One Man’s Trash

I am always in awe and a little bit envious, if I am honest, of the relationship my partner has with her ex’s. They still speak and maintain some sort of relationship. There is no hate, no loathing, no love lost. And I admire that so much, to accept the completion of a relationship, accept the situation for what it is/was and move on and acknowledge that there was love there and that love doesn’t go to shit just because things didn’t work out. She has these relationships with not only her ex’s where things ended amicably, but also with her ex’s where there was a lot of hurt and heartbreak.

I often wonder if it’s something about her character that fosters these kinds of relationships. I was made very aware in the beginning of our relationship that she loves incredibly well (I don’t know if that is a legitimate skill that people can possess lol, but she has it). It’s not because I am special that her love for me is so valiant and outstanding, it’s because that’s just the heart she has. A big one. A whole one that want’s to envelope you and make you feel at home. This doesn’t mean she is perfect. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t make mistakes. It doesn’t mean she hasn’t hurt anyone. But is it the genuineness and pureness of her love that makes you want to continue to love her, to have her love you, even if the love is no longer romantic?

In the past 2 weeks, after seeing a picture that a friend posted, I have started speaking again to this awesome guy I dated when I was in matric. We decided we should catch up and go for lunch or coffee sometime soon. That sometime soon was this past Sunday at the Fourways Farmers Market. He is pretty much the same guy that I remember. Funny, sweet, opinionated, but he’s developed an impressive wisdom and insight. We spoke mostly about what’s happened in our lives in the last 10 years and the people we have become/grown in to. In essence I think we are the same people we were in matric, just with more backbone, self-assurance and chutzpah.

Upon leaving the market I spotted another ex. An ex I am not on good terms with. I must admit that I spotted him and immediately looked away and walked ahead to avoid the ‘oh shit there she is/there he is, let’s look the other way’ awkwardness. The ‘spotting’ was literally 2 seconds long, but juxtaposed alongside the friend ex, it really rattled me. How is it possible that on my left is an ex that I just had a really lovely day with and on my right is another ex that I am going to scurry past like I don’t know what that man’s ass crack looks like?

But why? Why even bother wanting to maintain a friendship with someone after a romantic relationship has ended? A friend of mine, and I am sure many people share this sentiment, wishes that all his exes could just stop existing and fall off the face of the earth. Not because he hates them, but because their time together has come to an end and there is no need for him to see, let alone have lunch with anyone he has dated. And all the fibres of my being are on some whaaaaaat?!? I mean I don’t know about yal but when I am building a relationship with sumbarrry special I build beyond the ‘I want to have great sexy times with you’. I have an intense desire to be seen in a relationship, really seen, for who and what I am, and to have that person love my whole being, even the bits that they don’t agree with, the bits that are different from their bits. So I intentionally build a strong, as honest as I can be, here is a window to my soul, bond. And as a result, I think, my value and appreciation for that person goes beyond them being my partner. It goes to their personhood. And all the things that I love(d) about them, therefore, don’t go away just because we can’t be in a relationship (because those things were not based on the fact that we were in a relationship). So when I hear someone say that allll their exes can go to the nearest dumping site I am, honestly, a little bit (and by a little bit, I mean a lot) offended, like, oh!! So my value as a person in your life was solely dependent on the fact that you had access to this ass?

But as a student of psychology, a feminist and a big believer in introspection, I am also aware of the cyclical nature of the universe and all the goings on in this life. And as such I am aware that my offense is also coloured by some of my own internal struggles, insecurities and questions.  

You cannot be friends with/maintain a relationship with every single person that you ever had a liking/loving for. People grow apart. People change. People become people that the people we have become cannot be down with. That’s a true and sometimes painful fact of life. And it’s hard and it sucks, but mostly it’s for the best.

Going back to my envy of baby and her relationships with her exs, what a continued relationship with someone you were once romantically linked to says to me is “You are valid. This relationship was valid. And I value your being, not just your being when you were fucking me”. But our value, our validation, our sense of worth cannot be tied to anyone else, past or present, and my internal strife starts there. To get to a place where I can accept the situation for what it is/was and move on and acknowledge that there was love there and that love, from my side, doesn’t go to shit regardless of how the other person feels about me and continuing a relationship with me.

I am the kind of person who needs to talk with the individual concerned to gain closure. I like to talk through everything really. And a big point of growth for me has been to realise and accept that sometimes the other person does not need to talk and talk. That maybe closure for them is forgetting I existed. And that is ok. There needs to be a mutual agreement that continuing to be a part of one another’s lives is beneficial to both parties. And when you have loved someone intimately there is a lot of work that comes with changing and finding a new dynamic to your relationship.  And that work is not something we’re all prepared to do. And that is also ok.

Dear Universe/ Feminist Gods

Dear Universe/ Feminist Gods

I am heavy.

I am sad.

My heart cries tears that are too alkaline and are, as a result, burning me.

I feel lost. I feel like the problem. I feel like I don’t know how to hold onto a good thing even when you show me all the signs that this is what I need, that this is what is meant for me.

The problem is I think I am a butterfly. A pretty weightless thing that skips from pretty flower to pretty flower collecting pollen. Minding its own business and spreading beauty in a quiet, often unfelt and unseen way, disturbing no one.  

The problem is I am as heavy as an elephant with the appearance of a fluffy puppy. I creep my way inside sometimes warm, sometimes hostile hearts and make a home there, because I am cute and cuddly and I have an ocean full of love at my disposal. But my movements are not light and unseen or unfelt. They are not always delicate. They are now always warm. No matter how hard I pretend my 300 ton stature is actually butterfly wings.

The elephant is today, and for a couple of weeks now, sitting on my chest. And I can’t breathe because every so often I wrap my hands around my own neck and squeeze. Can self-harm extend beyond the physical ways we hurt ourselves? Am I adding extra salt to my tears and then burning myself on purpose? What would be the point? Why would I be doing that?

I turn to you to you for the answers because the questions keep going round and round in my head and grow questions legs and have question babies and I don’t have enough room in my being to house any of them anymore. 

Not everyone is 100% monogamous?

This question was posed in a group I am a part of on Facebook. If you know anything about me, anything recent about me, I think you would guess my answer to be “DUH Felicia” not everyone is 100% monogamous with your cheating, trifling asses. But after much thought on this subject recently I think my answer is “No. I do believe that there are people who are 100% monogamous” and I’ll tell you why.

Until recently, I have always been in monogamous relationships. Heck I never knew, besides cheating, that there were alternatives. I was first introduced to the concept of polyamorous relationships when I met my partner, who at the time, was in a polyamorous relationship. I considered the idea, first and foremost, probably because I really liked her and didn’t want the barrier of her already being in a relationship to get in the way. But the longer I allowed the idea to simmer (and the longer I dated her and saw polyamory in action) the more I was convinced that this was the choice for me.

The fact that my partner has had sexual relationships before me doesn’t gross me out, I fact it intrigues me. And this was a great chance to ask all the questions I wanted without seeming like a creep (although I probably am but it’s ok J)

I enjoyed the fact that I wouldn’t have to feel guilty if I ever felt attracted to someone else like I did in a monogamous relationship. How does that even make sense though hey. Attraction to another being is not something we necessarily have control over. Why is it assumed then, that when you are in a relationship the attraction chemicals in your body go to Avalon “to die no more”?

I loved that I would get to keep my individuality without that negatively affecting my partner because she valued her individuality and independence as much as I did. 

But of course, like most things in life, practice is often not as blissful or as blemish free as theory. Like any relationship though, choosing polyamory requires you to be intentional about it and to actively choose it, every single day.

It is not banging everyone in sight. It is not lusting after every Jane, Jill and Janet. It is not making decisions on your own. It’s not pretending to be single while baby sits at home, cooks you dinner and does your laundry.

I remember how I used to feel when ex-boyfriends cheated on me, or when I suspected they were into another girl. Or even when they had a female friend they were really close with. That shit hurt like hell. Jealously is a bitch. Dishonesty is a bitch. Betrayal!! The mother of all bitches. And for what? Because I felt my partner shared what was supposed to be mine with someone else? And someone else took what was mine?

The idea that I belong only to me is the selling point of polyamory. In a society that has taught me from birth that my existence as a woman is to benefit everyone who isn’t me, there is very little that I value more than choice, freedom and autonomy. Doing something solely for my pleasure, enjoyment, happiness and benefit…is to me revolutionary. The hard part comes with the realisation that with freedom (cliché I know, but it doesn’t make it less true) comes responsibility. Responsibility to the person/people that I have made a commitment to. A responsibility to be open and honest and self-reflecting. I am responsible to the people I love and also to the people that I am still to love to make them aware, from the beginning, by fighting the urge that comes with new love, to pledge my heart, soul and eternity to only them. And let me tell you, its fucking hard! It’s hard to have to be completely honest all the time. It’s hard to feel jealous and be reflective enough to realise my hypocrisy at the same time. It’s hard to pledge polyamory and watch your partner fall for someone else and have to reckon with yourself that you chose this, you believe in this…and not only when you are the one who is doing the falling in love with someone else.

So I 100% disagree with the statement that not everyone is 100% monogamous. I think there are people out there who realise that love in itself is intentional. That it’s hard. That it’s a choice you make every single day because butterflies are not going to carry you into the future. And they realise the kind of love that they are capable and not capable of.

Every day I am trying to unlearn the doctrine of patriarchy. And the way I express my love and sex is one of those areas that I am trying to define for myself, free from what I have been taught love and sex from a woman have to look like. There are times when the unlearning is glorious. And there are times when the paving of a way that is my own is painful.

But I am intentional, even when I am uncomfortable. The point is not the “free hall pass” to all my desires. The point for me is to have the kind of relationship with my partner that takes us both into consideration when deciding on what makes us happy. It’s about thinking about us before we consider what the world thinks is acceptable for us. It’s about love man. Big love. Whole love. Unadulterated love. 

Love Letter

Who would have thought?

A year ago I could never have imagined that today this is where I'd be.

With her. My love.

The oldest and biggest love of my existence.

This time last year I hadn't even found her.

This time last year I was pining away for a love I imagined might be possible.

She had captivated my heart. My mind and surely my soul.

And she didn't even know it.

For 5 weeks I dreamt up our life together

I did not realise the wonders reality would reach.

I thought she was spectacular in my dreams.

Oh man but my dreams had nothing on reality.

I had this memory of her.

Of her chocolate skin. Long dreadlocks. Dainty features.

And her eyes…her eyes that contained the beauty of the world. The whole world. My whole world.

I dreamed she would love me. Purely and deeply. Selflessly and whole-heartedly.

I dreamed she would make me smile from the depths of my soul.

I was right

But I underestimated her impact and the sheer size of her love.

In reality I sit and watch her speak on the phone.

With her chocolate skin, dreadlocks and dainty features.

And those eyes.

And I think wow she's here. In my life. Full access. All the time.

In reality she has shown me love in ways I didn't know it could be displayed.

She has loved me far

She has loved me deep

She has loved me wide

She has loved me whole

And I have loved her

In all the ways I know how and all the ways I have discovered.

My baby, more than a dream come true because my dreaming underestimated you.

Vacuum Sealed

It has been a while since I have missed you.
I feel I must begin with a disclaimer about the things that missing you doesn't mean.
I will refrain.
Sometimes there is beauty in creating a vacuum around the things that life has tainted.
That I have tainted.
It has been a while since I remembered the good just on its own.
But as I realise and acknowledge this, the dread creeps its way back in.
Again I will refrain.
I miss...
food
the importance of Sunday mornings and Friday nights
Sunday dinners and Sunday brunch
Herbal tea and chicken burgers
white hot chocolate and nederberg barrone
dreaming of venice and Switzerland in the winter time
cheeks and cupcakes
food
Not to disregard or ignore the darkness that surrounds this momentary vacuum
But sometimes the past needs to be celebrated even if I can't currently think of why.
I am envious of those who have mastered the art of salvaging that which we have been taught
is only good for the dustbin.
Sadness
That is common.
So just for today I create this vacuum where the things that were once beautiful
Are beautiful again.

Queer | Black | Woman

I went to church this past weekend. I have been wanting to go back, for a while, to get closure pretty much and to finally decide if I was going to leave or stay. There was a story about an ex-lesbian who was straight, broke up with her ex-fiancé, went to work at a female dominated organisation, met a wonderful girl, dated her for 5 years, stumbled upon church one Sunday, attended, became really involved and decided she had been living a lie and left her girlfriend and gayness behind and is now doing life with a very nice gentleman.

The other day I heard that Flabba was stabbed to death, allegedly by his girlfriend. My initial reaction was “I wonder what he did”. But of course the majority of South Africans did not share my sentiments. Their reaction was more like “OFF WITH HER HEAD”.

On Instagram I came across a post speaking about the definition of ‘Ineptocracy’. It went like this “A system of government where the least capable to lead are elected by the least capable of producing, and where the members of society least likely to sustain themselves or succeed are rewarded with goods and services paid for by the confiscated wealth of a diminishing number of producers. And he commented and said “True for us here”.

By ‘us here’ he means for us, South Africans, here in South Africa.

By ‘the least capable to lead’ he means the ANC

By ‘least capable of producing’ he means black people

By ‘member of society least likely to sustain themselves or succeed’ he means black people

By ‘by the confiscated wealth of a diminishing number of producers’ he means white people

The I-found-God-and-stopped-being-a-lesbian Lesbian; the woman who so dared to kill a man, a famous man and the so blatantly, hiding his racism in plain sight, racist pastor have all plagued me this week. Leaving a sour taste in my mouth.

The I-found-God-and-stopped-being-a-lesbian Lesbian

I saw her pic on an Instagram post. Her story of ‘sexual identity crisis’ was not written about but they enticed me by telling me to come hear the uncut version of her story. She was so obviously a Dyke, I had to go see what her story with the church was about. And to be very honest I hoped that it would be a positive one. One about how the church accepted her and who she loved in such a way that her sexuality didn’t define her or the role she could play in the church. I hoped for this scenario so much but that was not the case, as I knew it would not be. In fact the opposite was true. They used the story of a woman who clearly had a tough upbringing, who spent her life searching for what was perhaps lacking in her life since early on and made it about her sexuality, sorry I mean ‘sexual identity crisis’, because being gay is so much of a non-thing that we don’t even call it by name.

My friends and I had a discussion about it afterwards and the boyfriend of one of my friends said “I have never heard more bullshit in my life” and I can’t find a better set of words to round up my feelings about it. It is absolutely despicable that they would take the story of one woman and use it to sell their message of ‘crises of sexual identity’ and how coming to church can ‘fix it’. In my opinion this woman’s story had absolutely nothing to do with her sexuality and everything to do with her search and need to belong. She just happened to have been dating a woman when she found God and so of course church cured her of her sinful ways. Sigh. My words honestly fail me when people who are so greatly trying to live the word of God, be the word of God and sell the word of God are the exact people who spout ignorance and judgement and hate. Because telling people that its wrong to be who they are is hateful! It reminds me of when I had a discussion with a friend who I attended this church with and she was asking me why I stopped coming and she said “So you are dating a woman! I am having unmarried sex and don’t tithe as well as I should, but I still come to church”. So basically she is sinning and I am sinning, this shouldn’t stop us from going to church. And of course one day she can decide to stop having pre-marital sex and decide to start tithing every month, and since I was attracted to men before I can decide to stop being attracted to women. And bless her soul she was not trying to be facetious, but her statement said to me “I am comparing your sexual orientation, which I deem a sin, to my sins of pre-marital sex and bad tithing. You are a sinner Amanda and sinners need Jesus”. Also, had me at a loss for words that people could be so flippant and unaware, so unaware.

The So-blatantly-hiding-his-racism-in-plain-sight racist pastor

That person, that white person who has black ‘friends’ and therefore feels like they can make underhanded comments and make unfair and unfounded criticisms of black people because they can’t be racist, they are just being honest. Here is a bit of a newsflash. Saying you are ‘just being honest’ does not make you any less racist. Having black people on your staff does not make you any less racist. Having black people in your congregation…also doesn’t make you any less racist. I am so sorry to tell you. Acknowledging that apartheid was wrong and should never have happened but proceeding to say ‘it’s over now, we are 20 odd years into democracy, black people need to curb this feeling of entitlement, and for heaven’s sake stop bloody toi-toing’…guess what! Yup…also makes you racist, and honestly, it makes you an asshole. The biggest reason that certain women think that men can’t be feminist and certain people think that only 5% of the white population in this country are not racist is because it is extremely difficult to relinquish your power, your maleness, your privilege, your whiteness and open your eyes to what’s really going on in the world.

The woman who so dared to kill a man

A friend of mine wrote “this is so sad. Killed by your very own woman. Unbelievable”. But also, newsflash, no, people being killed by their very own partners is actually very believable. It just happens the other way round. Thousands of women are killed by their intimate partners every single day in this country. There just isn’t as much of an outrage about it. Community members don’t stand outside of magistrate courts and shout “no bail” and taunt the defendant’s family when these scores of women are being slain every day. No one stands outside mag courts and professes what valuable and respected members of society these women were.

I am queer, I am black, I am a woman. And this week I was just pissed off at people shamelessly trying to un-gay me, trying to ‘just be honest’ by making value-judgments about my blackness and by people normalizing the violence against my body.

How valueless is the life of a woman?

In a relatively short space of time the NGO I work for has pretty much become a CBO. We are in a township/informal settlement 3 days a week. When I started working at LvA people would ask me if it wasn't depressing working everyday with women who are beaten and raped. And I would reply no. Working with the women is not depressing, what was depressing was the justice system. The domestic violence and sexual offenses acts are really progressive. The stuff liberal governments are made of. The implementation of these laws, however, is about as backwards and archaic as you can get. As the organisation has grown (seeing more and more clients) and as I have grown as a feminist I am realising that the backwards and archaic that I am talking about is really what the modern is made out of. Queue the music that is suitable for a depressed soul.

My tune for the “is working with women who are beaten and raped depressing” question has changed. I am not only depressed with the justice system, I am now depressed with society at large. The story I hear from every client, day in and day out, is pretty much the same. They are literally being terrorized, every single day of their lives, by men who think they own them. Men who think women are possessions. THEIR possessions. To be beaten and raped as and when they please, because after all, who is she if she is not owned by a man?

You know I was so excited when I found feminism, and I still am. But I am so depressed at how much of a luxury it seems to be. This is becoming more and more apparent to me. I have heard critics of feminism say that it seems to exist mostly in theory and in academic journals. I am not sure I quite agree with that sentiment but I do see how it only survives and thrives in the select few. The fortunate individuals. Individuals who are learned and fortunate enough to have enough education that they can engage in critical thinking. Because even that, something as basic as critical thinking, is a luxury. But the fact of the matter is that critical thinking is not basic. It is an added extra that most people, most women can’t afford. I think becoming a feminist is dangerous for all women. But it is most dangerous for women who are black and poor. Women who live among men who are black and poor. Men who feel the only sense of power they have is over women, defenseless women. Being a feminist is most dangerous for these women, the women who need it the most.