Sunday, 28 August 2011

I have a right to cheat

I am a serial cheater. Yes I said it, I cheat. I wish I could say it is because I have daddy issues or that a guy hurt me so bad that I started cheated because actually I cheated on that guy too. I have cheated on all the guys in my life, either emotionally or physically. Right before each relationship ended already I had moved on and in some cases to his best friend.

Judge me if you have the time but read on, I am not saying I don’t believe in monogamy. I have heard about it but it hasn’t worked for me. I have tried to disillusion myself that like Barbie I will find my Ken but thus far I have been unlucky. If you think about it, it’s kinda unfair to put some much pressure on one person. Perfection is a myth! So here is my theory. We all have a list of attributes that we look for in a guy. Most of the time a guy will have like 60%. Most girls will settle for this and work with what they have. I never settle. I want all of it, the whole cake. I take all their 40 to 60% combinations deduct their imperfections and the hassles of having to handle of them because trust me it can hard and end up with 110%. It’s worth it, well most of the time.

There is more to the twist, I don’t mind guys cheating on me as long as they are not putting me at risk of anything because I also accept that I am not perfect. That doesn’t mean that I don’t get jealous. Because I do, again I emphasize that I am only human. So, am I endorsing open relationships? No, actually quite the contrary I am not endorsing anything. To be honest I think those are also self-destructive. Besides that’s not cheating, the secrecy is the main ingredient.  

My point? Cheating is not as malicious as people make it out to be. It is an acceptance of reality. Essentially human beings are never truly satisfied with anything. Thus a bit of exploring may be the spice we need to appreciate what we have. It’s easy to leave someone because they cheat on you but it’s more worth it to explore why. To me cheating is not so clear cut as everyone makes it out to be. There is always more to it. So while I cheat I also believe that as some point I will stop, not because I will have met the perfect person but because all good things must come to an end. However until then I refuse not to drink water when I am thirsty.


“So, agm are you...are you gay?”

“Oh yes, darling, I am gay can’t you see?”  I have found that every day on campus seems to be a coming out day for me. Simply because as many have put it, “I don’t act gay enough” so this then means, I must always confirm people’s suspicions, because of my very flamboyant walk. 
This constant pressure of always having to come out and confirm people’s suspicions does at times get to me. Is it not possible for me to have a conversation with a new person without them having to ask me I am gay or not?
Should I dress more flamboyantly, apply makeup and be all drag so that all suspicions are confirmed, without anyone having to ask me if I am gay or not?
But however there is a personal encounter, which I will never forget in my life, it’s a story of how I got to meet my best friend. We were walking down Long Street, Cape Town. Like many eager first years, were tipsy and all we wanted to do was to have fun. We were still in awe of “Long” as it is called, the lights, the restaurants and clubs were fascinating. As we were walking, holding hands like we have been friends forever. She asked me, in a small and caring voice, whether I was gay. Those mere three words that we whispered to each other brought us together like no other drug. A connection was created, a blood link was joined and bone from my bone was created.
So next time if someone asks, you “so, agm, are you gay?” take a deep breath, and simply say yes. Exposing our vulnerability can lead to great friendships. 

Sunday, 21 August 2011

When i grow up, i want to be a boy

When we were kids and adults would ask us what we want to be when we grow up, the usual sorts of things would come up.  A doctor, a teacher, an astronaut (that one always got me, like who ACTUALLY ever grows up to be an astronaut huh???) and so forth.  I’ve been thinking about that lately, and the one answer I have is simply “I want to be a boy”.  Now you must be wondering why on earth I’m saying that, and maybe some of you are slowly averting your eyes thinking “is this going to turn into a sex change discussion… #awkward”.  However, it is not.  What it is on the other hand, is a slightly feminist kind of piece, so boys, piss off!  
Males are a piece of work.  They walk around thinking the world owes them first place, and we as females are meant to just step away and accept.  Well I kind of can’t hey.  I can’t handle the empty minded, self-centred, shallow excuses for a human being any longer.  All they care about is a pretty face and an easy lay.  They see one girl, they go for her, she denies and they move on to the next one.  No time to get to know a person, no effort or patience.  To them, you’re just another girl along the assembly line.  If you can’t give them what they want, they’ll find a girl who will.  And we’ve all been there, submitting to the needs of a man purely so he doesn’t leave.  We change everything about ourselves; sell our souls to the devil for a chance to even be noticed by a guy.  And then what does he do, he leaves you for the next pretty face.  What happened to chivalry, to Romeo outside our window, to Shakespeare comparing us to “a summer’s day”, and Mr Darcy telling us we have “bewitched him body and soul”? What happened to that? Why do we get douche bags and assholes that fuck our best friends and dump us over text?  Why am I his tip drill, and not his forever? Why am I his one night stand, and not “the one”? 
The answer to all this is simply: I am a woman.  And because I am a woman, this is my fate.  I am doomed to having men approach me only when I’m looking my best, and having left the natural me at home.  And the worst part is we can never step into their shoes.  When a woman does it like a dude, she gets tagged with the title ‘whore’, and not as a pimp like our male counter-parts.  Why can’t I be a hustler, why can’t I be a G? Why can’t I be the one that fucks up and still gets him back? This equality shall never happen.  It is the nature of things, like the sun rising in the morning and the moon setting in the evening.  It is as it has always been, but with our rights to equality came our forfeiture of the chivalry that we so long for.  So it is for this reason that I wish to be a boy when I grow up, to enjoy the privileges of the Y chromosome without the curses of the X.  I want to be boy, because simply put, life is just easier with a penis attached.

Monday, 15 August 2011


I have always wanted to be slightly different. Maybe it’s because I have never thought I quite fit in. Growing up, I loved reading and watching documentaries and anything that made me slightly different to the rest of my mud-slinging, farting peers.

In University , a vast place were first impressions are made with just a glance, the one thing that makes me different to all the other black guys strolling on campus is that I celebrate and wholly love my off beat music. When the new Kanye West/ Jay-Z album was released people went ballistic on Twitter, Facebook and to any person who would listen about how excited they were. I honestly didn’t give a shit. Tell me there was a new Bloc Party album, or Interpol were releasing a new EP that would make my appetite whet. I’ve always wondered why so, what attracted me so much to the world of white guys in skinny jeans,  smoking rollies and living in the back of van, touring and getting drunk? I have no connection to this world, a middle-class black kid who grew up in a very “black” family. I think it’s the escapism that rock/alternative/indie has that it is such a defining character of that genre that makes me love it so. I connect with it, the stories of University drop outs who form a band to follow their passion far more than I do with getting money, drinking at the club or a private plane. I will always remember the defining moment in my life when I walked into a CD store (do they still exist?) and as my cousin grabbed a Nas album, I picked up a U2 album instead. As I walked up to the counter the attendant looked at my chubby nine-year old self and looked at me bemused and taken a back about why on earth I would want a U2 album. Suffice to say I have never looked back.

That’s specifically why I hate the notion of “black” or “white” music. And they derision you have to endure when it seems you are doing something which is an affront to your culture. Yes, the music does connect with certain groups more than others but it’s about what you’re connected to that matters. And as proud of my culture as I have become, I still am a sucker for some heavy guitars and a pounding bass. After all if music is the food of love, let it play on. And play on it does.
- Hung-fish

Here The Reason Why My Eyes Are Red....

The first thing almost all parents tell their kids when bidding them farewell on their mysterious journeys to university is that it is a place filled with temptations slapping you in the face from left and right – well not in those words LITERALLY, but you get my point. Now where they as parents sometimes go wrong is by over-protecting and sheltering us from all the “evils” beyond the 20-foot-barbed-wired-electric-fenced walls they built as high and as dangerously as they possibly could so that tasks as simple as sneaking out the house are now impossible. What I realized about these fellow comrades of ours that have been sheltered like the endangered Black Rhino their whole lives, is that once they venture off to university where no more rules are applied about how they should live their day-to-day lives, the amount of freedom they all of a sudden attain could be dangerous. I’ve heard of un-countable situations where people end up pregnant or drug addicts and really, how can you ultimately blame them when they never had the opportunity to learn self-control when placed in scenarios where there is an abundance of sex, alcohol and drugs – which universities takes the Nobel Peace Prize for. Thank goodness I wasn’t raised by such parents!!! Swiftly moving on, I was lucky to have been given juuuust enough freedom while growing up by my parents and because of that I managed to learn how to control myself under such dire situations. My advice for all the freshers out there is: Don’t Do Drugs,
Just Smoke Weed!!!
How I got into smoking weed is another story for another day, but
don’t get me wrong I had enough experience back in Kuvuki Land (my vi-
llage back home) to understand its effects. What university made me
realize is that the shit right here nigga??? The shit right here is on another level!! The reason why I would personally advise freshers to ride the weed train rather than hop onto the drug express is that I feel as though it is a good (and ultimately better) alternative for drugs. My friends have seen imaginary creatures, believed they were in space, laughed to the point where they cry, literally seen Heavens gates and most of all had the best sex EVER while high on kush. NB: put the joint down when you start seeing this many colours at once, TRUST ME!! Weed also tends to be a good escape from life and helps you de-stress and for a change just feel happy. 
And this too is a reality for a lot of people that I know. In some situations it helps with creativity, I wish this was true for me but unfortunately it isn’t. A lot has been accomplished by people while high and some  of my friends have admitted to achieving better results while high, I wouldn’t advise one to do this, but I’m #justsaying. As the saying goes: experience is the best teacher, let’s not get ahead of ourselves though. My point is; don’t drink and drive, smoke weed and fly…and trust me, you won’t regret it J

I love you, I love you not

Young love is reminiscent of being in primary school to me. It transports me back to a time when the fate of your relationship was decided by a flower. The power of a flower becomes so clear when you’re on the playground. The boy or girl you like is sitting with the most pensive look on their face as they pluck the petals of a daisy while the recite. He loves me...he loves me not.

In high school self sufficiency was drilled into our minds. Being subjected to the petal like fragility of emotions in relationships became an absurd idea.  We were taught we need no man. We need not have to resort to extremes to have insight into someone else’s emotions. Because anyone we chose to be with would want us to since we were exceptional.

However, when I came to university I seemed to suffer from a mental digression. A sort of amnesia that I hadn’t realised had occurred until over a year into my studies. It would once again transfer me back to the playground. I acquired a desire to have someone there. The number of times I listened to Single ladies or any other female empowerment song ironically exacerbated that longing.

University seems to create the illusion of freedom and maturity; yet our lives here are funded by someone else and we’re still heavily reliant on other people. We begin to believe that we can handle the depth of love and the days on the playground are far behind us.  We jump into relationships whole heartedly. Everyone else seems to be able to handle it, so we think “why not me too?”  We unknowingly give up parts of our soul that we are unaware are even up for grabs; until you realise that they are gone.

Although the intensity of the love is unlike anything you may have experienced. It is still subject to the ever changing emotions and experiences that our youth makes us vulnerable too. At our age every emotion seems to be heightened.  There’s a strength yet brittleness within us.  One day we’ll realise that it may not have been love, but something a lot like it or something that didn’t resemble it at all.  We just didn’t have all the components within us to tell the difference.

Years pass since you’ve left primary school yet you still find yourself teleported to the playground. You’re back to being that young child seeking some solace in a daisy and some insight from a flower; because you genuinely don’t know or refuse to accept the reality. While each petal you pluck conveys the delicateness and frailness of young love. As you recite... He loves me...he loves me not.
Race...White, Black – it’s not only about colour, but culture.
At the ripe old age of 20, the predominant question on all our minds is ‘Who am I’, and for the gifted few who’ve managed to solve that conundrum, ‘Where do I fit in?’
In South Africa, the colour of your skin affects not only the way you look, but your preferences, who you hang around – it’s a lens through which the world is presented to you. A prejudiced lens. As a white man, someone’s lens could classify me instantly as privileged, detached from the human condition, beer-oriented and focussed only on making money. Alternatively, that same lens could view a black man, decide he must be a foreigner, fundamentally religious, yet at the same time looking to hook-up with as many “yellow-boned” girls he can find.  In most cases, these first impressions are not far from the truth, but what becomes of those of us who don’t fit into any of these bias boxes?
We’re stuck in the middle; the “coconuts”, the “top-decks” – betrayers of our own cultures. Personally, I’ve had my fair share of slanted glances when I tell people I have a black girlfriend, that I think rugby is a boorish sport or that I have few white friends. It just isn’t ‘normal’ for someone not to be what the lens assures us they should be. What’s sad is that the idea that we’re all people at the core, all the same, is a lie. Even surrounded by my friends, I’m isolated from them by their language, and can’t relate to the inside jokes about strict cultural demands. But, I’ve no way of engaging with my fellow ‘mlungu’s’, they too have their own language – “Hundreds bru’, shot – I just shagged a chick I met at ‘Tiger” ... huh?
There’s no answer to this problem...I’ve no advice to impart. As long as we’re wearing our lenses we will always be prejudiced, perhaps more so towards those who we can’t read or easily classify. People will stick to what they know, what they can connect with. And I don’t blame them; life is just easier that way.
And so I remain stuck in the middle – watching people live surrounded by those they’re comfortable with. Waiting for someone to take off their lenses, and open their eyes


Life is a short trip

I want to be young forever.  Being young is, well as far as I know, the best years of your life.  Being young is that period where you grow, mature, learn, laugh, make mistakes, make friends, lose friends, and all the wonderful things in-between.  I don’t want to get old.  I don’t want to have to worry about responsibilities, and consequences, and tomorrow. I don’t want to be someone’s boss, or someone’s bitch.  I don’t want to be a slave to money, or a slave to my job, or a slave to my husband or my children or whoever. I want to live in now.  I want to go out and get wasted on cheap booze.  I want to kill my lungs smoking skuifs and kush “just ‘cause it’s cool” and “everybody’s doing it”.  I want to listen to rubbish music, and download bootleg cd’s and dvd’s.  I want to hook up with randoms, and dance like a slut, and be a million different people all at once.  I want to moan to my friends, and ask my parents for “book money”.  I want to follow trends and pretend I’m original. I want to watch trashy chick flicks and cry and blunder about “the one” and dream about the day I find my soul mate.  I want to fight with friends, and make up tomorrow.  I want it all, now, and forever.  I don’t want to be old.  Being old means life is real.  It means that I’m at the end of the packet of chips and all that’s left is the broken pieces at the bottom.  I don’t want to be old.  I don’t want to grow up and discover all the things I’m yet to discover, and find out that my dreams were all just a bunch of childhood fantasies. I don’t want to be old, when life has lost its sparkle, and new things are just old now.  I don’t want my jeans to fade, or my cup to get empty or my shoes to get too small.  I don’t want gravity to take control of my face, and the sun to burn my skin.  I don’t want to be someone’s role model, or someone’s shadow. I don’t want the lovely to end, the flowers to die or my body to rot. I want to be young; I want to be young forever.  I want to be young forever because this bitter sweet symphony called life might just taste a little sourer with age.   Like the words of a really old song that got spiced up by a young black rapper goes “let us die young or let us live forever”. 
Forever Young by Alphaville:
“let's dance in style, lets dance for a while
heaven can wait we're only watching the skies
hoping for the best but expecting the worst
are you going to drop the bomb or not?
let us die young or let us live forever
we don't have the power but we never say never
sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip
the music's for the sad men
can you imagine when this race is won
turn our golden faces into the sun
praising our leaders we're getting in tune
the music's played by the madmen
forever young, i want to be forever young "

Is it a big part of me?

Recently I was having a discussion with some of my friends about homophobia, and in the midst of the discussion, the question that I had never thought of came up, is being gay a big part of me?
No, it is not, there are so many parts of me; I am a son, a friend, an uncle and a brother. I am a law student, an ambitious young man with many goals and dreams. Through my life experiences I have been shaped, built and moulded into who I am. There are so many big parts of me that make me the person that I am today. Different parts of me put together define me, but I actually still find it hard to believe that the fact that I am gay is actually the biggest part of me.
It is a big part of me because it has been a constant battle, between self and other people. I have also found that every time that I meet someone knew I always have to clear the air by saying that “I am gay.” 
From a young age, while the normal boys were out playing soccer, I was at home baking, playing with dolls and helping out with the kitchen chores. I have never had guys as friends; I just could not be bothered to talk about cars and engines, so I always found myself crossing my legs with girls and sipping tea.
As I went through puberty, hanging out with guys was a drag!  I just could not get them, they would be going on, and on about how hot this chick is, while in my head I was thinking how hot they are!
High School was like being in the battle field all day, insults and threats were the order of the day, and every day had its fair share of drama!
And now I have come to accept my sexuality, it is a part of me and it is who I am. Being gay is actually a very big part of me, and I take pride in that!


Fish out of the water

My life is not my own. Enter the 20s and I am not so different from the person I was in primary school. My mother and father still dictate the fabric of my life. They have outlined who I am supposed to be in so much detail that I fear being myself. It is a myth to be you in the modern world. My dreams and ambitions belong to my mother’s idea of who I am. Rebellion is not about disobedience but rather a claim to what belongs to me. I do not want to dictate what others should do or not. I just want to forge my own path in a world clouded with decisions. I want not to fear failure but to see it as a step further within the confines of my abilities and inabilities. Pardon me for preferring to stay in bed all week instead of going to lectures, they bore me. And frankly the lecturer is a dowdy bastard who lacks an imagination. 

Let me be me simply because it is hard for me to be who you want me to be. I do not know that person. I have heard of her but she is unfamiliar to me. I will burst not from success but from suppression. It is not the tasks in courses or the tests we write that we find difficult, it is accepting defeat in a battle that you should not be fighting in the first place; the battle to be allowed to be you.

One day I will find courage to be me and drop out of university, not because it is hard but because I don’t like it. One day I will mould myself and not let society format me into another woman. I will marry a man for the hell of it and divorce him for a woman with a low self-esteem. Who is to say what else I am capable of, left to my devices? The insanity of being me is almost unimaginable. But until then my life remains at the hands of the people who pass and fail me. I remain a carbon copy of this person my parents perceive. I remain at the mercy of falsehood. I remain on top of a bridge contemplating when to jump.


Sunday, 14 August 2011


Greetings fellow dead fish!

Welcome to the launch of the Dead Fish Society.  We have big things planned for this little pond, so keep reading, tell a friend and join in the fun! Tadpoles we may be, but with this blog, we gonna run this river like a shark baby!

What what!
Much Love
Team DFS