i wanna talk about love real quick, stay with me.

i know that writing can be really hard. i am writing this partly as an excuse to get away from the research for the marxist feminism series i’m working on and also partly because its long overdue.

writing requires so much energy. and i think anyone who writes anything can agree that it is a skill that will always command sharpening. it requires the ability to sit with one’s own voice long enough to tolerate hearing it, over and over again.

if your niche is politics and history, you need to dedicate proper time to researching and fact-checking your work. that is, if your goal is to produce well informed pieces to your audience.

if your niche is personal essays, you constantly need to hop aboard the emotional rollercoaster that comes with reliving a moment in time. during the storytimes or reflections/observations about love, life, lust, addiction etc. you have to put a mirror to your past self and ask “who was i?” “what motivated me?” “have i changed?” “am i better?” “am i worse?”

maybe socio-cultural commentary on music, movies, fashion or whatever else feels like finding your voice to you. (shoutout for literally having a stack dedicated to skin health).

at anytime you can talk about whatever you want on here, and that’s mostly a good thing. (freedom of speech does go both way i guess)

to me, writing has always been a tool to communicate the incommunicable. i sometimes struggle to speak the things that matter out loud, and so i write. while language will always fail to completely bridge the gap between i, who dwells the central abyss of my soul and i, who is writing to you now. it does come closer than anything else.

i think to take sounds, that then become words and finally thread those words together to weave infinite realities out of the coldest air and manage to bring another human into the folds of your mind, the deepest creases of your brain is a power anyone is capable of harnessing if you let go of the ego. your own desires for instant gratification via clicks can lead to transgressive acts of debauchery that poison the community as a whole. the need to steal is a result of that poison within ones own well of creativity. it is indicative of a well that has either run dry or been neglected far too long. and all that, in favour of a couple double taps that ultimately equate to nothing other than algorithmic pillow talk. its not real, especially when its not even yours.

however this is not solely an individual problem - creativity is a muscle. one that needs consistent exercise and with the way the school system is set up in south africa, unless you are doing creative arts subjects you rarely get to explore that side of yourself. i think the joy of a platform like substack comes from the sheer fact that its a medium of expression that is almost completely lawless (for better or for worse). you are allowed to be a beginner. you are allowed to have typos and misuse words that you were trying out. at some point in your life you didn’t know how to hold a pen, and now the bone deep indents in your fingers are proof of a youth once curious to learn, to know, to become.

that’s what this place is. a place of becoming time and time again. you will never be the best writer because when you wake up the next day you will have found a better way to expresses yourself. and that’s beautiful.

LISTEN TO ME! IT IS BEAUTIFUL TO NEVER BE FINISHED. THIS MAKES LIFE WORTH PURSUING.

the pull of AI and plagiarism in the arts to me has always boiled down to one thing. laziness. and i don’t mean the capitalistic connotation of the word, i mean the lazy that wants the effects without the cause. the praise without the work in silence. the lazy that would rather spend 5 mins creating an ultra specific prompt for an image that will be used to discuss the political economy and jobless (which always seemed oxymoronic to me, but i digress) the type of lazy that would regurgitate an article from someone else with no acknowledgement whatsoever - and by this i mean, substack is a platform of ongoing conversations right, and more often than not there will always be atleast 2 people talking about a similar topic (i literally have a series on feminism, please look up the word feminism on here and take a shot for every article that appears RIP in advance) it is okay to have a similar thoughts and contribute to a larger discussion because you know why it wouldn’t be copying? you using your unique writing voice. simple as that.

quick tips on how to not be accused of plagiarism:

• don’t steal people’s work.

i am sympathetic to the fear of rejection, i also understand that it can feel enticing to want to gain notoriety on a platform. to feel seen as the probably intelligent person one is. however stealing in any capacity, creative laziness in any shape is not just a notch down on ones integrity and character it also spoils the joys you could find in the writing process for yourself.

as exhausting as it is to sit through hours of video essays and reading intensely difficult academic papers, i wouldn’t be doing anything else. this is me. i love the splitting headache that comes from hours of research. and as painful as it still is to reflect on the past, i would not trade it for anything - it is my past, no one else will examine it for me.

i leave you with my confession, may you find hope in it;

i feel out of my depth every time i have my pen in hand. she wants to take me places i’m not always ready to go. i fear that i may have an ambition that outpaces my skill and everyone can tell but me. i am worried that i may one day stop writing for myself and start writing for something else. despite these anxieties, i trust her anyway, because when i put fingerprint to keyboard, when the ink starts to darken the edges of my fingers and the center of my hand cramps, all that ego melts away and i let her take the wheel. our journey to the final punctuation of my revelation is when i am at my most free.

we’re still getting to know each other, it will always be that way. for that i am grateful.

love writing more than attention.

love the feeling of a long overdue emotional reflection more than being relatable.

love finding your own voice in a world that consistently wants to sell you another’s.

love is the only thing you need to be a writer.

so open that notebook, notes app, draft page and love black child

-Lock, M. and Scheper-Hughes, N. 1987. The mindful body

my uterus hates me and the feeling is mutual.

i’ve had painful, near debilitating periods since my first period in grade 6.

each month my ovaries twist and turn to release half of a possible baby and my womb readies itself to host the guest.

and given my condition (the one that makes my skin crawl when a male organ is exposed near me)

i never receive the other 50% of this guest and so it punishes me with the worst pain for 5 WHOLE DAYS.

FIVE. WHOLE. DAYS.

i have sought solutions, time and time again. every night on the first day of this torturous cycle after i have already spent 2 hours complaining to my friends, making them promise to be there at the party ill throw after i get a hysterectomy at 21. i pull up google.

“how to kill my uterus?”

“how to stop periods?”

“how to take my ovaries out at home no glue. no borax.”

my concern has never been about remaining fertile. if the solution renders me barren. please please i’m on my knees begging the doctors to do it.

but according to them “you’re still young, you could change your mind”

i always thought i would rather regret not having kids than regret having them, i don’t need to suffer through this just because of some “what if?” mentality. my period serves no greater purpose to me, it doesn’t serve as a reminder for when ill become #bigmomma.

my first time to the gynaecologist was so awkward.

i was unsure what to expect when i walked in there, and my gynae was a man so that just increased my awkwardness.

i walked in and he didn’t even look me in the eyes when he opened my file that was in his hand and asked:

“ore bothata ke eng sesi?”

i explained how during the 2 days before as well as during my period i feel like a hot serrated knife is being slowly etched across my lower abdomen and i experience drastic changes in temperature every hour, oh and i want kill everyone around me.

then he said

“take off everything and put on the gown”

i was on my period that day and he didn’t care a damn...i guess when you do this enough years you’ve seen it all.

he first checked for breast cancer. all good👍🏾

then he pulled out the transvaginal ultrasound thingy...this one

i need the people in medicine reading this to please discover less invasive methods for gynaecology. i don’t think they exist but please try.

he puts lube then a condom on it.

😍😍everyone remembers their first time😍😍

he places it inside and i’m literally shaking the entire time and he keeps looking at the screen in front of him while telling me to relax.

when it’s finally inside far enough to see the ovaries properly we are both watching the screen as he presses my stomach and swirls the thing around.

i’ve never seen my own ovaries before...I’ve never thought of them as “my own”...they just mistreat me so much that i have resorted to seeing us more as neighbours. almost as if i live up in my mind and occasionally in my heart. but they exist in the abdomen and they just torture me for a week out of every month to remind me of their residency.

looking at them on that big screen and seeing him point to all these clumps and speak so clinically about the discovery of 4 overgrown cysts on each ovary, these things were an actual problem, that i have to deal with.

- the semi-permanent solution is drainage but the operation costs a full years tuition.

- the temporary solution is a prescription that needs a new consultation every month.

i remember wanting to put my own hand up there and pull everything out myself.

in the meantime i have had to find ways to work it out

the meantime being second year, first semester - medical anthropology. our big assignment for the semester is called “embodiment”, it weighed 30% of the final grade, so it was vital that i do not play around.

the embodiment assignment is the crown jewel of the medical anthropology course.

essentially the challenge is to complete a bodily practice you have never done before for 5 days and write about the experience but obviously as an anthropologist. it was due in april, so i had 3 full month to work on this.

i was spending a couple hours a day on some brainstorming, “maybe some pole dancing” “maybe i should walk barefoot around town all week” “go a week to campus not wearing a bra” etc etc. all to no avail, i wasn’t finding THE ONE.

until one weekend, with just under a month till the due date, while i was watching bugonia high as a kite with a friend of mine over some dunked wings, i see it.

i have a bodily problem approaching soon, my period.

and i seemingly have a solution, 40 pieces of 2.5mg sativa.

i was staring at my embodiment thesis.

after consulting with my tutor to confirm i was abiding by the ethical code, i finally got the green light.

the week of my period rolls around and i start the experiment:

i was feeling so 327.

i was a real anthropologist that whole week. i didn’t want to come off as if i was using this assignment as an excuse to just get high. i wanted to be taken seriously, and i was actually doing it for my own sake, i wanted to see if these edibles could actually offer a solution.

i tried to find as many credible studies on how CBD in its many forms has been used to treat dysmenorrehea1 and as you can already guess, there wasn’t nearly enough. but there were a few notable studies that aided in my understanding of how the CBD could actually effect a person mensurating person.

while reading, i was documenting every step. i consolidated the data onto a data sheet that i submitted alongside my essay.

my findings by the end of the week were mixed, i had high hopes for this (pun intended). seriously, i wanted this experiment to work out for me, but there is a physical aspect to the pain i experience that no medicine can reach properly.

having large ovarian cysts means experiencing a ton of torsion, so there is this searing sharpness that comes from that movement, and it happens at a higher frequency during the period, this means that regardless of the type of medication or other healing methods i take, there is no way i can prevent this specific pain.

but that much i knew, even the prescriptions from the gynae couldn’t reach this, what i really wanted to take a look at was at the mental and emotional symptoms of menstruation.

i tend to be the worst on the days leading up to my period but not during it, it sort of feels like a release on my mind and i can just think clearly, and all i can think of clearly is “this hurts, when do i die”.

having taken the edibles i found that i cared less. don’t get me wrong i was still in pain but i just had my mind on other stuff. it didn’t make the pain less however, it was still just as debilitating, so instead of spending a day in pain, i spent a day in bed in pain and high.

i when i was connecting the raw data to the literature i found that, while it is possible to find respite, taking edibles is not a solution i can, in all confidence, offer up as first.

there’s just too many variables involved, and there is a specific dosage you need to actually achieve the effects and that dosage is not something your run of the mill dispensary can legally sell you.

when i get asked by family “anthropology ke eng?” after i tell them my majors for the gajillionth time, i sort of blank. not because i don’t love it, or don’t have passion for it.

i am incredibly passionate about my degree and i love it however i tend to struggle describing my love because there is no sentence easy enough to describe it in a quick conversation le bo’Malume.

“we study culture” that usually works but it doesn’t capture its full essence. anthropology, in all its sects, is about people. it is about humanity and how we exist amongst the earth, each other and our inventions. it is about understanding why we function the way we do and predicting where we are headed.

the first step to becoming a good anthropologist is being curious about us.

as i grow deeper and deeper within this field, i can only hope i wake up everyday, as curious as i was yesterday.

Secondly, I need you to place yourself in my shoes, so to properly understand why I approached grade 12 the way I did, it starts in grade 11. this is gonna be a long one so get snacks and headphones.

2022

Terrible year. wouldn’t recommend, but it had its moments. one of those moments was when I got into my first official relationship.

It all starts around april in the debate club at school. our head of debate was the grade 11 english teacher, lovely lady and I miss her every day, she was so good at encouraging me, she saw me for what I was capable of before I did.

Love you down ma’am.

I was co-captain of the club alongside a good friend of mine. Our teacher had managed get some funding for us that year, not as much as the precious curro rugby boys, but enough to get around and compete in tournaments. It was also enough to host a training session on a saturday to introduce the newcomers and refresh the oldcomers on world schools debating.

We had some coaches come over and give us tips and tricks on how to structure speeches, argue well for the full duration of the speech and a bunch of other debater stuff. When lunchtime came around, we had pizzas, and my co and I were doing what captains do, basically making sure everyone was being well fed and enjoying themselves.

While I’m making my rounds across the room I spot this new guy, like totally new, to the school. He was keeping to himself just on his phone eating his pizza and I thought maybe he felt nervous and excluded so I walk towards him to introduce myself and let him know “if there’s anything you need help with just let me know” he responds with “I know you, you introduced yourself at the beginning, I did want to ask you something but you kind of intimidate me”

*rawr*

“I don’t mean to intimidate you, I just want to let you that you can feel comfortable around me and ask about anything debate” - I said this while staring into his eyes, I didn’t know why at the time but his transparency about being intimidated by me awoke something in me. [i would go on discover the term “praise kink” in grade 12]

The back and forth flirting during debate practice was so fiery to me, he would take just about anything I dished out, whether I was feeling snarky that day, or a little kind, or a little mean, regardless he was willing to eat out of my hands.

argh I wish he had more self-respect but that aint got shit to do with me.

we would also exchange favourite artists and albums, all types of media, he was genuinely a very fun and easy person to be around. He knew how to laugh, he didn’t get upset easily, and even if he did it wouldn’t last long. When we were travelling to different schools to compete if I wasn’t sitting next to my co I’d sit next to him and we’d have such nice conversations.

He was really pretty, like very good looking, that schoolboy charm type, tall, and light skin, he was also in the grade below me, I was older by a few months.

I remember the day we made it official, it was over whatsapp and he said that we needed to “address the elephant in the room”.

I liked him. I did.

I did….i think I just got caught up in that space in-between a relationship and flirting. i just love the chase guys, i love it more than the relationship, i love it more than the partner but nonetheless, over a phone call we talked out our feelings and decided to make it official.

The concept of me having a boyfriend. if you knew me in highschool you’d know how crazy that is.

My friends could’ve thrown a party for the whole of limpopo if they could. I remember one of my best friends screaming so loud when I told her, I understand how unbelievable it was though. I am not the relationship type, I didn’t even look at boys, I genuinely didn’t plan this but he wanted to hang with a bad bitch. how could I say no?

The relationship itself was a teething process, a lot of firsts for me, my first kiss, first time holding hands with a nigga, exchanging clothes, buying gifts…well he bought gifts and I accepted them. It was a nice first relationship.

but my god.

It was so fucking boring. And he irritated me, I don’t know when the change happened but his emphasis on being “bOyfRIEnd & GiRLfRieNd” just felt so stupid to me. It felt like he wanted us to perform for some invisible audience and it made me resent it, I just felt the whole relationship, or atleast what he wanted it to be was beneath me.

I still do lowk.

This one particular thing that drove me up a fucking WALL, he wanted us to fall asleep over the phone, like those videocalls that last hours. SIES! why would I sleep like that? What reason does one have to sleep over the phone for such a long time? And its not like it was once in a while, he wanted to do this all the time.

kore every night, nna I must stop watching my bbc documentaries to fall asleep just so some lightskin can go “aRe yOu sTill awAke” every 5mins? ka gafa nna? Mxm.

Di relationship awards were gonna miss me with nominations that year.

And its not like I didn’t want to express my dislike, I just wasn’t the best at telling people when i don’t like something without going too far. especially towards boys. i just felt like they walked around with the world rearranging itself for them and i saw it as my responsibility to keep them grounded, even if i looked like a raging bitch. that was (still is) fine with me, i genuinely don’t care about men perceiving me as a bad person. my father can confirm that for free.

but now i was a girl with a boyfriend and that meant i couldn’t just tell him to fuck off with that, so i just kind of skirted around and would make excuses. “early morning” “i need to go wash dishes” anything to get his nagging out of my ears.

while we were on the phone this one night, it was approaching 10pm, my prime bbc documentary time, he goes “why don’t you want to stay over the phone with me?”

I lowk don’t want to repeat verbatim but ill be candid and admit i definitely could’ve been nicer, instead i chose something along the lines of

“because there’s no real reason for that and I don’t have to sleep that way if I don’t want to.”

He goes silent…takes a good second and I hear him breathing a little louder, I should’ve stopped.

I didn’t.

“and it’s not like you have anything interesting enough to say to make me want to stay”, then I hung up.

I put on my documentary and slept like a baby who had just been relieved of colic. The next morning when I didn’t see the usual “good morning, stink” text I was still relaxed. I was dealing with a plethora of things at time (working on that storytime) and so I didn’t really care if my boyfriend was mad at me. We went that whole school day not speaking and I felt freedom i hadn’t felt since i was single.

Eventually, he calls me again for our night recap routine, he starts with

“I didn’t appreciate how mean you were to me last night”

He keeps going on about how hurt he was and he just wanted to be in my presence and feel me because he doesn’t get to be around me much at school because i’m so busy [mind you i was fighting for my life] and me telling him its not “interesting enough” hurt because he thought he was all that was needed for me to stay.

*deep, heavy, tired sigh*

I did feel bad though because the more he spoke he opened up a more about his home life and why he wanted to sleep over the phone, so I caved. We fell asleep over the phone. this was still my man hey i didn’t want him sad bathong. and i also have the tumultuous home life he was experiencing so that brought us closer.

The next 5 months were this routine again and again, with a bunch of kisses in the mix. My first kiss was a peck. baby kiss they call it, probably because of the newborn curiosity behind it. Are my lips soft enough? Does my breath smell okay? Do i look insane? Do i even like this guy? why is kissing so embarrassing? (maybe the last one is just for me).

I was getting tired, which meant I was getting meaner, which made him sadder and me feel even more bad. I don’t want to call it outright toxic, but it definitely wasn’t healthy, I mean I was turning into #ihatemybf final boss and he was willing to endure it. I didn’t want to be that type of a person. i didn’t like the kind of person that relationship was turning me into.

So one night in august, over text, I ended it.

“I don’t think I like you as much as I thought, you’re a great guy but this is just too taxing for me, i hate how i treat you, and im sorry. I guess I just like my alone time too much”

“we can still work through it” he said. i did really mean it when i said i wish he had more self-respect.

i blocked him and deleted his number.

i didn’t have a good nights sleep, the colic came back.

My friends said they kind of saw it when they heard my reasoning,

“chomi gape wena you’re not very patient in general, le gore 5 months oe fehlie jwang ake tsebe, mara ao tswane o zamile.”

hai, ke zamile ka nnete, I washed my hands off relationships and promised ill try again after i get some therapy.

This is the kind of experience I had with a “serious” relationship going into grade 12, and I was not about to repeat that. I found boyfriends clingy and too much maintenance, “oh babe can you stay with me…” “oh babe can we watch this thing…” “oh babe can we go do this..” like, please shut the ever-loving fuck up.

and beyond that, i was genuinely distraught by how i was during the relationship, i was turning into my dad…terrible fate considering i look like him too. so after some internet psychology and personality quizzes i discovered the term “asexual aromantic” (aroace)

i came out to my best friends around november and all they said was “oh yeah we knew lol” i still laugh thinking about that day cause i was basically the last to find out.

i felt so much more comfortable in my skin, knowing that i indeed was not the only one that didn’t have that “on” switch when it comes to romance. i do accept that while this was accurate, i am bad at relationships for more reasons. I also recognize now that all that stuff he wanted to do wasn’t “needy” he was actually very independent and not clingy poor dude just loved me. that was just relationship stuff you know, its not odd to want to spend time with your girlfriend, I just didn’t like him lol.

but matric? it had a crazy plot stored in a cool dry place for me.

2023

This was going to be my “year of yes” yes to weed, yes to alcohol, yes to sex (just to see what the hype was about but i wasn’t going to actively pursue it) oh yeah, I was going to release all my inhibitions and feel the rain on my skin, because no else can feel it for me. ^{(please someone get that reference)}

One of my best friends and I were in a similar headspace, this was that “fuck being good girls” typa year, it was fun actually, it made matric bearable. those crazy memories we made are still some of the best moments I’ve had.

I think the best way to go about this next part is if you meet the guys the way i did so you better see the timeline. so pay attention please.

pedi guy no.1

he was like one of those bookish, really well-mannered guys you know. We met properly in grade 11 in our life science class, another close friend of mine introduced us, well, it was somewhat of an introduction.

She just sat us next to each other and went

“ww you love books, he also said he loves books, so talk about books” and then left us.

I mean, i do love reading and talking about it so i engaged. i was trying to get through the first dune book at the time, emphasis on trying, and i needed someone to vent to about it so to get the ball rolling I asked him what he current read was and he said “lord of the flies”.

*rawr*

it was so serendipitous because I had recently done a deep dive into the book and wanted to read it next so to have someone actively reading it in front of me was great. We talked about our tbr lists and what other stuff we’ve read, which turned into movies, because i told him i was reading dune in preparation for the movie later that year, which then turned into a conversation about sound scoring and then music. he was so interesting to me, his mind was so fun to pick and prod at, and he did the same with mine.

he was quite the stimulant.

We started really acknowledging each other after that, but I was being held hostage by a light skin at the time so we left it at mutual level.

fast forward to matric in february, we still see each other here and there and its always a great conversation. one day afterschool I was hating on the concept of MD proposals and public proposals in general because I always saw them as a vapid farce and I’d rather get asked out in private.

While im on this rant he just casually asks

“how about we go to the valentines ball together and if you can stomach me enough we do MD together?”

BOW! BOW! BOW! BOW! BOW!

something about that approach, “if you can stomach me” oh you know me well i see, and how unassuming it was, like if i said no it wouldn’t have been a problem and he wouldn’t switch up on me. because of that i agreed, and also because i did enjoy his company.

We made the plans and he bought the tickets.

Night of the valentines ball came and I met his parents because they wanted to drop us off, they were a very sweet couple and they clearly cared much about who he was going with, so I made sure to make a good first impression.

didn’t want his parents thinking he was hanging out with the wrong crowd…my best friend and I snuck a bottle of Jägermeister into the event (mind you, as RCL but we were off duty so meh).

she snuck the bottle past the gate by putting it in her tights, my idea, she’s tall and a model so she said she could walk without it jumpishing (go jumpisa keng ka skgowa? ai as long as you get my point)

After 2 mini shots to get the blood flowing we danced together, he didn’t drink at the time “one of us should be sober” he said (rawrrrrr) and he was so respectful, kept his hands to himself, I had never seen him so loose, i mean it when i say he was the chivalrous type, opening doors and paying for stuff on a date and all that. we even had this running bit where i would wait for him to get out of the class first and he would wait for me and we would stand there until the life science teacher pushed us out.

seeing him getting down and doing the steph curry sway was like seeing mr.robot become sentient. it was all so fun man, until it wasn’t (thats another storytime though)

after that night, our friend-ship started sailing into murky waters, waves of new feelings were crashing into us from both sides. This uncharted territory felt exciting though. I genuinely got along so well with him and we were building towards somethings, la e tseba friends-to-lovers? I was living it in real time…we were spending lunch time together more often, walls were slowly coming down and while im not big on physical touch he felt safe to hold and be held by.

Still no labels though, we had the conversation and he admitted to wanting something more and I just couldn’t make the full jump. I hid behind “oh its matric, lets not put too much pressure on ourselves” but in reality, I didn’t think I had it in me to be with him properly and I felt i was going to struggle with being present and committed 100% and i was right.

venda guy no.2

We had gone to the same primary school, and he left around grade 6. I never thought too much of him in primary, we just shared a register class but we weren’t close friends of anything. I actually thought I saw a ghost the day we met again.

it was around late april, I was walking to my best friends house, she lived like a 15min walk away. it was a quiet sunny day with a nice breeze, we were planning to smoke weed at the park, it was going to be my first time so obviously I was very excited, I did my research on getting high the whole week and I was prepared.

I ate breakfast. took a water bottle and I was working on the right playlist, called “high, how are you?” goofy name I know, don’t judge it too harshly it was the funniest thing to me at the time. (lowk still is)

I had my earphones in while walking to her place, I wanted to first song I play while high to be the best possible song, it had to be airy, light but still meaty with drums. there was no better song than the slowed version of “mortal man - kendrick lamar” it was everything I was looking for. from the humming at the beginning the saxophones, and the lyrics “when shit hit the fan is you still fan?…as i lead this army make room for mistakes and depression” i was living this lyric in real time (that’s another storytime, the same one as the vball).

a close runner up was “the light - mick jenkins ft earthgang”, i love the earthgang feature and that harp on the beat? ethereal.

while I was still comparing song intros I didn’t realize this random dude was calling me, until he tapped my shoulder and I screamed and immediately started running without looking back until i got to the nearest crossing.

This is still south africa guys, nagana getting got on your way to high the first time, so I ran and i’m not even embarrassed to admit that. #idontwanttobenext.

when i got to the street a bunch of cars were crossing so i turned back to see who was chasing me and this weirdo was standing still at the same spot holding his stomach laughing, like proper tears in his eyes laughing.

HELLO???? GET DOWN!!

the more i stared at his face, the more familiar it became to me but I stayed where I was and then he called out my name, I recognized him but only very vaguely, and then he shouts out his name

“ww its venda guy #2”

and it immediately clicked

“bathong abuti?! why would approach me like that?! it scared the shit out of me!”

he explained how he had been calling out my name but I wasn’t responding, which is why he resorted to tapping my shoulder, my reaction while understandable was just funny to him.

i was still pretty shaken up ill admit so i didn’t walk back to him. he walked up to me instead and i told him to keep it arms length. gape just cause we went to the same primary doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy.

he then went on to talk about how he hasn’t seen anyone from primary in years and it was so crazy how we been in the same area for this long. he asked for where i stayed exactly, i told him a different location.

he wasn’t being creepy guys however i was just so shaken by that first thing that happened, my guard was up.

he said he was from buying chips at the mart and was missing his old friend group,

“its so crazy how i saw you at the exact time i was thinking about *insert school name*”

this all would’ve been interesting if i didn’t have better things to do.

MY JOINT WAS WAITING FOR ME.

but he seemed genuine enough so I indulged the small talk and when it was time to part ways he insisted on getting my number so we could keep having this highly riveting conversation about primary and chips.

I gave him my number and as I turned to walk away he asked

“is this your real number or a fake?”

…eh.

I confirm it is indeed my real number but if he doesn’t want it he can just delete it, and I keep walking. Then he calls it, and because its MY FUCKING PHONE NUMBER, my phone rings.

oh wow, i could’ve told him that for free (I did!) but aye at least he managed to embarrass himself and disgust me at the same time.

Great job! 10/10 performance.

that joint was becoming increasingly necessary, after that awkward, odd reintroduction, i went to meet my friend and we got high. and oh wow.

I think I found the love of my life in that plant. If there is a god, it reached flow state when it made marijuana. bless.

he wasn’t bad though you know, he looked chewable. like cute but i was not captivated by him, its like when you eat food for the sake of eating and not for the pleasure of tasting the meal.

he texted me about two weeks later, in may, and we kind of got some conversation going. you might be wondering why i gave this guy any attention whatsoever, i am also still trying to figure that out, i hypothesise that it’s because he was the furthest removed from my life so i could be anyone around him, i didn’t have to remain consistent i guess, like i could try out a different version of me. a less strict version. which is probably why i did the most stuff with him. but we’re not there yet.

venda guy no.3 (but actually my no.1)

now we’re talking about the biggest dawg, this was my kryptonite, my main man, the top cheese, cream of the crop, tjo motho’waka guys yeses. *RAWWWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR*

I might just be missing getting lamzas from him rn so what I’m saying is clouded by longing. also note, out of every boy on here, i’ve known this one the longest.

The actual story is that we lived in the same estate, we grew up together. lived next door to each other. guys, we like proper grew up together from before puberty bro, so yeah we came from far.

i was friends more with his older sister than him so we didn’t actually hangout as frequently so lets say out of 6 hangouts he would be at 4. and even though we would drift apart and come back to each other throughout the years, i did regard him as a friend...cause there was definitely something sinister and twisted going on there.

we were the type of duo to always getting “dating” accusations because of how similar we were. we both were really into film, we went to the movies together a couple times ofc with other friends, we introduced each other to a lot of music (he introduced me to griselda one day while playing uno, ill always love him for that) and books.

He was a poet of sorts, he would read me his work and explain it with such fervour that it would inspire me to eventually start writing. a very creative spirit. He was someone I could confide in. He was also really warm like temperature and personality wise.

He smelled really good too, a scent so unique to him that if i was to smell it today i would just go -

He was also so smart too. I like smart men. i cant do that smart girl x dumbass nigga shit. I need an equal, a challenger. Also really funny, we had the exact same type of humour, same kind of politics too. we could go toe to toe on just about anything for hours.

Our parents knew each other so that was cool too...it wouldn’t be awkward around any of them. he and i were so matched in DNA that at times I’d forget i was looking at a different person and not staring at a slightly taller, reflection of myself. bonus was that he was also so handsome, oh my, such a pretty boy, i told him he reminded me of kendrick lamar and he didn’t believe me but he really did, that cutie patootie type. the most gorgeous smile and he had studs and an afro. A REAL NIGGA!!!

Wait- what was i saying? Oh right…

i was older by 4 months, he was in grade 11.

after reconnecting again earlier that year we started a “physical” relationship in the july winter break, during my winter school, it was for the sake of “keeping each other warm” i guess.

By physical i mean literally just kissing, a “lamza-call” if you will. [remember i don’t sex niggas] i remember the first time we kissed like it was yesterday.

We had talked about it on the phone, I was venting about my first boyfriend and then the conversation became about kissing, I made a lil jokey joke “we should probably lamza just to get it out the way” (the “it” i was referring to was the growing tension between us). He jokingly agreed but i didn’t think he was serious.

he was serious alright.

i told him when we met up in person the next afternoon that i am actually not a veteran in this arena and so if he’s looking for someone who’ll change his life with a tongue down its not me. had to keep it real. he then said to me

“that’s perfectly fine as long as its you. i’ll show you”

(why is he not in jail guys?) he placed his hands on my waist and pulled me in closer , i placed my hands on his chest and we kissed. MIND YOU IN FRONT OF OUR HOUSES. didn’t care though cause…i was experiencing my real first kiss. MY REAL FIRST KISS FROM A REAL NIGGA!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHH!!!!!

- excuse me.

that was the first of many.

pedi guy no.2 and venda guy no.3

these two had the most overlap during winter school. i would go to school and cuddle and canoodle with my pedi guy and then at home i was getting the blood flowing with my venda man.

during break time at school while we were holding hands waiting inline for some free coffee my pedi turns to me and says

“im not going to the MD anymore, my parents gave me a sort of ultimatum to use the money on some other stuff on my wishlist and since i cant do it all, i decided i wont go to the MD”

okay…so if you didn’t catch that he was basically saying that im ugly, no one loves me and he doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore and fuck me.

that’s fine i guess.

i told him its his decision and if that’s what he wants then i don’t really have a comment cause it seems like its already been made.

i went home so down, it was his choice and i could always go with the girls but yeah, it just ruined my mood. atleast my venda was there to cheer me up. eish, mara do you see the benefit of having two?

and he always cheered me up so well. let me tell you about the best lamza i ever got.

we had spent the late afternoon at a bench within this small park inside the estate. i was kind of low energy so he carried the conversation. it was approaching my curfew so we started making our way to my house.

we took a longer route to just keep being around each other longer and there was a side of my estate that didn’t have working street lights so it was only the moon illuminating our faces.

an empty house was the last stop on the path before i had to turn left and go to my house and so while on our way down the route he’s yapping away, i’m just staring at him in awe.

guys i really mean it when i say this boy was so pretty, the moonlight was enhancing that. the silver light held his face so gently, from his curls drooping onto his forehead and the curvature of his nose to the cupid’s bow on the top lip and the stubble growing around his chin. i couldn’t help it, so i reached for a kiss. just a quick peck.

i didn’t mean it to interrupt him i just had to show my appreciation.

he stuttered a little and tried to regain his train of thought but instead he says

“i still cant believe that’s a thing you and i do. if only i could tell younger me, i always had the biggest crush on you.”

when we reached the last house, the empty one before my turn, he took my hands and we rushed towards the door and he tried to open it but it was locked. FAWK. no worries though, he put me up against the wall next to the door and reached in for the deepest, richest kiss we’d ever exchanged. it was at a slightly hurried pace, and he did this thing where he held on to my tongue with his teeth and then licked my bottom lip.

i never understood what the girlies meant when they would say “and my stomach flipped” but i learned it that night. i literally moaned, in pleasure. i didn’t think i could do that.

he remained unwavering even when our breathing started getting choppy. we had resorted to being each others ventilators, i exhale he inhales, i inhale he exhales and that was the better solution because no way either of us were pulling way. his hands, oh my god his hands….from my neck to my chest to my waist to my ass, he reached even lower and grabbed the inside of my thigh and pulled up my leg.

for a moment outside of time, with only the moon as our witness, i felt for the first time in my life real desire.

it was kind of escalating with my hands moving down his chest when a vibration startled me. it was my mom.

EISH MAMA!!

TO THIS DAY, i sit up staring at my walls at 4am thinking about this lamza.

winter school eventually ended and then the week of MD came.

venda guy no. 2 and 3 and pedi guy no.1

MD week for my school was in september before prelims. me and my boy next door were still having the hottest make out sessions, and it was becoming more and more apparent that if i do actually have sex that year its gonna be with him.

with the MD night fast approaching i was busy running around from the designer to nails to hair to shoes, so i didn’t have much free time, i wasn’t going to see much of him that week.

i was way over my pedi guy ditching me and i was going with my co-captain from debate. she was my girl so i didn’t have a problem at all. he was very apologetic that week though, he kept showering me with forehead kisses and chocolates so i truly couldn’t stay mad.

the other venda guy at that point had been banished to the shadow realm, aka, my archived chats on whatsapp. all he kept doing was commenting on my statuses and asking for us to hangout again.

i didn’t have shit for this nigga man, so i just mized.

MD night came. the actual event was fun, great memories. the real memories were made at the afterparty though.

my two best friends and i planned to throw an afterparty and stay the night at an airbnb, just the 3 of us and a plus one because we wanted to keep it good vibes, i got so wasted that night. there is actual footage of me twerking to “pana by tekno” (my favourite twerk song) like my life depended on it, i was literally sweating, its such funny footage and i don’t remember any of it because i had gotten so crossfaded off a blunt and a redbull gin cocktail with some jaeger shots in between. i do remember earlier in the night i tried calling my boy next door and he didn’t answer so i called my pedi and talked to him instead, talked about the night and how much i missed him and wished he was here with me.

i was so hungover when my mom came to pick me up the next day, i don’t know how i got away with that.

my other bestfriend the one who was also having her “year of yes” said she wanted to throw a host a likkle chillas later on just before prelims starts at her place and we could bring people. i asked my boy next door first but he was already writing so he couldn’t make it. the chillas was going to involve drinking and smoking so i didn’t even try to invite my pedi. my last option was collecting dust in the archives.

i text him and apologize for my absence.

“i was just so swamped you know how it is”

“yeah no definitely get it, so do you think we could hang out sometime”

he was just so desperate. so eager. and i was feeling very attention deprived, my best hos, my favourite one at that, were too busy for me.

terrible combo.

so i invited him to the chillas. and i knew exactly what i wanted from him.

at the chillas, we were all boozed up and just talking to each other about some bullshit. i didn’t actually care about anything he had to say and i think the feeling was mutual. one of the people at the party brings out the blunt and my best friend sends us to her bathroom to smoke there.

in the bathroom at first was me, him, and my best friend and the guy who rolled the blunt.

my bestie took a couple puffs then left to go…yeah like i said “year of yes”.

then for a good 5mins it was us three in the bathroom and i was just reaching flow state flirting with him, i think at some point the other guy left with his blunt because it ended up just being the two of us in there.

he said some throwaway words, that literally did not matter.

he finally walks up to me and kisses me.

i kiss him back.

he was not only desperate, he was hungry, that brother was starving.

admittedly, so was i.

we just kept sloppily making out. we somehow found a wall that he pushed me up against then he picked me up (not complaining but wow) he kept jumping from my lips to my neck to my chest to my neck then my lips.

he sets me down after a good while then i was doing the same, i went from his lips to his chin to his neck. my hands kept going down his chest while his went up my skirt.

he moved up while caressing my inner thigh. then eventually found my underwear.

he kept going and - i mean…this isn’t a smut okes so ill leave it at that.

ill rate the attempt a 5/10. rushed and i didn’t finish. plus it wasn’t my main maaannnnn argh.

we moved to the toilet seat where i then straddled him, still making out i kept rubbing his abdomen, then eventually went put my hand down his pants and found his underwear. then i went past the underwear

and i -

i touched a penis. I TOUCHED A HUMAN PENIS. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

immediately my skin crawled. i almost vomited in his mouth.

i got snapped out of whatever trance i was in and broke off the kiss then he went

“what do you wanna do with it?”

IFUCKINGWISHANIGGAWOULDLOOKMEINTHEEYESANDASKMEWHATIWANNADOWITHHISPENIS!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!??!?@@@?@##?#?#

i put it back and zipped his pants back up for him and go

”nothing actually, lets just keep kissing”

then he says

“i have to go back home soon”

hau, so if i wanted to do something ka yona….there was not gonna be a curfew? tjo. like even though i knew, i didn’t think he’d be so transparent about it.

my other best friend who was not occupied with her plus one knocks on the bathroom door. she keeps knocking until i eventually open the door. she said she just wanted to make sure i was okay cause she heard i was left alone high in there.

she had at the perfect timing.

i excused myself and left him in there to sort himself out.

when the chillas died down and it was just me and my girls left we were debriefing and i told them what happened in there, that’s when the bestie that pulled me out the bathroom goes “i was wondering what happened to your neck.”

…what?

guys this dude left the most insane hickeys around my neck. nkare ne ke lwana le vampire. mind you on my neck!!!! my strict pedi mom was gonna end my life if she saw that and my strict venda dad was gonna help her hide my body.

the bestie hosting gave me some ice and some scarf type thing to cover up so i could atleast make it through the door without getting found out. i wore a black turtle neck the whole week when i was home.

i had to cancel hangouts with my boy next door cause i didn’t want him seeing that, and i couldn’t hide it from him because he also liked kissing that spot so yeah, just made up some excuse and told him ill see him after prelims.

to school i wore my tie, which i didn’t do often, and my pedi guy asked why i was wearing my tie so much and i just lied and said it was because i want to feel studious.

just a bunch of bullshit man. this whole ordeal, that stupid guy ruined my plans with my favourite ho, i had to end it.

i texted him saying i don’t actually like him and i guess i was just touch starved and he was there so he shouldn’t take what happened in that bathroom to mean anything because that was not the case. “sorry if you feel lead on”

i didn’t even wait for a response i just blocked and deleted.

after that encounter i really had to recalibrate, because now finals was approaching and in december i was going to be with my boy next door without any interruptions. having reacted the way i reacted i knew i couldn’t do it. i just couldn’t. i literally became nauseous all over again thinking about that dudes dick in my hand. even now as i am typing this those goosebumps are back.

it wasn’t speculation for me anymore. i am definitely asexual.

i was sad at this confirmation ill admit.

because i felt so much passion with my boy next door, and what we had going on was deeper than the physical stuff you know. we were genuine friends. my head was spinning because i knew eventually we’d have to have that conversation and i knew i wouldn’t be able to do it in person.

in an attempt to kill two birds with one stone, one night over whatsapp i text both my pedi and venda

“with how everything is going between us, do you see us ever having sex? and would that be something you want?”

they both respond

“yes.”

i had to tell them :(

for the the first time with them, i had to be frank about my sexuality, and sort of come out.

“i think that’s nice that you see us headed there. but if im keeping it real, i don’t think sex is for me. its not that i don’t want, i just don’t think i can. i think its better i tell you now before you start expecting stuff from me that i cannot give without betraying myself.”

and i would be betraying myself if i kept two timing them and they both expected sex at some point.

my pedi responded

“no that’s all good, i was just thinking maybe later like next year in uni, not right now”

i had to explain that this wasn’t about “not being ready”. i literally cannot physically stomach the thought of it and that organ gives me emotional distress.

he and i eventually decided to just stay friends and i lost contact during my gap year.

this is probably the happiest ending.

the boy next door responded

“how about we talk about it after your finals, lets not worry about that kind of stuff rn”

i agreed and went on to focus on finals.

the last paper i ever wrote in matric was accounting paper 2. my favourite paper. i was studied up for it and went to bed ready to close this chapter of my life, but there was pit in my stomach growing.

that promised conversation was looming and i was getting nervous all over again. i drank allergex to fall asleep.

after the paper, i texted him and asked if he was free to hang out that afternoon.

he didn’t respond. he didn’t respond for 5 whole days.

on the 6th day, like god1, i remembered who i was and returned to myself. i blocked and deleted his number. he never tried to reach out.

you would think because we’re neighbours we’d eventually bump into each other again but no. to this very day i have never seen him again. he’s still alive he’s just not my boy next door anymore and while i’m not a believer of many things i think this was always what was going to happen. i do think of him, of them, here and there but i’ve accepted that this is what i said i wanted. “nothing permanent”.

nothing was permanent.

i got what i wanted.

anything more would have cost me myself and i would rather die alone before that happens.

PART ONE

to understand marxism, you first need to understand capitalism.

capitalism, shmapitalism, wtf are we talking about when we say that word? this word today is used to refer to a system that by its very nature, is evil and exploitative. but, was it always bound to be like that?

adam smith, a very important name to know when you start deep diving into political philosophy and economics, stated plainly that capitalism is a “system of perfect liberty”.

It is the private ownership of the means of production by individuals (elon musk) or corporations (nestle). the ownership can extend to the means of distribution and the exchange of goods and services1.

the pillars of this philosophy and economic system are based in the liberalist2 political philosophy. in which people can own private property, practice autonomy and be granted access to live life how they see fit, through little to no state intervention, so long as they do not impede the liberty of others. capitalism takes this ideology a step further and encourages competition between producers of goods and services, which maximizes the available choices to consumers, therefore widening the scope of individual autonomy. both producer and consumer are driven by self-interest, which is a benefit to society, as this self-interest acts a regulator of the market called “the invisible hand”, aka the laws of supply and demand3.

smith, on how capitalist economies grow, asserted that slavery is in fact an overall harmful practice as this a) encourages work through violence rather than incentivising labour through a salary/wage and b) the cost of the slave trade exceeds the cost of legal humane wages, don’t get confused though, he wasn’t “anti-slavery”, he was “pro making money”. additionally, he notes that specialisation is how businesses can grow. this means when multiple workers are arranged through the division of labour to produce a specific part of a good, such as the hood of a car or the steering wheel, they increase the product output of the business thereby strengthening the competitive ability of the business and increasing profitability.

Eish, lot of words neh? I feel you. Let’s use an example:

white man #1 and #2 make water bottles and are in competition.

a water bottle has three main components right; the actual bottle that you pour the liquid into and then the lid that has the sipping mechanism you use to drink and then the cover of that lid, that may have a handle so you can carry it.

say whitey no.1 uses slaves in the production of this water bottle. Through the dutch east india trading company he buys about 50 enslaved africans each were costing around $50-$60, that’s already $2500 - $3000 invested in the transportation of this labour, but it’s a once off price. now he must house them and feed them, or at least pretend to, remember the intention of the slave trade was not to show us barbaric africans the sophisticated west, it was to keep us alive just enough to grow profits. so only the cheapest possible housing, and the cheapest possible food were given to slaves, and that’s not even a guarantee, remember, profits reign supreme.

now at the water bottle making factory he uses the threat of whips and lynching and all sorts of horrific violence to force labour. 20 of the slaves make the body of the bottle, the other 20 make the lid and the final 10 focus on covers. the raw materials, let’s say are plastic and stainless steel, they cost about $2000 including transport from the mining colony, northern cape, in south africa. remember miners in colonies were also getting paid peanuts to keep costs as low as possible.

in a week, the slaves manage to produce 200 water bottles.

the final product, after all costs considered retails at $30, this is a profit of $5 per bottle, total gains being $1000.

adam smith suggests that instead of relying on slaves and the threat of violence to perform labour, businesses are better of paying consistent wages to workers.

at whitey no.2’s factory they do just that.

instead of spending $3000 to buy slaves and take on the burden of feeding and housing them, he wants to hire local (march and march would love him hey). he hires 50 locals, and pays them a wage of $2 after every 8 hour shift they complete, at their assigned station. this means a worker is earning roughly $10 a week, and that’s if they manage all 40 hours of labour. this costs the company roughly $500 in labour for the week. The raw materials are obtained the same way as whitey no.1, so there’s not much deviation there, where it is, is the profit margins.

this factory produces 300 water bottles.

due to the “invisible hand” (demand pricing) of the market, whitey 2 maintains the average retail price of $30, but it cost him $9 to make one, compared to the $25 at no.1. he makes a net profit of $6300.

“but wicked witch, what’s so wrong with the slaveless labour at whitey no.2’s place?” you may be asking. very simple, it is still slavery. It may not be as sinister as enslaved africans being whipped to shreds but it’s still wrong, and it’s easier to defend.

that’s capitalisms greatest triumph, I believe, it managed to mascaraed itself as liberty when it was anything but.

Let’s return to whitey no.2’s business model, he’s not a slave owner, but what is he doing that’s so terrible?

I’m sure you caught how little the wages were to the factory workers, I mean $2? What can you do with $2? The workers have rent to pay, groceries to buy and possibly school fees and all other kinds of invisible costs to live. How can they survive on $10/a week? They cant, and that’s the point. Notice how at his factory they made more water bottles? That’s because of “overtime” for every extra hour of labour completed the workers earn half a dollar, now add an extra 4 hours throughout the week and that’s an extra $2.

very helpful….to the owner. he manages to churn out more product, strengthen his competition in the market and make a bigger profit at a little extra cost to a few desperate workers.

this is capitalism.

marxism, can be understood as a science of society, that provides a theoretical, political and social framework that analyses reality through the lens of historically specific modes of production. marxism justifies and predicts the emergence of a stateless and classless society without private property4.

marx made several core observations about capitalism5:

1. modern labour is alienating, the specialisation, we talked about earlier, required to be as productive and efficient as the market requires alienates workers at an individual level, it creates a separation between what the individual feels they are capable of and what they wish to contribute to work and what they are actually spending their lives doing.

2. modern labour is insecure and at threat to cheaper methods at any time. this observation is growing more relevant as A.I becomes a threat to almost every job on earth, especially in the arts. this threatens the livelihoods of many humans at the benefit of a few capitalists.

3. capitalism is also unstable. i mean bro, open your uber eats rn and try to order dunked wings, 10 wings for R112!? la gafa mara? tjo. beyond that, capitalists try to make every crisis seem unnatural and attribute it to other stuff like wars, climate disasters and elections when in reality, at the locus of every economic crisis, the truth is hidden in plain sight. capitalism is a broken machine that will always fail. the “invisible hand” is not as divine as adam smith would like you to believe.

marxism, is more than a critique of capitalism however.

It is a political, social and economic doctrine that theorises about the ongoing struggle between the working class (proletariat) and ownership class (bourgeoise). It believes that when people are awakened to the inequality of this system, through alienation they will proceed to a radical transformation of their situation by way of REVOLUTION (my favourite flavour omg).

this revolution will create the foundations to establish communism6.

don’t worry about immediately understanding every corner of this theory. marxism takes years to understand and the founding texts (das kapital, communist manifesto) are difficult to get through however i would have done my job if you can leave this article understanding that marxist analysis will always start with a) identifying the class conflict between the rich and the working class (middle and poor) b) the various ways capitalism affects every aspect of human society, from health gender, race, climate change, religious organisation.

let me show you how to think like a beginner marxist:

take a look at something very relevant, the 2026 world cup. its got it all, sports, politics, race, gender etc.

when analysing why bafana bafana played so shit in the game against mexico, the problem is bigger than h*go b*oos (although he definitely counts).

the bafana bafana team are from the african continent, which notoriously doesn’t get very far at international football tournaments, aside from morocco placing 4th in 2022 (i don’t care a damn if they said they aren’t african. they are on this continent dammit!) its not that africans are not good at football. they are, exceptional actually, they are just playing for europe. but money makes the world go round and the world seems to have a western tilt. funding for training kits, coaches, assistants, players salary and travel for games all adds up. who is mostly funding this in africa? private equity7. think owner of mamelodi sundowns, and africa’s ninth richest man, patrice motsepe. these are main sources of funding that soccer has in the years between a world cup, the department of sports, arts and culture already has a strained budget and only has so much to offer. this leaves serious gaps in the development of football in the country. now imagine this all across the continent, no wonder we get there and play like its our first time seeing grassy fields. because for some national teams, it genuinely is.

now this is the “men’s” world cup, how many african women’s teams do you think will be playing at the women’s world cup in 2027? only 68.

and if the men are struggling to get gaytons attention…..how do you think the women are doing? right. women’s football, is incredibly underfunded because its seen as a sport only boys can be the best at, its undermined and o gay doesn’t care a damn about us shem. why tf is he even here?!?!? someone get that pseudo-coloured nigga outta there bro, in a real way.

• african countries are poor. (you know why…)

• this means that funding for football development relies heavily on the private equity (the bourgeoise) and this can limit just how much talent is developed on african soil (working class struggle to put food on the table means prioritising jobs that guarantee a consistent wage)

• this limited development leads to abysmal and subpar performances at the world stage, affecting the social perceptions of african football, which in turn prevents more investment.

• and these issues affect african women’s football even worse due to misogynist perceptions of women’s skill at the sport.

class > race > gender. class > race > gender.

remember this, it will soon become second nature. and despite being a marxist analysis, notice how i didn’t have to use fancy big words, that’s what it means to incorporate it into your every day thinking. a marxist is not a university graduate or a PhD candidate. a marxist is a life long observer, analyst and i hope a change maker. marx criticized philosophy because it always ends at ideas and never action. lets not just learn and regurgitate ideas, let us develop them in the real world, with real people.

i want to encourage you to take a look at the reference list and really understand what we’ve gone through today. sit with it. let it permeate and absorb it because up next is another mammoth topic: feminism.

- see ya soon, the wicked witch. <3

when does a daughter become a mother?

Mariam

A “tough life” is an undermeasurement when it comes to the enormity that is the tragedy of Mariam’s existence.

There are no English words that come easy when I think of how to begin describing her story, so I’ll try this;

and a bandit she was.

she was born out of a married man’s lapse in judgement. and raised a dark secret. he tucked her away behind a mountain in her “home” town of Herat. away from all society she lived in a room with her mother, a bitter scorched woman who made infrequent attempts at motherly love and wisdom. the line at the beginning is one of her proverbs. she idolized her father, he was her hero. the hero could only visit once a month, what with his actual family her had to tend to, that’s the most he could spare his noor2.

a harami like her had no chance, her mere presence on earth was proof of something stolen. stolen virtue. stolen respect. stolen legitimacy.

Mariam was a bandit, indeed.

Her birth was a crime she had committed with no regard for how it would affect others, she should have known, an unwanted birth was an act punishable by a long ruthless life.

And, she was certainly punished.

after the loss of her mother, her hero married her off to a senior man, Rasheed, at 15 years old.

Rasheed was a shoemaker, who in his previous life was married and had a son, but he lost them…and Mariam was his second chance. He still had the desire for children a son.

but, when it becomes apparent that Mariam’s womb is no place for a child son, he turns on her, becoming resentful and abusive (or maybe he always was going to be this way, but who can say?) eventually, he returns her to the life of a secret, a shame kept hidden in his house, never to leave or speak.

A bandit never changes.

Didn’t she learn? Infertility is shameful, and she had continuously stolen hope for a son from Rasheed, she had to be hidden. What was her use, otherwise? After 4 years of marriage and six miscarriages, the wound is salted further by the successful birth of their neighbour’s daughter, the girl Laila.

As if she needed the close reminder of what she has stolen from Rasheed.

Laila

The only girl and last of 3. She was feisty, smart and brave.

Her father, a teacher, instilled in her the value of education. He would encourage her to focus finishing school and going out into the world and doing great things for their nation.

“A society has no chance of success if its women are uneducated”

Her mother, for as long as she could remember, was never quite there. Not ever since the soviet war had stolen her 2 older brothers away. her mother’s most prized creations enlisted by the mujahideen to fight those godless russian communists.

While her mother was not the most present, she wasn’t the abusive kind, just uninterested. Laila never knew a mothers full love, but she wasn’t bruised physically, that should be enough, right?

…

Well anyway, who needs a mothers love when you have found your soulmate?

Tariq was a boy two years older and long time best friend, they grew up together and what she had found in him was a love that eclipsed what some may have classified “a schoolgirl crush”. what they had was greater than some “simple crush”,

this “simple crush” became into the ultimate act of love, a hurried expression of youthful indulgence in the physical exploits of love, and with that small, isolated five minutes of indulgence came their baby girl, Aziza.

when does a daughter become a mother?

Laila would find the face of her lost lover in Aziza a source of comfort and much needed respite because after the devastating loss of her parents at 14 she would spend the next decade, married to Rasheed.

Yes, the same Rasheed.

Mariam versus Laila

Albeit, an extra pair of hands was useful. But why Laila?

There was truly no edge to Rasheed’s brutality. Laila’s quick pregnancy and birth of “their” first child, Aziza, led to a power struggle between her and Mariam. Mariam understood that she may have not been a primary educated, young and fertile wife, but she was there longer. Enduring Rasheed’s bad moods and incredulous temper was no small feat you know. So why should she be reduced to mere house help, like some “pest”, just because Laila’s womb can grow that evil man’s seed? Absolutely not. she was cold and…huh, reminded herself of someone she used to know.

when does a daughter become a mother?

on the other side of the stalemate, Laila was struggling, the news of the death of her child’s real father in a faraway place was tempting to drag her away, into the same dark pit she had known her mother to live.

Who would have mercy on her?

an impossible ask, considering the Taliban was reaching even greater heights of power. They were a ruthless regime, it seemed everyday they learned a new way to show brutality.

Where was mercy in Kabul’s lexicon?

Was there mercy to be found in any corner of Afghanistan?

Mariam and Laila

Maybe not, but after helping each other survive another night of Rasheed’s terror. Mariam realises that her and Laila may just be what the other has needed to survive.

Over a cup of tea and sweet treats, they call a truce.

When does a daughter become a mother?

Mariam helps her daughter, Laila, through the pregnancy and birth of her second child, Zalmai.

A son.

Finally.

Hopefully, this encourages Rasheed’s return to humanity.

Well it does,

for his son.

He is his son’s hero.

Do you think a son knows that their hero is often times the harbinger of all that is suffering for their mother and sister? hm.

After a failed attempt to escape Rasheed, on account of the mercy-shortage in Afghanistan. Kabul worsens. drought, famine and food insecurity have led to complete destitution. The Taliban seems to be finding alternative uses for foreign aid and donations.

But the two of them should count themselves lucky, i suppose, they still have a roof over their heads.

What is Rasheed compared to the sweltering Afghan sun exposing empty stomachs and thin veils of flesh curtaining ribcages that carry hearts that have only known grief?

the windless city would tremor all day and hold its breath all night while the monstrous engines of military tanks roared, while young men adorned rifles that could take down entire aircrafts, all gifts from the US during the soviet war, seems the CIA was a big fan of the anti-Soviet agenda the mujahideen had, a shame they didn’t realise that agenda expanded to the entire west, a lesson they would soon learn in September 2001.

But, that’s a story they’ll tell themselves.3

it is interesting how the worst thing to happen somewhere else, is daily life elsewhere. it may be true not all countries are made equal after all.

With conditions worsening, Laila was forced to give up Aziza, but interestingly not Zalmai, because Rasheed couldn’t afford to feed them all. She spends the rest of this period risking her life and limbs at the hands of the Taliban, who do not allow women to walk without mahram4.

Nothing is real when you’re beaten shades of blue while malnourished, when you miss your daughter, the last living reminder, that there was once love in your life. Every day, Laila would risk being hung for walking outside, just for a couple of hours with Aziza.

When does a daughter become a mother?

The final parts of the book expose the grand scheme that was hiding in the plain sight. The lifechanging revelations that take place shift the tone in an urgent manner, Mariam and Laila’s character arcs end off not with loud bangs or revolutionary riots, but rather the question that was asked, answered and asked and answered again.

when does a daughter become a mother?

is it when she gives birth to a child she carried?

or when she becomes a rock to rest upon?

when she sacrifices for her beloved?

i wager motherhood is a greater undertaking, but ill let the book show you that.

REVIEWER’S NOTE

this is where I stop divulging further plot information, lest I ruin this wonderful reading experience for you.

The book exposed me to how truly unspoken for the women of Afghanistan remain in this day and age. With the return of the regime in 2021 I am now unsure about how to feel regarding the ending of the book. And when I think of the women of Afghanistan, I think about the women of the Congo and Sudan who are used by men as pawns in the ceaseless violence.

Under war conditions, women and children suffer tenfold. (Henry, 2016)

They are trapped with cruel men and have no place to escape, as the regimes are even more so.

The best the international community can do is write up reports and “condemn the situation”, whatever the fuck that means, with the occasional aid packages that go to the oppressors military instead those who need it.

While this was moving, truly.

I could not help but experience moments of immersion breakage when there would be certain lines that remind me that the book was written by a man who is trying to appeal to the western market. Hosseini undertakes a big challenge for sure, when writing a historical fiction one must balance history with fiction, and while he hits the nail on the mark for about 70% of the story, the 30% he falters is when he attempts to make remarks about the US.

The US involvement is either downplayed or completely ignored, and the Taliban is postured as a force that was born out of a vacuum,

However this is not that big a problem to me because again, I understand wanting to prioritise the fiction above the history, however if history is brought up, I would have liked more honesty and less pandering.

I recommend that you read the book as a fiction before anything else and when history is mentioned take time to understand the real facts.

this song is the traditional Jhene Aiko sound through and through. from the haunting beats that linger in your mind long after the song ends to vivid imagery in the lyricism that feels like echoes of future Jhene and past Jhene at the same time, this song has it all.

which is perfect timing because its bar for bar what i’ve been sort of going through...before i wiped off any existence of my early substack articles, i had put out an article talking about the pain of ambition and otherworldly obligation.

i felt that i revealed too much personal info in that one so that’s why i deleted it so consider this a more moderated second attempt. hopefully we still click.

she’s singing to someone she deeply loves and feels obligated to in the song and is conflicted by her responsibility to this person and her perceived responsibility to the world. and same. but for me it feels like a song from me to me.

you (me) vs. them (me).

“its the wanting you. never getting you”

throughout the years there’s always been this recurring attempt at becoming “unfamiliar” in as short amount of time as possible. whether term 1 or semester 1, i see that i tend to be occupied with productive regeneration. i MUST renew. at all costs. when i put two images of myself that are 6 months apart side by side they need to look like completely different people. my mind must be screwed on properly. i need to be the epitome of discipline and academic excellence and balance and hardwork. i make the mood boards, write out the plans, and well- obviously you cant change your fibers overnight so it doesn’t happen and instead my before and after pics end up looking like i took them on the same day. expected disappointment aside, i think a contributing factor to my lack of self-starter ship is based in fear.

something Jhene understands very well.

“cause if i never have you, then i can never lose you.”

“do you know what might happen if i decide to choose you?”

its very painful to fail. like that shit hurts guys. kgape ke kwa okare ke mestša masepa a kgomo tjo 💔 and especially missing out by small margins...i think that cuts deeper than missing out by a lot. you can rationalize a complete fail when there was already a practical “impossibility” to your attempt because there is no subconscious expectation of greatness in place. you already have an idea of how far away you are from the mark.

when you feel confident and sure of yourself, your ability, and then you barely make it...like damn kanti how much more should i have given? how many more hours should i have spent working/practicing? never being enough is death by a thousand paper cuts, especially if you’re a highly ambitious individual with a tendency to have abusive self talk.

i hated getting back test papers in highschool because i knew if i hadnt met my own standard then i subsequently wouldn’t meet the schools standards for all that academic excellence shit. (shem curro? you’ll pay a real death for giving me severe test anxiety in grade 12 chomi. robala o butši mahlo kadi di pegs). not meeting my mark meant i would be the first negative voice i would hear. genuinely i would put BELT TO my own ASS. it was tough....and so i just kind of developed this mechanism of not trying too hard unless im completely sure i can do it, and since im in uni doing a degree that ive never done before i don’t try to hard for alot of the courses. i feel like its taboo to admit that “hardwork” as a virtue, also tends to hold its keeper hostage. its a high risk hostage situation that is capable of obliterating trust in oneself if things go wrong. beyond that its isolating because it leaves you stumped with unanswered questions. how can i sow all those seeds and then my harvest turns out to be an eighth of what i had planted? im scared of hardwork, it requires so much emotional commitment and i have commitment issues shem.

if i can avoid commitment to the version of me that’s is a hardworker then i avoid collapsing into myself when something goes bust. i can get away with putting as much detached effort as i can to make it through the years. i dont think im at a point where if i have her, i can survive losing her.

“im trying to save the world”

its bigger than my traumatic curro experience though, i love this place, earth i mean...the people are kind of alright ig. (jokes, i love yall) and i want to spend my lifetime however short it may be, contributing to positive change. i dream of a career in international law where i can help the women and children of Sudan. Congo. Afghanistan. Palestine. i am deeply passionate about protecting the most vulnerable people during times of war and so much more...but this passion requires so much of that hardwork that im scared of committing to.

“do you know what would happen if i lose you?”

again. that echo of fear from past me...this obligation to myself feels like my obligation to the world...and its easy to stay in a place where i dont disappoint myself because i dont disappoint the world. but this doesnt mean im satisfied...being afraid of hardwork has made life gray and miserable, every thought is a second one of a second one. my ambition has been imprisoned and i am its warden. and im ruthless.

all this does is breed apathy...i can never feel the full weight of anything besides anger, which just fizzles out as quickly as it fizzled in.

“your light shines so bright, its like two stars colliding”

i don’t have all the answers. i recognize how young 20 is. i want to end off on a hopeful note but i have become rich off empty promises that could buy back our land so i just want you to sit with the song one more time. but i can say foresure, you don’t have to stay how you have been, and when its time to evaluate your life at its end, i hope you would have chosen to be happy.

to you reading this, you are capable beyond your own understanding.

“you are the world, you are my world”

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so many young women are indecisive and its really boring me.

and shem i do get why, patriarchy makes it feel like nothing you do is the right answer until an external paternal force confirms it or even that any decison you make is the wrong one if it doesnt check certain boxes. capitalism has created the illusion of infinte options that make you want to hold out and decide later when it feels safer, when you’ve seen everything and exhuasted all variety. im telling you i understand neh.

MARA! please wake up. from a place of love, wake tf up. if you always take 10 business days to make decisons regarding what to eat, what to wear, what to drink, because you dont trust your decisionmaking skills, how can you trust yourself to handle bigger responsiblities in your life? something as simple as a “no, i dont want kfc, i want chicken licken” (better option btw) is going to build you into someone who can comfortably talk about what you want and dont want out of your life. if its a fear of making mistakes, the smaller choices we have to make daily lay the framework for us at a larger scale. flop kore you’re too busy cosplaying perfection to want to learn.

for an example, nagana its a rainy day but you have to go to campus, you quickly decide on an outfit thats not the best and you end up having a terrible morning all wet and cold. next time you know to choose warmer and in the process you learn that you dont like rainy weather at all, if at a later stage in life something may require you to move to a rainy climate youll have a better understanding of what that kind of weather does to you and when you make a decision youll have greater trust in it because you understand yourself a lot more.

just a silly example but you’d be suprised at how many people get stuck at the first problem.

remember that indecisiveness also has consequences. i dont want to see any more stories of women finally waking up in their 50s and realising they were led down the wrong path because they didnt take ownership of their life. in this day and age we have access to many people we can learn from so we do not have to keep repeating cycles phela not every lesson must be learned in first person. break the cycle and make more decisons. let people know what you think. share your opinons more often. i would personally encourage you to be a bit meaner in your approach especially to elders and men but thats my preference. just dont mince your words to the point where you say nothing at all.

reach a point were people that know you already know what you will and will not accept. im tired of seeing a permemnent “idk/maybe” face on young women. stop that. it is beneath you. you do know and if you really dont be teachable and accept correction gracefully.

make things happen for your own sake, no one elses, because at the end of the day, you will have to meet the person you could’ve been and explain why you were so afraid of her.

shap.

i was listening to L.A. by brent faiyaz and it was like he somehow understood my current situation. he sings of a city of god and angels where drug use is how you make connection, how he has to make sacrifices in order to make it, how he has to go hungry to make studio sessions. but despite the empty stomach, its much better chasing your dreams than being stagnant. same lowkey

“god damn, it aint easy let me tell ya, account is overdrawn doing sessions in the valley every other night.”

growing up in a relatively low income province from a middle class family i never had an extreme first hand experience of just how expensive it is to survive or do anything in this country. a privilege i don’t take for granted. an allowance that would comfortably maintain me in limpopo barely lasts two weeks in cape town.

dont get me started on the tuition at this place bro. like i get the whole best uni in africa thing but at what point is it just taking advantage because of the good PR? im not going to mention it by name because that’s more free advertising and when its time for registration they’re gonna act brand new and treat me like a stranger. ke sharp ka vibe, thanks.

now that im in in my second year, i feel like i have accepted that certain things are just not for me, i can’t have or do it all. if i want groceries and hygiene stuff i must just cancel any other plans for that month. but since i wanna be young and turnt sometimes i need to figure out how to make rice and potatoes 5 ways for the whole month. but that’s the almost* universal experience of uni life so im not taking it personally. it’s definitely building my character.

“but oh what a feeling, oh what a thrill. to look down from these hills. put the life i know behind”

im also not going to pretend like im not right where i wanna be though. when i was still christian in highschool every prayer started with a reminder to god about this uni, this degree, this life. after an excruciating gap year, that at the time i thought was testing my faith, finally getting the acceptance felt like a confirmation of his reality, his existence, his favour for me and me specifically.

i wish i could back to being that delusional all the time. i wish i stayed that ignorantly faithful. its so much better than this awareness. im not suprised im atheist though, i have always struggled with faith-based religion. im just not built for it. even as a child, during morning prayers, when my teachers would talk about how valiant our lord is, how he is protecting every one of us and he will be there no matter what. i never bought it, but there was no such thing as a “non-believer”, just a troubled child, so i played along for as long as i could, any question i had was just from my lack of faith, my lack of research. matric being matric though, i saw that i might as well go all in on the absurdity and have that so called blind, childlike faith but even at my most faithful I was still side-eyeing this guy.

“what kind of values does god have?” a question no had an answer to. I guess because it’s so obvious that I sound odd asking it but genuinely what kind of guy is he? gape nkare nna le yena we have opposing views of the world. He greenlights capitalism by rewarding people within the system with promotions, cars, houses, uni acceptances. but then when it’s time to free the people of congo from this very system that his other rich children are benefitting from...motho is missing in action? maybe I misunderstood him and his purpose. but if I’m being honest you couldn’t pay me (well...) to care enough about any religion.

aside from not being politically compatible, i also get very annoyed by the idea of heaven. I’m not scared of it..it just irritates me. why can’t i just die and never come back? yho i’d be such a lazy ancestor shem. nna ke nyaka go robala. leave me alone. there is something so sinister about being held hostage in this way, firstly, i dont ask to be born so by force i need make my life work, but somehow even in death i still owe you something, would karl marx approve of this? I don’t think so.

i don’t get what people find appetising about an infinity spent lobotomized and subservient, aren’t we doing that already? aowa, nna ka gana shem this one life has already exhausted me and yona it has due date. if i had to live another one that never ends i would invent suicide in that golden city of his. its why i struggle with the whole “be like x so you can make it to heaven” aspect of religions because what if i just want to be good but i dont want to be brought back in anyway shape or form. this thing of religion being a moral compass is misguided to me because i have met so many people who just want to be good for goodness sake. they aren’t doing it for the promise of an afterlife with “heavenly mansions”.

do you see what im saying about the values thing though? like why do most contemporary iterations of christian heaven use langauge like “gold cities” /”mansions”, why would this infinite being care a damn about gold? what value does it have to him? why would heaven be filled with it? why should we care about? i thought we’d leave shit like that on earth and resources like this wont mean anything. maybe its a way to show the human mind how important it is to want to go to heaven but it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth, he sounds so superficial and concerned with the wrong thing. like please stop decorating your castle and start fixing shit down here instead my dear!!!

“oh yes, its all about making something”

that being said. i get why it’s so easy to buy into religion. there is so much we don’t know about anything, including ourselves. it must be so comforting to hear that there’s this guy who made the universe and he planned your (YES YOURS!) life exactly. HE loves you like a father, you can show HIM your darkest parts and HE wont run. HE will hold you close and you will be at home in HIS arms. HE knows what’s going to happen and even if you lose everything, so long as you stay with HIM at HIS feet, HE will guide you through the valley of the shadow of death.

i mentioned earlier that i went to the rooftop to journal, i recently got back into it and it’s been great. i really love hearing myself talk, and im only slighty joking. i used to be consistent when i was christian, i would study the gospels and try to draw parallels to my own life (so i dont want to hear that i didnt try hard enough!). since starting this new journal as an atheist one of the first things i noticed is just how many blank spaces i can no longer fill with a bible verse. i have to interrogate my thought patterns much deeper, my despair doesn’t dissipate until i acknowledge it and seek solutions. i need to consider my present actions and their consequences. my past does still in fact affect me (no one is more upset by that than me). There are nights where i have nothing to say because there is so much to say, every feeling collides into another. and i struggle to find resolution. In the past, ending the night with prayer felt like i made something happen, like i took control by giving up control. Now, i just have to accept that some things happen because they do. It can be bleak, and i have caught myself mistaking pessimism for practical thinking, but this does tend to be the truth. i cannot explain how badly i wish god was real so he could take over all of this feeling, this thinking. but he isnt. i am. you reading this are. and we are all the other has.

this isn’t meant to be a deeply researched, thought provoking piece on religion and atheism. i just, as my christian sisters would say, felt “compelled” to share. it was “on my heart” that i write this because i have a feeling its not just me. I have nothing figured out, and i occasionally dust off the bible on my shelf for some comfort. and i think that may be the purpose of a god. i guess we all eventually find out.

I just wanna kick this off by saying this was written in a state of irritation and while I do sound like im targeting celine song however, i am not.

Celine Songs posse of self proclaimed "thought daughters" (shoot me) think they are so esoteric and well-read for understanding a movie that isn’t really saying much to begin with. A pothole in venda has more depth than that writing. Let me explain where I clash with this movie and why the intentions behind it get muddled and fall short due to the poor execution of this project.

Clash 1. "Its not about money its about love"

I dont buy into the very surface level and tired retort that the movie was about Lucy (dakota) figuring out that she herself is a materialist and seems to value luxury above soulful fulfillment and her not ending up with harry (pedro) is sort of her development as a character. I can concede that maybe her and harry would not have been happy and she would not have been satisfied with him just being financially viable. Okay. But the tone deafness with which the writer handles the character of lucy herself is what irks me. In this day and age what celine is saying isnt new and special...im not saying she herself claims it to be. But the way its touted to the audience and the way she discusses it in the press tours she obviously is very proud of herself for giving us this angle. I digress though, its a patriarchal technique as old as time and just because its been repackaged to look like class consciousness does not mean it is.

Clash 2a: "John (chris) deserves love too"/"Poverty is not the fault of the poor"

Well yes, its not. I agree celine...poor people should not miss out on romance simply because of not having the money to perform it at todays expectations. And if that is something lucy was okay with then i would have been too...but she isnt. And so im not. Throughout the film we get snippets of john and lucy's relationship in the past, and the glimspes we get don't swing the pendulum towards him for me. He seems prideful, and kind of stingy...lucy breaks up with him on the basis of "i dont want to fight about money all the time it reminds me of my parents" (incredibly valid reason btw). And so when they re-enter each other's lives its expected that maybe something would have changed, not that he became an insanely rich superstar overnight but some sort of "growth"-in the sense that he is not in the same position we left him. But he is exactly the same..one could wager even worse. He is still pushing for the acting thing which is also a little ~ehhh~ because he is nearing his 40s...not saying its not possible its just not sound logically since that industry is so age/beauty driven. And so to argue that John still "deserves" love is a complete misunderstanding of the implication that has on lucy. We forget that she comes back to the same place she wanted to run away from because she couldn't open herself up to the possibility of being happy with harry.(see cl.3)

Clash 2b: "deserve" as the working verb.

Ive spoken about this before but i don’t really buy into language like "x group" deserves "x thing" (especially if x thing is not a necessity to a human life)...why? Human beings are only* entitled to basic human rights...we DESERVE water, clothing, shelter, community...but do we DESERVE the most expensive water? Expensive shelter? No. No we dont. This is not an attack on capitalistic ambitions but rather a mirror im trying to hold up. Even rich people don’t deserve any of the extravagant things they have...they are better off with the most comfortable basics and giving away the rest of their exuberant wealth, so that everyone can also be comfortable. Do we also DESERVE to have love that sees us for who we are, and not our class struggles? Yes....BUT not at the net expense of our potential lovers. What do i mean by this? a lot of the “songists” and song herself state that "john deserves love too" i have a problem with this because of two reasons.

1. Why is it when the man is poor the woman has to stop being materialistic and accept love into her life and marry “down”. But when the woman is poor she marries “up”. I’ve never come across a rom com with a man who marries a poor woman and the lifestyle of the man is changed. Unless i watched pretty woman (1990) with my eyes closed while upside down.

2. Lucy is our main character and as such we are more likely to be concerned with her needs/wants and what she deserves. I dont care if john deserved a heart transplant, him being poor doesnt mean lucy must suddenly give up her heart and let go of her very valid worry of becoming like her parents and fighting over money. This doesnt mean punish john for being poor, but it also doesnt mean compromise Lucy's potential happiness with a stable life.

Clash 3: "Lucy and Harry never got on well"

BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T TRY. SHE DIDN'T TRY. As president of the avoidant women nation, trust me i get it..i am the first person to get it. But honestly avoidance ≠ being a dumbass (sometimes). I understand lucy's apprehension to Harry's advances...she clearly views herself as beneath him in some way...she is used to being on the busines side of matching men like him with women like him. But aowa bahn...aowa....the effort he puts into her...not just materially* please note this. He genuinely has good, honest conversations with her, they talk like adults and they have clear expectations with each other. And obviously why are we expecting love that moves mountains during the first months of a new relationship? I dont understand why it was so important for people that they have that spark immediately...under the circumstances and context of their coupling...its sort of reminiscent of Queen Charlotte and George. But anyways...harry does open up his heart, he tells her about the leg surgery and opens up about the insecurity while she remains closed off instead of meeting him halfway about maybe what was troubling her at work or something else to have that emotional exhange, obviously i dont want her to force herself to be vulnerable if she doesnt want to be, but my main gripe is how as the audience we dont even have insight into why its not clicking for her. Its like celine wrote lucy from the beginning with intention of her getting back together with john because she doesn't try at all...and its such a counterintuitive move because this doesnt make me support john and lucy more it just makes me angry with lucy for not trying for herself...just like john she was okay with staying where she was comforatble even if she had shown desire for more. she settled and its not even for a noble reason, just some guy. Lucy is such a disappointment.

Clash 4: celine song has not made the movie she thinks she has. And thats okay! Flopped execution and despite me agreeing with her fundamental intention and commentary this movie does not capture that. And i got this movie, trust me i did. Im not a 6 year old with a thumb up my ass using subway surfers as a chaser for a 1hr 30min sitdown. I got it. (Its not as woefully insightful as some may think) I just disagree.

And whats funny is that i initially didn't care for it...rated it 3/5 on letterboxd and kept it pushing. It was the uncharitable way that criticisms were responeded to by everyone that liked the movie that pushed me here. This movie is supposedly a callout to women who date materially in this generation and punches down on the "shera sevens" and "princess treatment" ladies (which by no means am i defending) however it fails that mission. Instead it slaps all young straight women who expect something better from their male counterparts in the face and tells them to put love first even if that “love” is a life long plateau, even if that “love” comes at the compromise of your other desires for life. (SHE LITERALLY QUIT HER JOB!!!!!)

i do believe there is value in the intentions, there is a problem with how superficial modern dating is, and poor people also deserve love. This movie is trying to say that but ended up looking like “women should stop liking money so much and marry the chill ex”.

That’s all <3