xhosabutterfly

: xhosabutterfly; January 18th, 2008

Current Mood:: contemplative

Current Music:: Star Trek Deep Space Nine (music and poetry to my ears)

A couple of weeks ago, I read the much-talked about The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins. Not an easy read, I must say. When I say not easy to read I don’t mean that it is difficult to read “inflammatory” and “blasphemous” writing. Rather, it is difficult because it raises a lot of questions. Also, some of the concepts are very ‘higher grade’.

At any rate, I learned quite a bit while reading that book, and only now am I really starting to digest what I read. This after having read the book almost a month ago. It was interesting to read about the continuum of religious belief, from atheism to deism. I never knew there was such a thing as a deist. Silly me. And, I got an understandable definition of agnosticism, as opposed to humanism, as opposed to a whole lot of other things.

But one part really stuck with me. I think I’ll have to explain first that Dawkins believes that people should choose their religious affiliation themselves, and to not allow parents and society to bestow religious affiliation on children. He thinks people should be allowed to choose for themselves what they do or don’t believe in. but to take it a step further, he believes that children are damaged psychologically when religion is foisted upon them. Some strong words there.

But not necessarily untrue are they?

When I was young, I went to a Catholic convent school. I’m not Catholic, and I remember that the Catholics and non-Catholics were separated during the Scripture classes. I always used to wonder what the hell the Catholic kids were doing in those classes that we weren’t allowed to go to. Especially as all the kids who were in that group were white, and all the non-Catholics were Black. It brought a whole ‘nother dimension to it. Anyway, we would cool our heels with a teacher who would, I guess, teach us the non-Catholic version of whatever it was we were supposed to know.

But what we were taught in those classes was just plain scary. At one point, I had trouble going to the toilet because I was scared that God was watching, and I was doing something I shouldn’t. I used to have very vivid nightmares about hell because my teacher, Mrs Schmidt I believe was her name, told us that when you went to hell, you would burn in the hottest fire you could imagine, and you’d be looking up at all those people who went to heaven. You wouldn’t be with your family, or your friends. You’d have Satan jabbing his pointed fork at you, and you’d be very, very miserable.

I had a very vivid imagination as a kid. I could just see my parents looking down from heaven at me and crying because I wasn’t in heaven with them. This was all compounded by the fact that I hadn’t seen either of my parents in over a year because they were overseas studying. So all I could think for a long time was that I would die, and I’d never get to be with my parents again. Added to that, my grandmother, who I was living with at the time, while a wonderful woman in many respects, she was completely unsympathetic to my overworked imagination. These are not fond memories.

So when I read what Dawkins had to say about ‘putting the fear of God’ into children (my words, not his), the child in me really understood what he was talking about. I found myself nodding as I read that part of the book. I resonated because every now and again, I still get feelings of guilt when I think something I “shouldn’t” or feel, or do something I “shouldn’t”.

Maybe I’m the idiot, and that’s exactly what religion is supposed to do, force conformation through fears bred in childhood. Or else the way in which religion is instilled needs some retooling. Which is not to say that I think religion should be scrapped. My thinking is not there yet. At this point, my issue is mode of instruction, not content.

Of course, to not instil religion does not mean one throws out the baby with the bathwater, and not teach values. The two are mutually exclusive. One can teach values without teaching religion.

nothing like a book to call you to bed

: xhosabutterfly; January 14th, 2008

Current Location:: In the office

Current Mood:: sleepy

There’s nothing quite like a book that keeps you awake. Even if you meet the next day bleary eyed and fuzzy minded, there’s truly nothing like a book that keeps you turning the pages.

Last night I started a book that I was quite sceptical about. But as I kept reading, the more I got involved in the story. Until, before I knew it, the sky was getting lighter. I couldn’t even look at the time because I knew that as soon as I knew the time, I would spend the rest of the next day, today, repeating in my mind how I’d only had two or three hours of sleep.

The wonderful thing about this book is that even when I had finally forced myself to turn off the light and try and get some sleep, I was still so much a part of the world that the book had invoked, that I dreamed I was part of the story. I became a character in the story, and I interacted with the other characters and I was motivated to do all sorts of things. Now that’s a good book.

I remember the first time I stayed up all night and into the next day to read a book. It was the last book of the Anne of Green Gables series, Rilla of Ingleside. I remember that by the time I finished the book, I was sobbing like a baby because I had become so involved in the story. But I was satisfied, sated with my experience with the book. No wonder I still have a soft spot in my heart for Anne of Green Gables.

Since then, there have been a number of books that have kept me awake. And every time I am kept awake by a book, I am not regretful. Like today for instance, I’m somewhere beyond exhausted. Can’t think to save my life, can’t speak properly, don’t know how I’ll manage to drive home. But it was worth it.

Mind you, a book that keeps you awake isn’t always necessarily a good book. Just one that tells the story so well that you can’t put it down, and you can’t wait till you get back home just so you could read some more of it.

I can’t wait to get home and read my book. Work be damned.

Black/black and Black/black enough?

: xhosabutterfly; January 7th, 2008

Current Location:: in the office

Current Mood:: contemplative

Current Music:: the sound of oppressive sience in an office space

I’m currently involved in a long term debate with a friend of mine about the nature of Blackness. Although I mostly have this discussion with this one particular friend, someone will ways make a comment that is pertinent to the discussion. Before I go into our latest topic, I want to add something quickly.

In writing my Masters dissertation, a lot of my dissertation included some discussion on the nature of the African. Who is African, who isn’t? Are Africans people who live in Africa, or are Africans anyone anywhere in the world who believe they are African. And so on. During the editing process of my dissertation, my editor questioned why I referred to Black people as “Black” people and not “black” people. Notice the capitalization.

There is a difference, he told me. To capitalize Black is to say that Black is something specific. Almost to say that “Black” is a specific ethnicity. But in a country like South Africa, one is never simply Black. They are black and Something Else. They are black and they are Xhosa or Zulu, or Sotho. Whatever they may be. Therefore the correct reference is in fact to say that South African people of African descent are black. Not Black. Does that mean African-Americans are Black? Are African-Americans their own specific ethnic group and can therefore be referred to as Black? I’m still working on this question.

Back to the question I had asked my friend recently. She sent me an article about Condoleeza Rice. A very interesting article because it discussed Ms Rice’s history. Who she is, where she was born, her family, and so on. Basically the article was asking how it is that Condoleeza Rice is such an aberrant Black (or is it black?) person. The article questions how Condoleeza Rice, as a person with brown skin, can be so unfeeling towards her brown-skinned brethren.

My question is why should she demonstrate any fellow feeling for people who share the same skin colour as her? Why is it that Black people expect other Black people to always stand up for and represent other Black people? And if Black people don’t stand up for Black people, they are seen as people either trying to deny what they are, or people who are trying to be something else. That something else is usually white.

Where do Black people get off expecting so much of prominent Black people? Every Black person of prominence is expected to carry a torch for the rest of us, from Oprah to Beyonce. They can’t refuse, because if they do, they’re called coconuts or sell-outs or worse. If they do acknowledge their colour, but do not say what ‘we’ feel they should say, we ask ‘what’s up with so and so, how could he or she misrepresent us like that?’ Surely their only responsibility they should be held to is to represent themselves and who or what they are, rather than what we would wish them to be.

I know I would not want to represent Black people. Not least because Black people cannot decide what they are. Some people are too Black while others aren’t Black enough. Some Black people are trying to be Black while others aren’t trying hard enough. It doesn’t even help to claim Black for yourself, because someone will always question just how Black you are. They question the languages you speak or don’t speak; the accent with which you speak these languages. They question your hairstyle. They question the clothes you wear. They question where you love, and with whom. They question the choices you make with your friendships and personal relationships. Hell, everything is open for debate, and you are always found wanting.

i'm pissed off. so what's new?

: xhosabutterfly; November 9th, 2007

Current Location:: the office

Current Mood:: pissed off

Current Music:: D'Angelo - Voodoo

a few weeks ago i was wearing a low cut dress. i wanted to feel good. i didn't even think about the fact that a good bit of my chest was out on display, i was feeling good. i'm a firm believer in dress well in order to feel good.

anyway.

I had lunch with a friend. a guy friend. after a while i noticed that his eyes kept returning to my chest. i got irritated after a while, and pointed out to him that his eyes were traveling chestward too often. he told me that since my dress showed a good bit of my cleavage, i shouldn't really be offended by the fact that his eyes were drawn there. after all, wasn't that the point of a low cut dress.

I've been chewing on that one for a while now. I think i have an answer.

no, i do not wear a low cut dress for eyes to come my way. no, it just so happens that when i wear clothes with the intent of looking good for myself, i don't wear those clothes to attract eyes. no. i need to feel good. therefore i dress for it.

but another thing that bothered was why his excuse was that i was wearing the dress, so why not?

can guys not lure their eyes from breasts? would it kill them to look elsewhere? in fact, if they do look, could they not be more damned subtle? i think my problem is not the looking, so much as it is the manner of looking. there's no finesse in the way most guys look. they look to make sure that you, as a woman know they're looking.

it makes me wonder about the motives. am i supposed to feel flattered when i'm being ogled at by an almost drooling man? am i supposed to feel cheap? am i supposed to then cover up?

Growing up is too hard to do

: xhosabutterfly; May 8th, 2007

Right. Couple of days off work and finally my mind starts to free itself up to things that I should have been thinking about long before. Like dropping a line here for instance.

I’ve decided I don’t want to grow up. I’ve had enough. It’s boring as hell and frankly I enjoyed being a child. What galls me even more is that fact that growing up more often that not means repeating the same experiences. Only difference is that you have a couple of years in between experiences. It’s a never-ending loop of the same old shit.

Think about it. Those chicks who pointed at you an laughed behind their hands when they knew you were looking, thereby making you feel like shit are the same sort of chicks who give you that smug, fake smile to your face when you’ve caught them talking about you at work.

Same shit different tactics.

Or those girls back in school who didn’t talk to you “on principle” because you had “taken one of their friends away”. Except that when they don’t talk to you it’s when the groups are smaller, meaning you can feel the exclusion that much more. They do the same damned thing when you’re older. Except now when you’re older, it’s not your mom telling you to try harder to make friends with them. No, it’s your significant other or your best friend who has made a new set of friends.

Same shit, different tactics.

It just doesn’t end. Endless loop of shit. So why bother? The way I see it, fifteen years is enough to give one a good preview of the next 40. Even marriage is a re-run of the family home. Maybe a better or worse one, but re-run nonetheless.

I figure children are not a re-run in the first blush of parenthood. Then it degenerates into seeing visions of yourself at that age. Except I would imagine that one imagines that they weren’t quite as horrible as their own spawn are.

Why all this cynicism I wonder? I mean, I’m the one writing this and I wonder why I’m being so cynical.

Ah well. Same shit, different day.

Livin in a world i didn't make

: xhosabutterfly; March 29th, 2007

Often I hear that I’m part of a highly desirable demographic: I’m young, I’m Black, I’m educated and I’m female.

Strangely enough, I did not know which of those words should come first: young, Black, educated or female. Should I have added Xhosa? African?

Anyway, I hear I’m a highly desirable demographic. People want people like me in their companies and businesses. But I wonder if that is a good thing. People like me scare me. I look at myself and I see someone confused, someone whose society has yet to find a place for. And in not finding a place for me, my society does not know how to address me. Should they look down on me because I’m a Black female, and in the first place, Black people are lazy ne’er do wells who nonetheless must be employed to fill quotas. Or should they look down on me because colour aside, women are only good for one thing, and I’m not talking about gender quotas.

And yet still, people like me scare me, because even while others do not know how to address me, I do not know how to address myself. I can’t even decide what weight I should be. I look at the skinny White girls I went to school with and I think I should look like that, but then I get told to look how beautiful Beyonce looks with her ‘bootylicious’ ass. But then I look at Beyonce and all I see is a woman who looks like a White girl, save for the fact that her skin is darker than most White people’s. Honestly, her features are Caucasian. Am I supposed to look like her? I’m too dark to look like her! I’m told to relax my hair because ‘it looks better when your hair is straight’ and ‘it’s more manageable’. And yet, to relax my hair, I must burn half my scalp away with toxic chemicals. Why haven’t we come up with a way to make natural hair more manageable? I’m not talking about braids and dreadlocks. Why have we still not come up with a way to deal with natural Black hair?

People like me scare me because we’ve allowed ourselves to get sandwiched between ‘culture’ and ‘modernity’ where we are continually struggling to fulfil the demands of both. We allow our ‘brothers’ to define our space between the two for us. Moreover, whenever we’re are told that we are too ‘modern’, we do not remind our parents that they were the ones who left us in the lurch by not teaching us to respect ourselves first before we let anyone else disrespect us. And if in fact we are ‘coconuts’ who cannot speak our mother tongues properly, it is because they taught us to respect languages that are not own more than our own.

People like me scare me because I wonder if we know where we’re going. I wonder if we can see beyond the need to wear the right clothes, drive the right cars, live in the right suburbs and marry the right men. And surely, I can’t be the only one who’s scared.

To be or not to be a Capitalist Nigger

: xhosabutterfly; February 7th, 2007

Current Music:: Coldplay - A Rush of Blood to the Head

In the past couple of hours, when I really should’ve been working, I’ve been reading the book Capitalist Nigger by Chika Onyeani. Very interesting book, it must be said. It made me think. I must add before I go on that I only started reading this book a couple of hours ago, and only finished a few minutes ago, and so the way I feel about it is mostly undigested. For now.

Onyeani, in his book, claims that Black people everywhere in the world, whether they are on the African continent, the Caribbean, the US, Europe, and wherever else Black people are, that they are enslaved. We as Black people are enslaved in every sense of the word – economically, politically, culturally and socially. According to Onyeani, we as Black people follow, we do not lead. When we sleep, we sleep on furniture that was not crafted by Black people, when we eat, we do not eat food grown by Black people, that in fact none of the products that we so assiduously buy and consume are made by Black people. Even when we kill each other, we kill each other with weapons made by others.

Onyeani also claims that Black people do not support each other, not politically, not economically, not socially and not culturally. African-Americans and Africans have strained relations. We do not trust each other and therefore we do not help each other. That in fact we would rather buy and support White businesses at the expense of Black business.

And one of his other major points was that we do not produce knowledge. There are planty Black academics and what not, but what have they produced? How is it that we know American, British, European history better than we know our own?

All very good points, one must admit. Onyeani says that we need to do as Indian, Chinese, and Jewish people have done, which is to support only ourselves and nobody else. If you’re Black, buy Black.

Again, I don’t disagree. But I have to wonder whether Black people are capable of picking themselves up and doing for ourselves, or have we all gotten complacent with what we have? Or is it that we have told ourselves that we need no more than that which we already have.

I want to buy Black, and support Black. But what am I to do when I go to my Black doctor and I wait two hours in her office to see her but when I go to a White doctor I wait less than ten minutes – twenty minutes at most. Don’t get me wrong, when I finally do get to see my doctor after two hours, I don’t feel as though I’d been rushed through my consultation with her, in fact I walk out feeling like someone listened to me. But a two hour wait?

What am I to do when I walk into a store and the Black shop assistants look down their noses at me and have that ‘you can’t even afford anything in here so why should I bother?’ look when in fact yes, I can afford it, but they themselves can’t and yet they look down at me. In fact, why look at me like that at all? I could’ve sworn that that’s what white people did to Black people, not Black people to Black people.

What am I to do when you ask a Black electrician to come and fix something, and then they take several days to come and even then with a ‘I’ve got better things to be doing’ attitude?

But then again, who am I to be saying such? Am I working to my full potential? The point about Black people not producing knowledge really got to me. I’m an academic and as I was reading through Capitalist Nigger, it struck me that I do not have nearly enough Black sources. Am not looking in the right places? Highly likely of course, I won’t even try and lie. But is the work out there? How is it that in a university department whose dean is Black, where the HOD is Black, that academic works by Black academics are hard to find?

Where is my place in all of this? In this initial assessment of my place in a chain of contributions against the ‘cause’ I can admit that I do not work half as hard as I should. And then I make excuses for not working hard enough. Justifying the unjustifiable. I want more, but I wait for it to come to me, not me to it. And then I resent the inevitable White-boy smart-ass for being a smart-ass when I should maybe wonder where my smart-ass self went.

I’ve worked hard. I know I’ve made my parents proud. I know I’ve made my mentors – life and educational mentors – proud. I know I occupy a space where too many Black females my age do not, and many will not. But I do suspect my own motives. I don’t have the luxury of believing that half of my best is good enough. And yet, more and more, I find myself beginning to justify actions which should not be. I’m getting complacent.

The Miseducation of This Black Girl

: xhosabutterfly; January 14th, 2007

Current Location:: in the office

Current Mood:: cranky

Current Music:: Lauryn Hill - The Miseducation of

i'm in the office during the weekend working on my damned thesis. I have to wonder where sanity has flown off to. i don't work during the weekend for goodness' sake!

There's a part of me that knows that i should know, but i don't. What the hell is the Miseducation of the Negro about? I ask this because i sit here listening to Lauryn Hill's 'The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill' and i know that that title was derived from the first one. Now i have a good idea what Lauryn was going on about, but what exactly was the Negro 'miseducated' about?

I wonder if there is a point where one gets over-educated? Is there such a thing? Talk to certain people and they'll say that to get to certain jobs, you shouldn't be educated over a certain point. Get to other jobs, like the one i'm in now, and they'll say you can never have too many letters after your name, and neither will you ever get to know everything about your particular field.

No, i think it is easier to be miseducated than over-educated. and i wonder then, who does the miseducating? Do i let myself get miseducated or was the information flawed to begin with? hmm? i'm not sure. mostly a but of both.

certainly, when it comes to formal education, i feel i'm getting to the point where its getting to be too much. this damned thesis just won't finish. but i want it. i mean, i want it! i mean, i deserve the damned thing! but i don't want to work for it anymore,

not the informal education - the school of life education - well that kind of education just plain sucks doesn't it? i still want to know if there is anything like true happiness or if we're all just walking around trying to convince ourselves that such a thing exists, just so we could make it through one more damned day. what would we do if we knew with certainty that true happiness truly does not exist? would there be mass suicides or would people take the compromise that a life, any life, is better than no life at all or a life without happiness?

Maybe a little ignorance really is bliss.

and that's a wrap...

: xhosabutterfly; December 29th, 2006

Current Location:: parked in front of my star trek

Current Mood:: hopeful

Current Music:: theme to Voyager

So easy to be indiscreet when you think no one is actually reading everything you happen to write. When you do this kind of online journal type thing you feel as though you're sending thoughts into electronic the ether, into a vacuum. that is of course until it comes back to bite you in the ass. fine.

one of those days again. Blissfully alone. star trek DVDs on the TV. red wine sitting next to me. ah yes. perfect bliss. of course the pity of whole thing (well almost) is that it's the pretty much the end of the year, and all of a sudden one finds oneself reviewing the year. how typical.

well i'm not sure how i feel about this year. it's been neither really good nor really bad. some really shitty parts of course. i'm trying to think of the good parts, and i can't. all the good stuff seems to come from the latter part of 2005. very suspicious. well, not suspicious. sad. getting a job isn't exactly a highlight is it? you've given most of your life to people who suck and suck the life out of you for a piddling salary. i mean, come on! not a highlight!

on the other hand. i get paid. even if a piddling sum.

then there was that other piece of negativity. i will not go into specifics. though i must say, it's good to say that i've let go now.

there's nothing in this world like a friend who tells you exactly what you need to hear, especially when you don't want to hear it. and i do mean that in a good way. if i've learned nothing about friendships this year it is that some friendships are essentially strong while others are fundamentally weak. whether essentially strong or fundamentally weak, they both serve a purpose and that is to teach. and strangely enough, it is those friendships you expect least from that can become stronger. ah well. 'tis life is it not?

those who appear strong, or rather those you wish would be strong simply cannot always be strong. strangely enough, this year has been a record in my life for males being unable to come up to scratch. my scratch that is. and perhaps their scratch too. and i must say, that's hard. it's hard to set the bar for someone or have someone set it up and keep it up and then have that bar fall. it hurts and its not fair. too bad the experience is bound to be repeated.

i don't know. i feel like i've just gotten older, not necessarily happier. or wiser. wiser? what's that?

too mellow now. it's all over and it's done. time for something new

Honesty is such an easy word pt 2

: xhosabutterfly; December 12th, 2006

Current Mood:: pissed off

I was on messenger last week. at least i think it was last week. anyway. up pops a message from some...one. i didn't know who he was. he said he knew me. i, of course, was very skeptical. i only messenger people i know. at any rate, after a too long argument abou the fact that i sure as shit did not know who he was. so he asks for my pictures. i decline. simply because i was using a pc that didn't have my pics.he persists.

now i must admit, i had another reason for declining. obviously, i'm black. and i did this chat thing long before it became 'the thing' to do or whatever. i know how most people react to the 'black' thing. i know that sometimes to actually talk to someone for longer than a minute you either obfuscate or you outright lie,about the fact of your race. if you happen to be black that is. i got sick of that so many eons ago. but i thought to myself, let this asshole prove himself.

i give him myspace address. he takes a look. then sends me brb.

uh huh. right.

now i don't take issue with the fact that he disappeared. i don't take issue with the fact that so many disappear after learning that i'm black. there have been times when i've been chatting up a storm with someone, and as soon as the race thing comes up, poof, they're gone.

what i want to know is, why can't people just out and out say "i don't chat to non-whites"? why can't people just say outright that they're not comfortable with people of other races, or that they prefer to narrow they're knowledge of other people to people who look like them?

in South Africa, one learns there are two types of racists: those who hate you for the fact that you're Black and tell you to your face; and there are those who hate the fact that you're black and are also deeply prejudiced but who pretend that you're their next best friend.

i prefer those who tell me that they hate me and my Blackness upfront. why bother lying? like i can't tell when someone is being insincere or downright rude or out-and-out racist? like i care about what they think?

Indeed, honesty is such an easy word. yet a difficult concept to put to practice.

and you know, petty racism is the worst kind of racism.

Honesty is such an easy word

: xhosabutterfly; December 11th, 2006

Current Mood:: cynical

I think Billy Joel had a point there. Honesty is such an easy word, and yet it is very hard to do.

I go out with my friends on Friday, we have a couple of Double Jamesons and a few cocktails. so we're nice and mellow. Get to this restaurant, and we're seated next to these two good-looking guys. Belgians. i get to practice my french, they get to polish the english. so we're having fun. they invire us to go to a club with them. mais oui gentlemen. couple of cocktails later, things get...friendlier with one of the very fine Belgians. even more so that is, but not freaky. i'm a good girl. nice music, nice moves, dimmed lights, alcohol. i mean hello!

three o'clock in the morning we go our separate ways and by the time four o' clock hits, i'm at my front gate and i get a phone call and it's the fine Belgian, checking that i got home ok. i think 'hmmm. could get interesting.' wait for the phone call the next day.

I get a phone call alright. from my friend, who tells me that a friend of a friend of a friend told her that fine Belgian is...married.

I mean, come on!

Send a message to fine Belgian that he's married. to which he says, and i quote "who is giving you those info anyway..." i tell him, a friend. and that judging from the answer, obviously there's a wifey somewhere.

he answers " No. no. No...about to yes. But since i met you i don't know."

I mean, brother please!

who's afraid of being alone

: xhosabutterfly; November 21st, 2006

Current Location:: Blissfully alone!

Current Mood:: thoughtful

Current Music:: Billy Joel - She's Always a woman

finally. things are on the upswing. amazing how sometimes things can just fall into place.

I'm alone for the week. and what a wonderful feeling that is. i never did understand people who cannot be alone, people who need company constantly. I was never that kind of person. i think my cousins killed whatever love of company i had. doesn't every normal want time to themselves to chill and just be. walk around the house naked, play the music loudly and sing along, even if you're out of tune?

i got drunk all by myself once. all alone. one of the best nights i've ever had. i wasn't feeling down; i'd had two glasses of wine and suddenly everything was A-okay. so okay in fact that i wrote poems on every available surface. on mirrors, on windows. it was lovely. i was so in love with myself that night. in a good way of course. i was in love with myself in the kind of way that you forget how to be because life happens and you forget all about loving thyself.

you can't share that kind of happy. it would ruin the whole thing. they'd look at you with sullen eyes and you'd see the critique in their eyes. they'd look at you as though you're crazy because after all, who says they're in love with themselves out loud (or even in their heads?)?

i love being alone. at least i can feel normal, even if only for a short while.

swimming in a cocktail haze

: xhosabutterfly; November 16th, 2006

and not an alcoholic cocktail haze either.

being ill tends to remind one how fragile life is. well. it's much easier to ruminate on mortality when one has control of their faculties isn't it? when you find yourself swimming in a mediacated haze you find yourself thinking of sleeping all the time. counter to the point of being ill isn't it?

obviously, i'm not well. nursing a now five day old headache which is getting worse each day and trying to find a reason to go to a doctor. surely a five day old headache is reason enough, most would think. no, not for me.

every time i think of doctors i think of Dr N. Doctor N was very generous with injections. i think she didn't believe a person could get better without an injection. mind you, i was ill a lot back in my younger days. every other week i had to see Dr N, and every other week i'd have to bare my ass so she could mutilate my body with whatever the hell she was shooting up my ass. i swear she could a sadistic pleasure out of it. i remember one time she was quite literally straddling me and holding me down with her knees to give me that injection. surely, surely, it wasn't that necessary to hold me down! whatever happened to alternative treatments?

i don't know who was worse, Dr N or my grandmother. because i was sick so much, Makhulu made it her mission in life to get me better. tried every trick in the book and then some. at one point she had me drinking a vile concoction made up of stewed lettuce, malt, honey, and all of other vile ingredients. and it had to sit out in the sun every day to get it working. shite. the things that woman put me through...

but you know what Makhulu? I love you anyway. so what that i have a thing against medication? so what if i only go to the doctor when i'm near dying? so what if i'm a hypochodriac? it's all good! you did it out love.

coconuts

: xhosabutterfly; November 14th, 2006

Current Location:: at the desk

Current Mood:: cynical

Current Music:: sade - lovers rock

the other day i read an article that listed all the characteristics of a coconut (black on the outside, white on the inside). things like, if you watch Star Trek, if you have problems speaking in your mother-tongue, if you can't pronounce some Black names, if you eat sushi and enjoy it, if you think pap is nasty makes your hands dirty and so on...

There was also one for white people. i forget the euphemism for white people, but it's something along the lines of some or other edible food. anyway, the white people's one went something along the lines of if you have dreadlocks or braid your hair, if you wear all-stars, if you have a 'Black' nickname, if you listen to kwaito or rap and so on and on...

it got me thinking. what the hell is this obsession with how black you are, how white you are, or how indian you are? is it something to do with people not feeling comfortable with themselves or something? do they feel inadequate in some way so they have to put other people down.

i got particularly offended by the star trek thing. i love my ST, but am i now a wanna-be white just cos i enjoy star trek? am i trying to run away from my black self just because i feel so insecure about the way i speak my tongue Xhosa? the only people who speak Xhosa with me are my parents and they're very forgiving about grammatical errors, but other Xhosas sure as hell aren't? and truly, why screw up a perfectly good language through unintended grammatical obscenities?

and sushi tastes good damn it!!

to be perfectly honest, i know that that article bothered me because there are plenty of times when i don't feel "Black enough".

but what the hell is "Black enough"? i get the feeling sometimes that this whole "Black enough" discussion revolves around money. there's a hell of a lot of resentment for middle class people out there. things like 'perfect' English accents, Star Trek and sushi seem to signify middle class, and ghod help you if you middle class prentensions which aren't really pretensions because that's who you are.

if all that means i'm a coconut then so be it.

just one of dem days

: xhosabutterfly; October 31st, 2006

Current Mood:: chipper

Current Music:: looping Aretha's Respect

i saw a friend of mine last night. i suppose i should call her friend cos i don't know what else to call her. one of those friends you lose along the way and when you try and find the reasons why you're not friends anymore, everything seems so fuzzy. then you see the friend again and you think to yourself 'aah. that's why'. well anyway, i saw her, and she was looking good. all bright eyed and bushy tailed and i was looking well, not.

i woke up this morning thinking things have got to change! I must take care of myself. look good, for cryin' out loud!

A few weeks ago, after having tried to sort a relationship mess, i decided i'm going to put on that dress. you know, the kind of dress that every woman has, the kind of dress that makes them feel sexy as hell, and look sexy as hell.

ok no, i didn't decide... i had a sleeping pill induced epiphany that i would not be alive for much longer, so damn it, i would go out in a blaze of glory. in my favourite 'fuck me' dress.

i looked good.

except, on the day i wore my 'fuck me' dress, i had to meet the ex so we could swop each other's personal effects. i could just see him thinking, "you're doing this to make me feel like a shit aren't you. you're wearing that dress to try and get me back aren't you"

Lord knows that was not my intention. but damn it, it sure as hell helped to be looking as good as i did. because that whole episode hurt.

There is a point to this. I'm just meandering to it.

when women decide to look good, and sexy and alluring and whatever, who are they doing it for? i'll be the first to admit that some of my choices have been made for the express purpose of eliciting a response. but not all the time. not even most of the time. but then again, whatever the reason, i make the choice consciously. but i get to thinking that other women don't make the choice consciously. they do it to impress others (usually male others). because they have to, supposedly.

i was reading a book called Female Chauvinist Pigs a little while ago. Well worth the reading. anyway, i'm starting to think women have lost the plot. completely. when ten year olds start putting on make up and g-strings to impress pimply little boys and says a peep, something has gone so far wrong that it's scary.

it's like global warming, a silent killer that eats away at you more and more each day, and by the time the alarm bells start going off, it'll be too damned late. but this women problem is a killer of the soul.

i don't know about everyone else, but the thought of soul-less, mindless women and girls just makes me sick. and yet if you say these things out loud, all of a sudden you're labelled some sort of femi-nazi.

i'm just getting sicker by the day

the face of evil

: xhosabutterfly; September 19th, 2006

the face of evil is sometimes that of the people you love. how thoroughly sad is that?

how is it that those we love tend to hurt us the most?

Ok, somewhat obvious answer. those we love most hurt us most because we let them in the most. still. just an observation.

yesterday i read an article that calculated the cost of raising a child over 24 years. of course, the price is astronomical. but lately i think that some of the most evil people in the world are those who have children just because they can, and don't think of the consequences of having a child. in other words, most of us are the face of evil.

honestly though, people just don't think through what having a child really means. most people think 'i want a child, and so i will have one', yet they seem to forget that the whole point: that they are bringing a new human being in this world. When people think about having children, it seems to me that too many have children as a means towards self-gratification. 'This child will make me happy/will save my marriage or relationship/will help me be less selfish/will make my family happy', so they seem to think.

Maybe the word evil is a bit strong, but i don't think it's far from apt. I mean, one of the most important human acts is relegated to 'only mildly important' status. no wonder so many people are messed up, we think so little of ourselves. the way i see it, people should not have children unless at the very least they are willing and prepared to at least want to do their best.

In fact, if were being perfectly honest., i think people should not be allowed to have kids unless they can demonstrate both the will and the ability to raise children. ability meaning more than just the biological necessities to concieve a child. ability means age, life experience, economic ability and emotional ability. of course, if that were to be implemented immediately and strictly, the world's population would drop drastically. which at the moment, i must say, i'm not convinced that less people in the world would be a bad thing. very necessary thing. frankly, if we don't do it, nature will do it for us, in a very unpleasant way.

it's spring day!

: xhosabutterfly; September 1st, 2006

Current Mood:: chipper

i have betrayed the cause. or at least it feels like it.

i have a job. or at least i mostly have a job, i'm waiting for all the relevant papers.

I'm not quite sure how to feel about this yet. one part of me feels happy that i have a job. at least i won't be as broke. but at the same time... damn it, i have a job. all my freedom gone. i sold myself to the bondage of the capitalist machine.

Right.

Spring is here, happy days are almost upon us. i'm convinced i was born on a very hot day. how else to explain my obsession with heat and sunshine? does being born on a hot day mean you'll prefer hot weather, i wonder? speaking of which, does astrology work? i'm starting to wonder...

i've momentarily run out of things to say...

happily unliberated

: xhosabutterfly; August 26th, 2006

Current Mood:: peaceful

Current Music:: miriam makeba

I read my horoscope the other day. it told me my depression is not impressing anyone, so i should get up off my ass and do something for myself.

indeed.

so i bought myself sheets and pillowcases. y'know, there's something liberating in buying your own linens. that's what i discovered today. okay yes, so they're just linens, not a whole apartment or a car. i'll be living at home for the foorseeable future and i'm just fine with that! rent free is stress free. anyway, back to own linens. they've only been in the house for two hours and i'm already feeling very proprietary. mine mine mine. I'm moving out with them. whenever the hell that is.

some people it seems have no trouble with moving away from home. i've always wondered about that. for those who leave home asap, was life at home with the parents stressful? is that why they're in a rush to leave? some people have the nerve to look down on types like me who seem to have intention of moving out of the house. the thing is though, its bloody expensive living away from home! and i happen to like the people i live with (the family). or maybe i'm too attached to the apron strings. whatever.

i like my sheets.

The Art of Letting Go

: xhosabutterfly; August 2nd, 2006

Current Mood:: drained

Current Music:: AC

Here I am.

Alone.

But then again, it’s a Tuesday night and I’m slightly tipsy. Tipsy on days like this is good. It just struck me that feeling all wrong is actually a normal feeling, and I wonder how and why feeling off can actually be a normal thing. It reminds me of what Agent Smith Says in The Matrix, that human beings could never be satisfied with perfection, because we’d find something wrong with perfection. Maybe it’s part of the human condition to find something wrong with something at all times.

But of course there comes a time when shit just isn’t right. I got to thinking this past couple of days (cos I’m in that space where I’m mentally not ok, and just barely ok physically) that as much as it is part of the human condition to find imperfection, there really is nothing wrong with introspection, even when that introspection hurts.

I think to a large extent, people these days go to extremes to not have to think. I know I do. However, I have both the fortune and misfortune of doing a Masters’ degree by research, which leaves me entirely too much time to think. The problem with thinking is that it leaves one with a perfect excuse for non-action.

I won’t lie, non-action can be such a peaceful place to be. You pretend that it’s a comfortable state of being. Yet at the same time you know it’s highly destructive. It’s one thing to see it in yourself. It’s another thing entirely to see those you love and care about go through the same thing. Especially when they’re going through that indecisive stage at the same time as you.

At this time, when I talk about indecisiveness I’m not talking about indecisivess about jobs (I’ve already made my decision). The worst sort of indecision is that which affects relationships. Especially relationships into which one has invested time and emotion in copious amounts.

I think we (or maybe just I) get to a point where we feel that there’s something else, or more. We think that there’s something else, but when that something else is the end of the road, or even a bend in the road, we tend to reject that reality and look to the fantasy.

I’ve been looking to the fantasy for quite a long time now. In all my relationships. My relationship with my family, my relationship with my friends, and my relationship with my significant others. I’ve realized in the past while that indecisiveness is not caused by lack of choice or something as mundane as that. Rather, it is caused by fear. Maybe fear of being alone, or fear of rejection, or fear of failure. We don’t want to accept that decisiveness means all of those things, sometimes all at once. The prospect of fear hurts. The prospect or anticipation of fear is also highly destructive. Then again, that is also the human condition.

I have a thing for letting go. In other words, I can’t. I have yet to reach the point where I realize that people can and should make their own decisions, independently of me, even if those decisions affect me directly. Moreover, I need to learn that whatever decisions people make, even those that affect me, I’ll be fine. Because I have my own choices to make. To inhibit others’ choices means inhibiting my own. Tough lesson.

You know, Adult Contemporary music ain’t half bad. Makes a good soundtrack to writing of the ‘serious’ sort…

The trouble with being a woman

: xhosabutterfly; July 30th, 2006

Current Mood:: content

Current Music:: Aretha Franklin - Respect

In the world we live in, we live with ideas about ourselves, and ideas that others create for us. Sometimes, of course, there is a confluence between the two. But what I’m thinking on right now is, who created what and decided women should live with it?

A few weeks ago, my family and I were talking about being a woman in South Africa, More specifically we were talking about the ideas some men have of women. Ideas like however independent we may be before marriage, the man is definitely the head of the house (and no goddamned arguments about that, thank you very much!). That wifey will have dinner ready and waiting when husband comes home. And when husband wants it, wifey will spread for husband. Of course these are universal male expectations.

But then there are those other ideas males seem to hold dear to their hearts. For instance, males are entitled and deserve every female’s attention. No matter who that male is or how they approach you. I remember one occasion when I was walking around the neighborhood in Uitenhage. We were on home leave from D.C at that particular time so I was feeling somewhat nervous and excited at being back in what was rapidly becoming a ‘foreign’ environment even though I was born there. At any rate, during my walk, I hear this guy hollering from across the field.

‘Hey, you! Come over here! I want to talk to you!’

Now, nobody talks to me that way. Hell no. So I ignore him, of course. He yells louder. Of course, he’s attracting attention from those who were in the vicinity. After hollering a few more times he yells

‘Well fuck you, you’re not pretty anyway.” To which those in hearing distance laugh of course.

I may have been much younger at the time, but the complete lack of respect really ticked me off. Not only that, but had that guy been any closer to me, say within arms length, he may have grabbed me to get hold of my attention, as well as become physically aggressive.

Another belief is that, yes indeed, the female body exists solely for the pleasure of the male gaze, and if at all possible, the male touch. More crudely, the female body belongs to men. If the statistics on rape and sexual abuse against women are anything to go by, this is one of the biggest problems faced by women in this country. Now, others may say put forward other factors that influence the high levels of rape in this country, but I think one of the biggest reasons is that there are still many out there who objectify women and see them as playthings. This gives them the right to violate women. Misogyny is a multi-faceted thing after all.

Yes, women (and men as well) want their physical beauty to be appreciated, but there is a point where the ‘appreciation’ becomes violation. When someone is staring at your breasts and you can see that they’ve completely undressed you in their mind, then that is violation. But so many either do not know the difference or they choose to ignore it altogether.

Never mind that special brand of male who believes that girl-children are fair game because ‘they’ll have sex sooner or than later, so what difference does it make?’ But I won’t go there right now.

I could go on forever, really. But when does it get to be enough? When do we get to the point that we say no, not anymore. You will not do that to me.

I started this off with a lot of piss and vinegar, but i seem to have lost it all.

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