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They lie in bed.
One on the left.
One on the right.
She closes her eyes.
Shutting everything out.
He closes his.
He doesn’t have to try so hard to shut out the noise.
He’s always been more in control than her.
She can feel him.
Next to her.
Etching closer to her until their noses touch.
He can smell her clearly now.
The bittersweet mix of floral perfume on her neck and tobacco on her breath.
It draws him in.
She leans into him.
She gives it all to him.
Nothing else matters now.
Every part of her is focused on him.
His unique, achingly beautiful touch.
He’s touching her.
Caresses up her thigh.
Caresses past her hips to her waist.
Her stomach draws in.
She exhales onto his lips.
Her eyes are fluttering now.
Consciousness setting in.
Unwillingly, her eyes start to open.
She looks around.
He’s not here.
She’s not there.
He is there.
She is here.
Separated by an ocean.
But bound by love.
**Title: Lust in Dante’s Inferno by Gustave Dore
It’s been ages since I’ve blogged…
Blame it on a break-up, a massively demanding internship and just my not always wanting to be super exposed, I suppose.
There have been many times when I’ve put pen to paper and even typed out some stuff but a part of me has always believed that there are parts that you should keep just for you so those little gems are in a book somewhere, very unlikely to see the light of day.
Last night, however, I went to watch my 6-year-old niece’s concert at her school. She was a cute little dancer dancing for Jesus because she goes to a Christian primary school.
My niece was the best little dancer – obviously, all Mosupi women are genetically designed to be able to cut-a-rug and shake a tail with little effort.
Besides my bias judging of who the best little dancer was, I also managed to have a little bit of an epiphany as I watched her and all the other 5 and 6-year-olds shimmy shimmy for the Big J.
As I looked at my niece who resembles me as though I was her mother, I got a flashback of the me I used to be. A cute, confident little girl who was concerned with only what she wanted and needed to do from moment to moment without worrying about other people.
Children are fantastic in that way. They aren’t tied down by people’s opinions and aren’t worried about looking dumb or sounding unintelligent or have any of that self-deprecating bullshit that we adopt along the way because of societal pressures and all that other bullshit that we use an excuse and justification for allowing ourselves to shrink and almost be invisible.
I would have never thought I would learn a huge life lesson from my 6-year-old twin niece but it just goes to show that you never know where life’s gems are going to come from. You never know when the next great thing is going to come to you and you never know who the deliverer of this delight is going to be.
I think we need to throw caution to the wind and channel our inner 6-year-old and remember what it really is to live in the moment. To dance like no one is watching – and even if they are, to keep dancing anyway because you are just that confident and comfortable in your skin.
It’s one thing to walk and talk and behave as if you really don’t give a damn what people think, say or even see when they look at you but it’s a completely different thing to actually think, feel and live that way.
I’m 24 and of course life has thrown some horrendous curveballs at me that are likely to have left me a tad jaded but honestly, neither I nor you have to embrace the bad shit as much as we do and allow it to be an excuse to be only a fraction of who you are.
So, don’t be surprised when you see me dancing, singing and living as though you aren’t there watching because in as much as no man is an island and we all live in a time where social propriety is something to always be aware of and all that, before I am anyone’s daughter, sister, aunt, friend, and someone’s future girlfriend or wife, I am Azizzar. A person with hopes, dreams, goals and things that just make ME happy and that’s what I think being 6, and actually living, is about.
My name is Azizzar and I’m consciously making the decision to be 6 again… Feel free to join me.
Because JawOnFloor is just the funniest, wisest and most beautiful curvaceous male you will come across
Originally posted on jawonthefloor:
This mystical incantation washed all the way from Mother Germany – don’t be a naai. And you will all take care to listen.
Translated, it means don’t be a fucker.
One of my favourite tweeters is Beyonka Fierce. She says things that would get you shunned by society for admitting that it made you laugh. She would probably be fired from her job if her employers knew that she was tweeting the things she does. Last year she killed herself and rose up from the ashes to bless us with her quality tweets. Check it out, if you dare – @beyonka_fierce
Maybe I should explain before I go on. My dear friend Meryem, from Germany (so she speaks German) was in South Africa last year and went away for an end of year camp. She came back filled with energy and wisdom, as one of the rules for the group…
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It lands on a flower,
optimistic and unaware.
It takes in as much of its essence
as it can in that short moment.
It flies away, looking at other flowers,
but it never lands.
Other flowers are beautiful…
Attractive, maybe even a little sweet…
But its bittersweet.
Bittersweet because they’re not its favourite.
Yes, they could work just fine.
But it’s not quite the same.
So, it flies back to its pretty, confident flower.
Just for a small hit of that temporary perfection.
Only for its invisible ‘reserved’ sign to be a distant memory.
There’s no space for it.
There’s no space for it to land and possibly find solace.
No space for it to dig deep into the burrows of the flower
to find that oh so good juice it thought only it knew of.
No space. No space because of the swarm of others
that the flower had puffed itself up for.
The bond that it thought was special
was merely biology and science.
The philosophy, literature and Shakespearan connection
was all a figment of its imagination.
And so, it goes off in a fit of rage, hurt and vengeance
to lick its wounds.
The dark cloud hanging over it making it want to
make something else feel the same sting of pain.
And so it latches onto someone,
something, anything and stings.
Through that sting it releases all the weight of its emotion.
The heaviness of love.
The stuffiness of anger.
The weight of disappointment.
The feather-light glimmer of hope.
And soon, the vengeance is gone.
The pain fuelling it starts to fade.
Slowly, but surely it fades.
Colour fades until its grey.
A deep grey of impending peace.
Until there’s nothing.
Nothing but the sweetness of fading to black.
That’s what he does everyday. Even in the midst of people.
He seems like he’s there but its only a shadow of his true self.
His presence is a mirage. An illusion.
In as much as he may ‘mm’ and ‘aah’ with conviction at the right cues and his flesh may be present,
his spirit, the definition of who he is is ever elusive.
His thoughts are about his life – what he imagines it to be in its ideal state.
But, what he doesn’t realize is that he’s wasting it away on thoughts that are characteristically fleeting.
How ever will he get what he wants then, if all he does is think. think. think.
And not live?
And how has this not dawned on him when this is his life.
I have these wonderful conversations with my friends at work – yes, we have thrown caution to the wind and dropped the c-word (colleague) and opted for the powerful f-word (friend) despite much not to subtle protest. Anyway, we have these wonderful, crazy and often enlightening conversations about everything under the sun often at 7:30 in the morning because we are those annoying over-achievers who get to work an hour and a half to two hours earlier.
So, today the question of whether anger can and should be equated with passion came up. There seems to be this warped perception that if your love interest, boyfriend, girlfriend – or the newly inducted term of affection ‘ho’ courtesy of Jeh-rome-ay – screams and shouts at you while fighting then they are passionate and really care and the inverse thereof.
Take Ronnie and Sammy from Jersey Shore. A lot of us watched that show less for the flashes of Snooki and Dina’s “kooka” and more for the love-hate relationship that Ronnie and Sammy have/had (never sure about those two) and the explosive expression thereof.
Let’s flashback to Season 3, episode something or other when Ronnie and Sam had the hugest fight where she was hanging on a bed like a spider monkey as Ron was trying to throw the bed (and her) out accompanied with banging doors and skin-crawling insults. Like, WTF?
Maybe I’m behind the times, but I don’t believe that that kind of behavior and fighting is passionate and sexy in any way. I don’t think anger should at all be a measure for passion or sexual prowess and least of all love.
The idea that if I choose not to scream and shout at you ever – let alone in public – is some sort of an indicator of being “dead inside” or cold and unfeeling is crap. What happened to sitting down and telling you rationally that I don’t like something you’ve done? When did my choosing not to throw plates and chairs when we fight make me less interesting and less wanted?
Or better yet, when did passion in love-making or passion regarding my hopes, dreams and future for myself and for us become less important than the “passion” apparently seen and felt when you’ve got a glass hurtling towards your face?
I don’t know, maybe I’m that old-school fuddy duddy (yes, I’m in my twenties and I used that phrase – dramatic effect, roll with it) who believes that there’s a time, place and appropriate response for everything. And that some things should be taken at face value for what they are. Anger is anger. Anger is neither passion nor love as far as I’m concerned.
I must say, the idea that I may need to get a cochlear implant from being profoundly deaf after someone’s expression of passion for/toward me is not-so-hot-so, but hey, that’s just me, the one who used ‘fuddy duddy’ in this century *shrugs*
Romance is something that is ingrained into almost every single girl child when they are born. We grow up being told fairy tales such as Cinderella – where the prince comes and saves her from her life of poverty and slavery (let’s be honest) and Snow White – where the kiss of a prince saves her life – woah, brainwash much?
Then we grow up and start to read Shakespeare and his writings on love and romance – hello Romeo & Juliet and Twelfth Night and it gets further solidified in our minds that firstly, romance does exist and secondly, that women are entitled to having it.
This doesn’t change the more we evolve and advance in all ways. Today, a certain level of romance and chivalry is still expected – it’s the unwritten rule of dating and plays a larger role than many would even care to realize. I mean if men could write love poems and wear their hearts on their sleeves unashamedly in 19-whatever when they barely had water to bath with, why then wouldn’t men who have more than some ink and a quill pen do a little something to show women how they feel and how they want them.
Now in the times of smartphones, social media and economic, social and technological freedom, the little things seem to be forgotten. What happened to the phone call? What happened to writing letters? Even buying flowers for a woman is starting to fade – Why would I buy flowers when I can take a perfectly good enough photo of someone’s flowers in their garden, put it through a nice filter on Instagreezy and tag the person I WOULD HAVE sent them to; I mean take a picture it lasts longer, right?
So, is romance dead though? Or has it gone through a process of evolution and become what it is today – he changed his Facebook status to ‘in a relationship’ – he must like me… Or, he hash tagged “My Boo” on twitter and ‘atted’ me – we in love… Or, have you seen the pictures he’s tagged me in on Insta with the sweet message, he’s the one.
I find myself wondering more and more if wanting some of the more traditional ways of courting – yeah I said it – such as a phone call instead of a BBM/whatsapp chat and being picked up with flowers and chocolates en tow is outdated and a bit irrational considering the times that we are living in? Or should it be one of those things that should be the standard and shouldn’t change.
I also wonder if it is even plausible in the times of men ‘loving bad bitches’ and wanting ‘racks on racks on racks’ and where women twerk on demand, pour it up in the clurrbs and don’t need no man to get by’, is The Notebook/Romeo & Juliet kind of love and romance be something that should fast become a figment of imagination and be replaced by twerking, balling, strategizing and ‘playing the game’ or should we all step up and take it back to basics?
Photo Credit: 1zoom.net and hiconsumption.com respectively
the ability to understand something instinctively, without the need for conscious reasoning.
“we shall allow our intuition to guide us”
[ih-rash-uh-nl] Show IPA
without the faculty of reason; deprived of reason.
without or deprived of normal mental clarity or sound judgment.
not in accordance with reason; utterly illogical: irrational arguments.
not endowed with the faculty of reason: irrational animals.
Often we are told to listen to our intuition as a guide because it is the one thing that won’t steer us wrong.
ABC’s Scandal with Kerry Washington as its leading character Olivia Pope has an overarching theme of intuition with Pope known for listening to and trusting ‘her gut’ because her ‘gut is never wrong’.
Thing is, at what point does it stop being intuition and start being irrationality, jealousy or down-right insanity.
One of social media Whatsapp’s defining characteristics is its “Last Seen” option that lets you know when last someone was on their Whatsapp. Many a relationship has fallen victim of this feature with girlfriends (and boyfriends) hounding their partners for answers as to why they were on Whatsapp until 2am when they had said good night to them at 10pm – yikes. These women then foster possible reasons as to why this may be the case with infidelity almost always being the only reason that makes sense to them. This is then accredited to intuition confirmed by the ‘last seen’ on Whatsapp.
A lot of times when it comes to cheating in a relationship, women are often heard saying “You always know your man is cheating before you find proof, you’ll feel it in your gut – you’ll just know”.
While this has proven true a number of times, there are those times when it hasn’t been true – in this case, was the intuition wrong or was the woman insecure to some extent and as a result irrationally conjured up a scenario that made her feel better about her insecurities because for some reason it is easier to deal with the dragon of cheating than it is to admit “I’m scared I’m going to lose my man because I just don’t feel good enough for him”.
Essentially the point here is that while intuition is a guide of sorts, there are instances when it verges into the irrational and is used for a scapegoat for deeper issues. But then again, there are instances when it really is intuition and it should be listened to.
So, how do you know? How do you know when your intuition is serving you or when you’ve fooled yourself into thinking its intuition when it’s just irrationality? What if you ignore what you’re feeling as irrational but find out much later that you were right and you should’ve been Olivia Popesque and listened? But then again, what if you are wrong and end up unnecessarily damaging trust within your relationship?
I suppose this is one of those catch 22 situations where you are damned if you do and damned if you don’t. Urgh.
A person’s “twenties” are considered to be one of the most exciting times of their life. You turn 21 and have a big party; if you pursued tertiary education, it is around age 22 that you get your qualification – with honours if you are lucky; and then you turn 23…. and what you get is a resounding “so… when are you getting married” – CRINGE!
For some reason, with a lot of black women of different cultures, once you turn 23 your mother, aunts and older cousins start to hear wedding bells on your behalf and if you don’t hear them yourself, you are looked at as if there is something terribly wrong with you.
In the Tswana language there is a word “lefetwa” that refers to someone that has essentially missed the ideal age of marriage and it is believed that once you have missed this age then marriage has passed you by. You are then given the ‘wonderful’ title of Lefetwa. This is possibly the worst title that you can be given because it essentially means that your family has almost lost all hope that prince charming (for lack of a better title) will find you and take you off the shelf. This issue is among the top 3 biggest fears of mothers with daughters, along with having a baby out of wedlock and being unemployed. Yes, it is THAT serious.
This fear is driven into irrational insanity when we tell them that we are going to break the age-old tradition and get married just before we turn thirty due to the pursuit of our careers. This new age thinking is something that our mothers struggle to wrap their heads around, because, well, having a husband and family is ranked pretty high on the success scale.
I, for one, am not in a particular hurry to get married and according to research, I am not the only one. According to a research article by scholars Budlender, Chobokoane & Simelane (Date Unknown), women in South Africa are increasingly getting married at a later age. In 1990, women were getting married between age 22 and 23 whereas now, women are waiting until age 27 or 28 to get married.
Interestingly enough, it is not only us South African women that have developed this aversion to marriage at a young age. According to Barkhorn (2013) women in the United States are also waiting until around age 27 to get married. Gone are the days when women waited with baited breath to be swept off of their feet and live happily ever after in a constant state of Utopia it seems.
I think that women and especially young women have developed this crazy ambition and are so empowered that they are looking to better themselves first before taking on the responsibility of being a wife and mother. This is definitely the case for me. I believe that in order to have a prosperous marriage and life in general, one needs to be happy within him/herself first. This will go a long way in preventing a wife who resents her family for having made her miss opportunities to get her dreams.
In as much as our mothers fear that we will “miss the boat” of marriage, I think that missing the boat of life in general would be much worse and have longer lasting effects on everyone.
So, while the fabulous dress and probably ridiculously opulent wedding ceremony is something that will bring temporary joy and help in avoiding being dubbed “lefetwa”, I would much rather catch the boat of my life and be happy within myself in order to make sure that I am happy in all areas, as a woman, journalist, future wife and mother.
Journalist Sandra Koopman says that “We are not incomplete without partners, so our partners should not seek or be expected to ‘complete’ us”… nor should we be made to feel as though there is something wrong with us if we choose to hold back on the idea of marriage. Now, if only our mothers can get on this new boat…
There are times when I feel like I should be more… just more…
As a person who is observant as well as an (over)analyser, I find myself looking at other people’s best qualities and sometimes wishing I had more of THAT thing.
I have a friend who is unshakeably sure of who and what she is; what she wants; where she’s going and how to get there. As a more “free spirit” I sometimes look at her and think ‘I need to get more surety’…
Another person that I know has got to be one of the most, if not the most, humble people that I know. When in her midst, it is inevitable to get in that zone and find yourself wanting to emulate or actually posses that kind of humility.
There are many people that I know who hardly sleep almost every day because they are “hustlin” and chasing their dreams. I think we have all come across those people who make you feel as though your efforts at chasing your dreams could qualify as the bare minimum.
But then, I sit back and try figure out why I (and many other people who may or may not admit it) am my own biggest critic…
I suppose the same principle is in effect as when someone genuinely says something nice about you and your instinctual response is to feel embarrassed rather than triumphant… It’s weird to toot your own horn because the line between confident and arrogant is sometimes too fine to even be seen.
But, I’ve realised something in all this insanity… that I am who I am and there’s no point in being something else and that there’s also nothing wrong with celebrating who you are, flaws and all.
While there’s always room for improvement; and trying to better yourself is totally respectable, it is also (if not more so) respectable to accept yourself in your current form… So, here it is…
I am an intelligent, ambitious and hard-working person; hard-working to the point of fault because I become like a machine when I’m focused on something and even end up kind of neglecting the people who mean the most to me. I am funny in a crass way and sometimes in a way that people find silly… but I’m cool with that.
I am a sociable person but simultaneously have a deep need to be by myself. I am confident but I also question certain things about myself across all boards… In some situations I find myself wondering if I sound intelligent enough while in others I wonder if I come across as pompous. I can be lazy, I’m not much of a ‘lady’ – I like to get down with the guys and have a dirty mouth and every now and then. But I am also rather girly with a love for make-up, fashion and all that feminine stuff. I’m emotional, empathic, intuitive and observant too…
Point is I AM ME and that’s all I’ll ever be. I think that we tend to focus so much on getting and better that we forget to appreciate the current reality of things. You are always going to be you, the only difference is whether you are the best version of you or not… And that’s the thing; the best you can and usually is different depending on many things including your environment, the personal stuff that you may be going through and many other things. For instance, the “best you” that you are at the office may not necessarily be the “best you” that you are/should be at home… For every person that you deal with and in each different setting, you tap into different parts of you that all comprise the essence of who you are.
You are you and no one can be the best or worst you quite like you can so you might as well not only love, but embrace and celebrate that fact. So, cheers to you you’re literally one of a kind *raises glass*
Photo Credit: SAMday.com; elitedaily.com