and I just got lost in it. It was nothing like I nor the North Carolina boys had imagined it would be like (this I confirmed after the gig with 9^th saying that that was the biggest crowd they [him and Phonte] had performed for).

What was left of the lunch

It was a beautiful night, followed by another kick-ass night with the NC guys that started at a dull birthday party before we found a perfect spot in Catz Pyjamas, Melville. Myself; Lindiwe; Kabomo and Nomusa just chilled with 9^th and Phonte...chatting and laughing about Hip Hop until the wee hours of the morning. It was a special night (read: late night/early morning) that seeped into one of my best lunches (and 9^th’s favourite), at Nomusa’s house in Diepkloof on Sunday afternoon where we were joined by our girls and the Hype Magazine crew.

I suppose I can mention how when we went to go and pick the guys up on Sunday morning, Tay asked me to remove my beret and subsequently put his “P” cap on my head J...and then later gave me some music and his Pro Beats By Dr. Dre™.  

Not in my wildest of dreams would I have believed that I would’ve actually met and hung out with Phonte Lyshod Coleman and Patrick Douthit. Moreover, I wouldn't have beleived you if you had told me that not only would I hang out with them, but that I’d hang out with them AND have them feel so at home, they genuinely had a good time...ok...maybe I would’ve believed THAT.

So, another dream manifested into a reality not even my imagination could’ve cooked up: I met my favourite rapper. 

Perhaps I should speak out loud, on how I want to win the jackpot in the Lotto? Yes.

Crack is whack!

And you'll recognise this feeeling, you've felt it before. You'll clinch your chest as your stomach turns. Your body will go ice cold, sending shivers down your malleable spine as you lose control. Frozen heart; it will begin to crack. You allowed yourself to get here: Cracking heart, breaking heart.

"I could fill a thousand pages telling you how I felt, and still you would not understand. So now I leave without a sound, except that of my heart shattering as it hits the ground"

Back 'n Forth

The ex will cue the queue of excuses...

Let No Man Put Asunder

I have the utmost respect for the Marriage Institute. When you invite God into your heart and into your relationship, you inadvertently open yourself up to the greatest understanding of love. With all my shenanigans, I have not ever come between a marriage. I just don't come between a man, a woman and God. This is a boundary one really shouldn't cross.

This morning I heard of two marriages that may have broken up because of a partner from each marriage who decided that their being married made it okay for them to be with each other. As though God may get the rightful partners of each partner confused because there are 7 billion of us on the planet. Two people were hurt when the truth peeled itself off of the pseudo-comfort, more carefully than I assume the philanderers' clothes did.

Marriage says to me: "This is the man/woman I believe God wants me to be with (for however long God chooses for us to be together on earth); to love and honour them...'' and you move on to the next stage where the bond is sealed with rings that symbolise your union that has no beginning and no end.

A part of me was truly hurt this morning as I sat and wondered about a union that's supposed to be a testament of true love, but got tainted by avarice. I just wondered at what point did this man stop loving his wife; and at what point did the wife stop loving her husband who found her in bed with his married friend after his business trip concluded prematurely?

Surely that love was never there?

Surely they didn't let God in? Because the vows say: "What God has out together, let no man put asunder."

Surely.

Later in the day, I got to hear of the story of how a man and woman so loved each other they had children that further strengthened that love for each other. After years of marriage the husband got attacked outside of their home and suffered head injuries that impaired his motor senses and attention span but not his personality. He remained the loving, positive husband and father that he swore in front of God he'd become. She remained, without feeling any sense of obligation to the vows, a loving; supportive wife and mother. He was her anchor; the love of her life. It has now been a year since he passed away. Through her pain that has not crippled her into submission, I could feel the love they shared.

The only other people that had any influence in that marriage were the children. No family. No friends. No outsiders.

LOVE isn't black and/or white. It's not either hot or cold. It's not an area of  grey that needs understanding. It's a multi-dimensional emotion that takes the bravest and most emotionally mature to understand. If you take the decision to include God in your union and to guide that love, don't look to others to dictate to you what that love can or should do.

The first of the four noble truths states that: "Ïf you are alive, you will suffer". The suffering stems from an oblivion to pain. When you recognise that there is such a thing as pain, you are able to handle it better because you are aware of its presence. Not acknowledging that there may be trials and tribulations in your marriage will lead you to mismanaging the problems and looking elsewhere for solutions.

Be with someone who acknowledges this truth. A realist and an optimist. Someone who believes in love as much as you do. Someone who is emotionally mature and wants to brave the rest of their life with you.

Take all of this with a pinch of salt. I just made the decison to be more open to love. Real love.

Living Young and Wild and Free

The chorus to the song below goes: "So what we get drunk?; so what we smoke weed?; we're just having fun; we don't care who sees. So what we go out? This is how it's s'pose to be: Living young and wild and free"

My last weekend lived up to this Wiz Khalifa and Snoop Dogg track. I last saw my boys as a crew in 2007. I dunno what it is that kept me away from them for so long, but when we hooked up at one of their hotels out in Walkerville; twas as though we hadn't spent a week apart. For reasons I have no interest in getting into, I have been a little anxious about being around too many people at private parties. Seeing these boys living life as though they had no problems or responsibilities for just 72 hours made me realise just how couped up in my head I had been in the last 6 weeks.

I am young; have a little bit of a wild side that's nowhere ready to be tamed and I'd like to feel free, and comfortable and unguarded when I'm out celebrating my youth and independence.

I'm just happy I got some of "me" back within less than 24 hours.

Don't Do Drugs. They'll proper eff you up!

The Road

I didn't know of the heart that choked.

You went away and it just beat there,

Not knowing whether to follow you or

Risk a step towards you and feel itself crumble.

It's been sung sweet lullabies

While intensely listening out for yours;

Been unapologetically moved by your music

And swayed by bastardized lies.

It is still right here, where it belongs

See?

After detours and sho't left tours.

After journeys of exciting newness.

After what was, became what is:

The road that still lead me to you.

A Million Little Pieces

So the controversy goes a little like this:


James Frey fabricated key elements of his said memoir, on his stint at some rehabilitation centre.


Things such as his description of how he had two root canals without any anesthetic or Novacane for the pain (couldn't help but have Frank Ocean sing that bit in my head as I typed). I admit, when I read Frey's dentist appointment description, I was like: "WHOOOOOAAAAAAT? This poor guy?!" But I kept reading cos re-living James' story of how he had practically fucked up his life and health was riveting. However, it is apparently possible for one to not have anything for the pain. James says the reason he didn't take anything for the grueling procedure was because he was in rehab and it's naturally prohibited for one to be taking drugs of any kind, while in a rehabilitation centre. So, I moved on from that apparent fabrication.


Then there was the matter of his so-called bad-boy status...which wasn't so bad-boy after all. Apparently, he may not have been arrested as many times as his memoir claimed and he also wasn't a menace to society in High School nor Tertiary. In his description, he was an "Alcoholic; Drug Addict and a Criminal". Yet, he managed to graduate from High School and Tertiary in record time. So it's either his rich parents paid off his head masters and faculty deans or, he wasn't that bad a drug addict during those times. He apparently only had a "less than a day" stint in jail for his Ohio encounter and not 90 days as described in the book.


That 90 days then brings me to the end of the book where he summarizes how all the characters in the book either died or fell off boats and their bodies were never recovered. All except one, his room mate "Miles Davis" who is/was a Judge. His best friend, Leonard, is said to have died from AIDS related illnesses and Lilly (his girlfriend, whom he met in rehab) hung herself the day before he was released from his "3 month" stint in jail.


It turns out that Lilly didn't in fact hang herself at the Halfway House that she stayed in after her stint in rehab. She instead slit her wrists. Granted, it doesn't matter what methods she took to end her life when she couldn't wait a few more hours for James. She killed herself. So then it becomes confusing as to how she waited 3 months for someone who was not in jail for 3 months. James says he was roaming around trying to piece his life together in all the time Lilly was waiting for him. *sigh*


Anyway, I could go on and on about all the other things that have been proven to be untrue, but I won't.


The only thing that has not been disputed is how drug and alcohol addiction fucks up people's health and lives. James' rejection of the AA program and its 12 steps and him choosing and managing to go "cold turkey" from his addictions has also gone undisputed. This is someone who had a drug problem and an alcoholism problem. He went cold turkey on his addictions and CHOSE to live without them. Almost 20 years on, he's still clean. Is this not what the book is essentially about?


He is a very creative writer. I marveled at his detailed memory of his drug and alcohol infested encounters and his days in rehab. I knew even then that this was not entirely a nonfiction read , but rather a series of events that were based on a true story.


My interests lay largely in the writing style and the going cold turkey bit. The rest, I really don't give a rat's ass about. This is a great book. The editing failed it in a few pages, but it's a good story.


James is clean. Almost 20 years after he walked/got chauffeured out of the rehab centre and has not relapsed. This has not been disputed. This is what makes the book a great part-fiction story. Cos the truth is that he was indeed a drug and alcohol addict. The truth is that his parents took him to rehab. The truth is that he rejected an old-age program whose followers swear by. The truth is that he has stayed clean.


What he did to fill the rest of his story, was just creative writing. I applaud him for that, and managing to sell 17 million copies of his book in 8 weeks, worldwide.


I applaud him mostly for choosing mind over matter.


Get this book for the message behind it and not for Oprah's and "The Smoking Gun" reports' holier than though take on the story.