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iamlithalethu · 3 years

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“Zithuthe, MamNdzotho.”

I want to create something that properly reflects the journey of death and rebirth I’ve been on for the past year. I’m coming to terms that many parts of me died this year, and that I will continue to die, again and again, for as long as I live. Is there such thing as death? Is there such thing as birth? Are like God? Are we all omnipresent, forever in the past, the present and the future?

Another important aspect of this exploration is the concept of ukuzithutha. This year was the year I took myself apart, over and over again to uncover who I truly am at my core. This year, I discovered parts of myself I’ve never paid attention to because I took myself apart. And that’s what you do xa uzithutha. You take apart your lineage. You take apart your past, your present, and your future. And its poetry. It’s something sacred, something cherished.

I always think of the dreams I’ve had in 2021 -- how, whenever I’d be greeted or approached by my ancestors, they would first ask me to take myself apart. At first, it confused me. It made me feel as if perhaps my ancestors were not that familiar with me at all. But they’re incredibly familiar with who I am. I am the person who is not acquainted with myself. Do I understand who I am in context to them? Do I understand why my connection with them is so strong, and how much work I have to do while I’m still here in this plain?

I’ve spent so much time giving myself away. When will I give back to myself?

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iamlithalethu · 3 years

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we broke up three days ago now.

It’s 3am now and I’m thinking about time. I’m thinking about how, the older I get, the things I feel expand; emotions feel different, deeper. The type of sad I feel now, at 22, is not the same type of sad I felt when I was 16. At 16, sadness still bubbled under the surface. It was a low hum behind closed lips, a slight tingle at my fingertips. But now, at 22, sadness gnaws at my skin. It fights to break free and when it finally does, it oozes out of me. And it oozes. It oozes, it oozes, it oozes. And when it does, I’m always surprised by how much of it can pour of me, for days, weeks, months at a time. It makes me scared for 32. And 42. And 52. How much more can my capacity to be sad expand?

But then I think about the potential of happiness. The happiness I feel at 22 is also not the same happiness I felt when I was 16. And although I laughed louder when I was younger, and allowed for happiness to burst out and through me like sun-rays at daybreak, happiness means me more to me now. Happiness is seeing my friends huddled around the stove in my kitchen. Happiness is hearing live music on summer nights. Happiness is wrapping your arms around your mother and shrinking into the small thing you once were, the small thing that was once able to experience happiness with no boundaries. Happiness is also solitude. Happiness is stillness. Happiness is small. Happiness is big. And because my capacity to be happy has expanded, it touches every inch of me when it arrives. And if this is what it is like to feel happiness everywhere, now, at 22, I can only imagine what everywhere will feel like 32, 42, 52.

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iamlithalethu · 3 years

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this is the last time I’m letting him do this.

I’ll always remember the day Didi locked Mama, Sesona, Likhona and I (was it all of us? To be honest, in most of my memories of Didi’s abuse, I just remember Mama and I, Likhona sometimes in the mix. ... I actually don’t remember if Sesona was around for this memory) out the house. I don’t know if the memory itself has morphed over time and now I remember it differently, but I think all of the memories I have of Didi abusing Mama age in a certain way. As I grow, I realise that the memories are actually much worse than what I chose to record, because now I have the maturity to see through the subtext.

It’s a simple memory. I remember we pulled up in front of the house. I don’t know why Mama didn’t have keys. Perhaps we just popped out. Or maybe Didi switched off the circuit nantsika in the garage. (That actually makes the memory more sinister. Anyways. It wouldn’t be beyond him.) I remember us banging on the gate, asking him to open from inside. We couldn’t hear the TV, but we could definitely see light. I don’t remember where his car was; whether or not it was outside or in the garage or tucked into that space by the back gate. And then I remember us calling him. I remember begging him on the phone to let us all back into the house, but he kept on saying I must ask Mama why we can’t come back in. I don’t remember the reason why, or if Mama told us at all, but I remember her face. She was pissed. More than anything, Didi acting up was an inconvenience. It was a bump in the road that didn’t make sense.

I think we spent an hour or two waiting in that car, waiting for Didi to come to his senses. Occasionally, we would try to bang on the gate to try again, but it was no use. It was up to him whether we slept in the car that night at all. (This is reminding me of another time when Didi locked Mama out alone while we were in the house ... I remember it was really dark. There must have been loadshedding.) We all just sat in the car, and mostly in silence. I remember looking over at Mama occasionally from the passenger’s seat. Her anger melted into sadness. I also think that, at some stage, she articulated that she was upset he was doing this to all of us, and not just her alone.

And thinking back, that makes me even sadder. She was always alone when Didi used to do things like that. He targeted her alone.

Tshiamo’s silence is taking me back to that car. His refusal in telling me what I did wrong, or what happened that triggered him and made him mad at me, so mad that he wants to think things over. I’ve always had men that have reminded me of my father: the emotional distance, the retreating, the inability to give me clarity on where I stand and what I mean to them. But I’ve never had niggas do anything that took me back to a memory of my father’s abuse. This could be a new aspect of my healing, since I’m dealing with new types of men now, but it could also very much just be a reflection of Tshiamo as a person. I don’t want to be with a man who is so comfortable with locking me out of the house and having me sleep in the cold. It’s scary. This is the first time, in our entire connection, that things feel scary.

Maybe he feels like home because he could potentially replicate the environment I grew up in. Maybe I’ve been looking at the wrong thing. Maybe I shouldn’t be looking at the type of nigga I choose. Maybe, the person themselves (like Dida said) doesn’t even matter. Maybe what matters is how the person approaches conflict. Maybe what matters is who the person becomes when everything is falling apart. Because it’s all great and well when things are great and well, but what about when they aren’t?

I think I’m also disappointed. I don’t know who Tshiamo is, not entirely. And the parts that I’ve seen of him, up until now, haven’t been things that have scared me. But if Tshiamo puts this forward as a part of himself he cannot change, then I simply cannot be with him. Because that’s not the truth. How people respond to stimuli is not a “part of themselves” they cannot change. It’s learned behaviour. And a part of me feels like he’s going to be unwilling to unlearn this, and decide we should just not be together anyways.

I don’t want to be afraid of the person I’m with. And I think this is beyond trauma. The thing that scares me now is that this is just a playground to develop some more of it. And I refuse to stand by and watch my pain grow. I refuse to add onto all of the healing I have to do for myself, for my bloodline, for those before me and also those after me. I refuse.

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iamlithalethu · 3 years

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recent contemplations.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it’s like to be consistently in love -- in love with people, in love with life, in love with the things that you do. And I think I’m beginning to see that it’s all about being in love with feeling.

I’m only realising, basically a month before the year ends, that I’ve barely felt at all in 2021. I haven’t held onto feelings the way they’re meant to be experienced. Instead, I’ve resented them. I’ve resisted them because the only thing worse than holding onto feeling is holding onto them so hard they eat you whole. But now, I speak when I feel. I also let feelings linger, just long enough to recognise that they’re there.

Another thing I’ve been thinking about is my relationship with chaos. Although I used to be worse, there are still times where I’ll let her return in spurts. I get the urge to do and say things that can escalate a situation and make it darker that what it already is. I saw it in the way I responded to Benni this past weekend. There was something in me that liked the consistent attention. I don’t understand what it is that Benni likes about me so much. I don’t understand what idea he clings onto (because an idea is all it really is -- he doesn’t know me) but I like that he clings to it. I suppose, to some extent, I find solace in the fact that I had a crush on him for years, up until this year, and now he suddenly likes me -- to the point where he’s calling me at 1AM.

“You show little to no interest in me Aza, but I’m still here reaching out.”

I lied on Saturday, at Kitcheners. I told him that Tshiamo was out of the picture. I did it because I was mad at Tshiamo. I’ve felt incredibly distant from him lately, and I resented that I’d claimed him to the point where he would come up in conversations with ex flings. So I lied. But I didn’t do anything. I physically can’t. Because whenever the thought of stepping out briefly crosses my mind, I realise that there’s no man that will hold me the way he does, or say my name the way he does. No other man has his eyes. No other man speaks the way he does. He’s consumed me. And now I want no one else.

We’re currently not speaking. We’ve decided to take a break from speaking because constant communication seems to overwhelm him. And the strangest thing about this silence is that, I don’t even yearn to phone him, I yearn to see him walk through my door.

I really love that man. I could write about him forever.

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iamlithalethu · 3 years

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an entry on fri, 29 oct. 2021 about thurs, 28 oct 2021. (these are very scattered thoughts).

Yesterday felt like a daze. Time moved in a way it hasn’t for a long time. Moments passed like bullets. And I think it was because I was outside for most of the day, being productive, doing things. It felt nice to be pre-occupied for hours at a time.

I think I’m only now beginning to realise how much I would like to be a creative next year. A 9 to 5 would be great because it would be stable and it would ease the heart of my parents, but I don’t particularly want it for myself. I want more. I want something that will have me feeling fulfilled. I want to be a podcaster. I want to be a grader, editor, graphic designer, filmmaker, writer. I want to do a lot. And I want to throw myself into it.

I also drank a lot yesterday. It was annoying when I woke up this morning, and my vision still wiggled in the way a mirage does. I went back to sleep and woke up again a bit later.

I don’t know if I want to be in a relationship with Tshiamo. Time and time again, he’s sort of shown me that he isn’t ready to be in one. He speaks about his money problems, and in my mind, I’m trying to hear him out, but money is not the issue. It’s the fact that he thinks he’d be comfortable going days without speaking to me just because. It’s the fact that succumbing to my needs is not something he prioritises. I just don’t think he’s ready to have someone in his life, and that’s why he keeps me suspended in the air, begging him to make me a girlfriend.

Romantically, I feel like I’m moving backwards. I feel like I’ve met the perfect person, but he just doesn’t do the right things. And now I can’t let go because I’ve already developed an attachment. I’ve opened myself up to this man only to realise that now, maybe this won’t be sustainable. Maybe this is just how Tshiamo is.

My biggest regret would be looking back on all of this and feeling the way I feel when I look back on Bongani. I don’t want to look back at everything I’ve built (or attempted to build) with this man and think, “that was fucking stupid.” I don’t. And it doesn’t feel stupid, not right now. But will I have the courage to tell myself that it is becoming stupid if it were to ever get there?

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iamlithalethu · 3 years

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He just called and all of my worries melted away.

contemplations about love.

Let me start with what triggered this.

TJ shared something on his WhatsApp status. I’m assuming he reposted something his (female) friend posted first. In this post, she called him his other half. It made my stomach sick. It didn’t feel good at all, seeing that post. Most of all, what jars me is his shamelessness in sharing something like that and knowing that I will see it. And it’s really made me contemplate the boundaries (or lack thereof) we’ve set up.

My first instinct was to start an argument, obviously. I had the urge to call him immediately and ruin his day. But I want to be careful with how I approach this. And I want to be sure of exactly what it is I feel.

This extends beyond the “girlfriend” chat, mostly because I’ve started realising the value in building something before deciding that you would like to be with someone long-term. This is a problem of boundaries, and communicating a need and not having it met. And it upsets me. It doesn’t make me angry. It’s doesn’t irritate me. It makes me upset.

This pre-relationship period would be mandated if we did shit that people who are dating do i.e. go on dates, spending only one day with each other at a time, etc. etc. That’s not what we do. We don’t go out on adventures as a means to discover the person that we’re with. He just comes over and then we lay shacked up in this flat watching series and occasionally ordering some food.

Why doesn’t he want to go out with me? Why doesn’t he set boundaries with his friends in the context of him having a person in his life? Why am I always an afterthought? Why can’t he answer text messages? Why doesn’t he prioritise cherishing me? A lot of why’s. These are a lot why’s.

Tshiamo is inconsistent. The things he says, the things he proclaims to want for the two of us, don’t align with the things he does. He proclaims to be a romantic man but I’ve never seen that side of him. We’ve known each other for going on half a year, and I am yet to see it.

I’m struggling with these realisations because I want to be with him. I’ve never wanted to be with anybody so bad. And I don’t want to ever want someone else ever again. I know saying such is incredibly finite, especially because I am yet to experience more life and meet more people and see more things. But I want to do that with him, and nobody else.

But I need to put myself first. I need to put my needs first. I need someone who feels an urgency to be with me, and to attend to my needs, and an urgency to set boundaries between the two of us and also the rest of the world so that we can build something that is sustainable. If this is a pre-relationship period, the aim is to build a structure and/or a system of behaviours that can be sustained for the long-term. We are setting up our expectations and seeing whether or not they line up with the person we want to be with.

It’s not lining up. Logistically, nothing is lining up anymore. In my head, the honeymoon phase is over. I see him clearly now. There have been so many moments where he’s given me the “ick”. His opinions are starting to sway in a way I don’t particularly appreciate. There are so many things about him that I’m learning I don’t completely like, but can appreciate because they’re a part of him. It’s all attached to him. And I want him.

And I’ve been asking myself, “why this guy? What is it about him that makes you want to build a future with him and go through the labour of ushering him to support your needs?”

Firstly, he understands me. And he doesn’t make a spectacle of trying, so much so that it just seems like he gets it. He’s a great listener, and in other relationships in my life, I’m the listener. I’m the one who offers out hands to carry the emotional baggage of those I love most. And he does that for me when I need it. He’s funny, he’s talented, he sees the world in a way I wish I saw the world. The sound of his voice reminds me that everything is going to be okay. He’s self-sacrificial. He is no stranger to holding accountability. Emotionally and sexually, he treats me like an egg (although I really wish this extended into his other actions more). He’s my best friend. When I speak with him, I’m not performing or trying to be the sexiest, most desirable person ever, I’m just me. Like, completely. And I think we fit, as a unit. We’re two individuals who make a lot of sense together.

But is this enough?

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