The Magic Number

“Hello Thabo. Thabo wa bantwana.” she exclaimed with a smug on her face. “Do you remember me?”, she continued. “Let me guess, you don’t know who I am, right?” Then she laughed loudly, attracting even more stares in their direction. “Players like you don’t remember who they have slept with in the past.” This last statement made him alert, slowly realising that there is more to this bashing than a mere excitement of a beautiful young woman. A little crowd was already gathered around them, all looking intently at this Thabo rumoured to be best player around. Everyone knows a young man by the name of Thabo, seemingly involved with all the beautiful girls of the location, as townships are called in the Free State province. But the majority of adults have never set eyes on him before, until this day.

All they know is the blue Citi Golf that continually picks up girls in the neighbourhood. Every family that has a young beautiful girl is worrying about this Thabo lad, who is renowned throughout the Free State province. Girls from Bloemfontein, Welkom, Thaba-Nchu, Bethlehem and Qwaqwa all know Thabo. He is the single most girl-friended guy around. So much that he goes out with girls who are friends, that is how desirable he is among the young maidens.

Thabo is a young man who comes from a poor family in Botshabelo Block M. What his family lack in social standing, he has in good looks. He is a rainbow child born of a mother working as a maid for a white family in Wesselsbron. He is the product of the illicit habits of farmers in those regions, who find pleasure in the domestic workers when their misses are out. So Thabo, like many other children in the region, is light complexion with fluffy hair; a trait girls in the Free State seem to love very much. How else do you explain the string of girls Thabo dates across the entire province?

Locals call him lebusmane, because of his looks. His looks put him in good standing whenever he goes in the Free State with the female species. Women fall over themselves for him.

Thabo has been a player since his years in high school. By the time he completed matric, he had long achieved the magic number, 100. This made him a legend among young boys who admired his tact and ruthlessness with women. In the laid back Free State, 100 is the biggest achievement amongst boys. To sleep with 100 girls.

A 100 girls makes you a legend among the young boys. This is the ultimate status symbol for young boys who lack anything better to do.

“My name is Disebo. I live in Jerusalema Park, does it ring a bell Mr?” the lady continued to lambast at him in full force. “Thabo Radieta wa Mme Mamohlophehi, o sebete moshemane. To come pick up girls from this side of the world. Kajeno lena badimo ba heno ba o furalletse. O lahluwe ke sepoko. After all you have done to me?” Disebo continued her rapture. By now a sizeable group of spectators was building up, for this was a public place to begin with. People had gathered her to celebrate a party as parties are usually where young people gather these days. Nthabiseng was celebrating her 21^st birthday in style. Almost all the young people of Thabong had gathered here today to have fun. As fate would have it, here is Disebo running into Thabo, after not seeing him in about five years. Long eventful five years for both of them.

Disebo had been one of Thabo’s many girlfriends five years ago while she was in high school. When she fell pregnant, Thabo had simply vanished from the face of the earth and never to be seen again. Until today that is.

Thabo has travelled a lot around the Free State. His mother’s side of the family is scattered all over the province, a fact that has allowed him this free movement between different towns. In every town he has visited, he had always had a string of girls to his name. The last time he sat foot in Qwaqwa, he had narrowly escaped fate. A mother of one of his many girlfriends had decided to put to end this pandemic called Thabo. He had one day miraculously escaped being poured with boiling water over the face. He has never dared going back to Qwaqwa ever since.

His behaviour had guaranteed that Thabo had seven children by the time he completed matric. Things moved from bad to worse when he got a job a clerk at the Mangaung municipality. All young girls coming to the municipality for service ended up receiving a different kind of service, Thabo himself. By the end of his first year of service he had managed to buy himself a car. His car had personalised number plates, PLAYA FS. The blue citi golf became a trade mark amongst young girls. The car has seen more girls inside than the many parts that make up a car. After three years of working for the municipality, Thabo had lost count of the number of girls he had taken to bed. All he knows is that they are over five hundred in total, the majority of whom he can’t even remember their faces, let alone their names.

Thabo was now in a self imposed exile from many towns and cities as a result of his loving ways. He didn’t even know how many kids he had, all he knows are all the girls whose pregnancies he had blatantly refused. Life was becoming increasingly difficult for Thabo in the Free State. He found it hard to travel, even on duty. Bloemfontein itself was no longer a nice place for him. Too many families were unhappy with him for the bad treatment he has given their daughters. A few cases had in fact already been reported at work about him. He had many maintenance cases pending also. Life indeed was becoming unbearable for him. He was already considering requesting a transfer to another province, just to get away from all these problems.

While he honestly does not remember most of his girlfriends, he certainly remembered who Disebo was, especially the fact that he left her when she fell pregnant. It would be difficult to forget the beautiful Disebo. She was a perfect doll in every way. Drop-dead gorgeous, well mannered and intelligent. Very few girls stuck in his mind like Disebo did.

Thabo, for the most part, was dumbfounded. He had absolutely no idea what to say or how to react. He had never anticipated running into someone like Disebo. So he just stood there looking stupid. When it was clear no answer was forthcoming from him, Disebo gave him a big slap that sent him falling on his behind. This brought giggles and laughs from the group gathered to witness this scene. At that very moment, it is like all the bad things that Thabo had ever done to Disebo came back in a flash to her. Instantly, she was mad as hell. She pounced on him and gave him the beating of his life. All this happened so fast for him to make sense of it. By the time he came to his senses, he was a real mess from the handiwork of his beautiful Disebo. Realising what was happening to him, he stood up and gave Disebo a big slap. He was obviously going on the offensive and was about to unleash his anger on Disebo when a group of guys who knew Disebo stepped in and gave him a beating of his life. He was badly beaten and no one in the whole of Welkom had the slightest sympathy for him. In this way, Welkom became another exile for him.

Modiehi grew up at her parents’ home in Block J in Botshabelo. A decent girl who was just like any other girl you can find in Botshabelo. As a young girl Modiehi was just an ordinary girl in the way of looks. Not pretty but decent and presentable. When Modiehi was in Grade 9, she was really flattered that a boy like Thabo would even take notice her. Thabo had taken to chasing after Modiehi too. While she had no interest whatsoever in him, his interest in her had boosted her profile at school. She was suddenly a popular girl, a fact that quickly went to her head and she ended up sleeping with Thabo. She immediately fell pregnant.

Modiehi was the first girl to be impregnated by Thabo, and the very first to be dumped the minute he learnt she was pregnant. She came from a modest family, by Botshabelo standards of course. Which would be poor by any other standard. The result of this unplanned pregnancy was that Modiehi was expelled from school. Her parents threw her out of their home. Her refuge was her uncle, her mother’s brother, who lived in Thaba-Nchu. She relocated to Selosesha in Thaba-Nchu where she gave birth to a healthy boy, whom she named Tshotleho, a Sesotho name for suffering. Life was generally difficult for her, she could not come back home to Botshabelo, not even during the holidays or over weekends. Her father just did not want to see her any more. Only her mother would come by to visits a few later.

Two years after giving birth, Modiehi went back to school to finish her studies. Up to that point when she had met Thabo, she had not bothered thinking about the future. The idea of what it was she wanted to become in life had never crossed her mind. But the two years she spent raising her young baby gave her a lot of time to think and assess her life. She had resolved to work hard to complete her schooling with the hope that she could secure a scholarship as no one in her family was willing to send her to university. Her resolve to study had nothing to do with wanting a future. It had everything to do with Thabo Radieta. She took a vow, swearing by her late grandmother, that one day she would make Thabo pay for what he did to her.

Ethel worked as a social worker for the Department of Social Development in Bloemfontein. She had graduated four years ago from the Free State University with a BA Hons in Social Work. Throughout her life, she had closely monitored Thabo and his progress in life. Though she had completed matric first and started work before him, she had never forgotten to keep a close eye on him. Ethel was the happiest person when Thabo had finally gotten the job, even more so when he bought a car. She had quickly moved to put her long resting plan into action.

Ethel had gone all out to locate all the women she could find in Bloemfontein who had fallen victim to Thabo. These women were divided into two groups, those with children and those without. She busy preparing a class-like case against Thabo. Firstly she would help those with children sue for maintenance. Then she would file a suit for emotional abuse for those who had been Thabo’s girlfriends. Like many young women in Bloemfontein, she had been one of Thabo’s toys. She intended to prove a case that Thabo was a serial heart breaker.

Gugu came from a very conservative family. Her father was the archbishop of the Pentacostal church in Maokeng Kroonstad. His was a well respected member of the community who was strict with his children. Gugu met Thabo at a church wedding in Virginia and they instantly took liking to each other. So much that Thabo was able to bed her that same evening in a cheap hotel, and later in the back of his citi golf. Up to this point, Gugu had been a virgin and she had been proud of that fact. Following the wedding, they had discretely kept in touch and Thabo would often drive to Kroonstad to see her. A few months later she was heavily pregnant. As usual, Thabo disowned her and disappeared when he learned about the pregnancy. Her strict archbishop father could not live with the disgrace and he ended up divorcing Gugu’s mother. Her family was forever broken as a result. She grew up to be an active member of the movement, a fact that saw her progress to the provincial executive committee of the movement.

Modiehi had worked hard to qualify for a scholarship to the University of the Free State to study for her BJuris degree, followed by an LLB specialising in criminal law. She was an admitted attorney in the Free State Bar Council. Up to this point of her life, she had been a successful attorney. In time, she filed a suit against Thabo for child maintenance. Her second suit was for damages for the hurt and hardships Thabo had caused her. It was the child maintenance suit that had caught Ethel’s attention. She had filed a suit for child maintenance on behalf of seven women, including herself. At this point, Ethel had been struggling to secure a legal firm to represent them on the serial heart breaker case, and Modiehi’s profile had impressed her a lot.

With three very influential women now finding themselves in the same city of Bloemfontein, discussions had begun to strategise on the plan to bring Thabo down and humiliate him. Ethel had successfully lobbied Gugu, who was by now part of the provincial government, to join her class suit. Gugu, on her part, would work on lobbying all organs of state to be sympathetic to Ethel’s case. While Modiehi would continue with her suits independent of the rest of the women in Ethel’s fold, she had agreed nonetheless to represent the group as their attorney.

Thabo was now restless, with eight women suing him for child support in Bloemfontein alone. He wondered what would happen should all the women with whom he had children decided to follow suit. He estimated that he had impregnated no less than twenty two women, or that was what he could remember. So he potentially was a father to twenty two children at the age of only twenty five. With what he was earning, there was absolutely no way in which he could afford maintaining all these children. His only hope of being transferred to another province had recently hit a wall when things didn’t go as planned. Unknown to him, his transfer was expertly blocked by non other than Gugu herself.

Modiehi’s child support case was the first nightmare for Thabo. As soon the trial began, it was clear that she would win the case. Three months later, the court ordered him to pay R1200 a month child support to Modiehi. Next case facing him was a civil suit by Modiehi for damages and suffering he had caused her. While this was highly uncommon in South Africa, everyone close to the case agreed Modiehi had put together a winnable case. Thabo’s legal counsel had acceded to this and had advised him to settle out of court, but Modiehi would hear none of it.

The class suit led by Ethel began while Thabo was facing a civil suit from Modiehi. This particular case brought by Ethel attracted a lot of attention, mainly because comrade Gugu had worked her magic with the politicians for them to take a stand behind Ethel. Out of the blue Thabo found himself faced with a suit whose main purpose was to teach men like him a lesson. The politicians were in full support of the case. The media were fed full details of the case by unknown sources. Before long, Thabo was in all the major newspapers across the Free State province. Several radio stations held interviews with Ethel to explain to the public what the case was about and why it was important. As a result, more women were coming up to join the class suit against him. So a case that had started with only eight women was now sitting with twenty nine complainants.

Modiehi won her civil suit against him, but judgement was still pending. The class suit with twenty nine women suing him for child support was fast nearing completion, with a lot of media coverage. Indications were that Thabo would lose the case. The second phase of the class suit, suing for mental and physical suffering of the women, got started. Thabo’s legal council recused themselves from the case citing other commitments. In truth, the firm knew they were fast loosing the case and this had potential negative implications on their reputation and business.

The day Thabo learnt that he no longer had legal representation, he was shocked beyond belief. This had cemented the prevailing view that he had lost the case. That evening he sat in his flat alone reflecting on his life. He had recounted every encounter he could remember with women. How he had approached them, charmed their skirts off their bodies, then dumped them like dirt. For a brief moment, he felt sorry for his actions. He wondered what had prompted him to act the way he did. Of course that question he could not answer. With a heavy heart he lifted his pistol to his head and ended his life.

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Writers Block

In the moment of things
As if transfixed, moved
When my soul is touched
When my eyes adore and admire
And I feel the need
The urge to express myself

Through the only means I know
Writing and scribbling
My thoughts, my imagination
My wave of thought
As passive as the sound of beat
Attracting the ear yet failing dismally
To transform the soul
Into its rhythmic trance
For both to trail in unison

My mind flows with ideas
My soul is inspired
Things I can visualise
Yet my fingers fail me
These fingers cannot transport me
Into the creative juices that flow in my inner being
Where ideas, thoughts and creation reign

How disconnected can I be
Disjointed like a three legged pot
With so much juices running
Like umqombothi, the potent beer
Simmering in the open fire, in the three legged pot, mmadikotwana
Juices running down my veins and up my head
Even blinking creation and ideas
Yet I cannot put these down
Into any readable form
Into any poetic rhyme
Rhyming words and flawless rhythm

Like I suffer from the writers syndrome
The dreaded spiritual emptiness
Shallowness that beckons
Just when my soul yearns for creativity
Blocking my creative juices
Like clouds giving way to the hottest sun
Following the darkest of clouds
A mental block
Something undefined
Simply known as the writers block

By Fezekile Futhwa

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Passionately The Arts

My mind races
So fast that my speech cannot keep up
I stutter as a result
For there is too many words
Words to be spoken, with this my mouth
One lousy mouth, so slow it’s antiquated
And so the mouth is overwhelmed
At this flooding of the words
Words yearning to be spoken
To be heard, and listened to
How my ears long, for these soothing words
Words of a poet, poetry
Rhythmic and flawless
Smooth, sa lejwe la moralla
I therefore surrender myself
To the written word
The one so captivating
So well written, so perfect
Perfection and purity
As words fly and letters work miracles
My soul is freed, a sigh of relief
From this overflow of ideas
Ideas crying to be born
Rhythm in my heart, pushing through my vocals
To be made speech, words with sense
For people to listen
Listen and be moved
Like dancers in a rhythmic trance
My passion for rhythm
My love for words
My like for speech
I rhyme in the spoken word
Creativity can never be silenced
Freedom is a natural right
And speech is free
As free as the air I breathe
This is my speech
That my passion shall grow
Be let be, and flow
For art is my passion
Passionately the arts

By Fezekile Futhwa

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Where Do People Go?

Where do people go
Every second and minute
In full glare of our eyes
Only we do not see
Our eyes see only what they are meant to see
We do not notice what we are meant not to see

When I am fully awake
Senses running high at full speed
Totally sane and conscious
Yet my mind transports me
Into places unknown to me
Places only remembered in subconscious state
So I can bear no witness to their existence

Where do people go
At night when we go to bed
Or when overwhelmed by spell of deep sleep
Causing us to abandon all
And give way to the needs of my other state of being
Ascended to deep sleep
Only we call it dreams
For this is too much
For anyone to understand

Where was I last night
In that deep snore and turning around
My body completely defenseless
Unguarded and seemingly neglected
While my spirit wastes in Lala-land
Some call it Dreamland
Kanti abantu ba ya kuphi

My body seems possessed
Fully alert yet fully dead
Driven by an unknown force
Zombie state, but fully functional
While the mind is far far away
Only it knows where
Like this is a conspiracy
My mind and soul together
Ganging against my conscious state

And when this body has had enough
Or is it in response to a higher calling?
I drop dead unconscious
Only alive in shape and form
Yet totally incapacitated in the human form
Where exactly did I go?
That my body cannot respond
Until my higher calling has been answered

Na batho ba fella kae
Ho na teng ha maotwana finyela
Teng ha mofu mofunyetsa pere
Into the unknown, yet the understood
Like the brain is mysteriously communicating
In a state beyond my conscious understanding
Yet subconsciously conversing
In this language foreign to my awake state

How exactly does it happen
That I am here now
But in another space at the same time
With the godly state dominating my life
Spending most it dreaming, thinking, dozing off
About things I can never remember
No matter how hard I may try

Where do people go
Somebody please tell me
Where do I go everytime my mind rescends
Into this state of the unknown
My soul departing from my being
Going to no mans land
A place higher than a human can ever understand
Where on earth is that place?

How many states do I have
How much of my life am I aware of
How sure am I that even now, as we speak
That this is not a dream
Or one of life’s mysteries
Never to be revealed to me
As I continue on this life

One moment I am
The next I transcend into a world
Far far higher and bigger
Than my present state can endure
I hence remain oblivious to my transitions
Moving from one life to the next
Without ever noticing my escapades

How many lives does a human live?
And how many does a man remember?
With absolute certainty, that indeed this is my life
Sometimes betrayed by slipping thoughts
That turn my life upside down
Leaving me doubting if I was awake or dreaming
Yet some things remain crystal clear in my mind
Only I can never prove them
They remain a distant distinct reality
As my different lives cross paths

Where do people go
Ngithi bayakuphi kanti abantu
Na batho ba ya kae
In this Lala-land of mystery
Where conscious people do not go
And those who dare do never return
Mysterious is Lala-land

By Fezekile Futhwa

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Tribute to Me

On this cool day
Of breezes and smells
Cool breezes of winter
Sweet smells of plants and flowers alike
Oozing with the liveliness of nature
Scenting the air with sweet fragrances
To the joy of my smelling organs

Happy Friday, happy afternoon
A precursor to what is to be a great weekend
When we pay our respects
To this great man I have become
Celebration of life
That indeed a man I am
Worthy enough to be celebrated

In the many years of my existence
Moons upon moons seen
Seasons upon seasons past
I have seen and experienced
Enough to last me another lifetime
For my life has been a lifetime
A lifetime to me, the only life I know

Today I stand tall and erect
Chest inflated in pride
Thrashing my hand on my chest repeatedly
Announcing my presence
Declaring that indeed I am great
Tribute be paid to me
For all that I have seen on earth

Life has played tricks on me
Rewarding me handsomely with success
Tomorrow crying with sorrow and hatred
And tomorrow yet again, blessed with wonders
Like life is playing hide and seek
Only this is real to me
And the effects are here for all to see
Hardened and all proud
A milestone in a lifetime

See how handsome I am
Manly and strong
Round tummy protruding
Indicating a well fed and healthy man
How well groomed I am

Today as I celebrate on my behalf
I refuse, totally, to be defined by others
On what my life means to them
Rather what my life means
To me, the owner

So pardon me if today I shall ignore you
If only me shall be the object of my affection
Sitting in the glory of my better self
With a don’t care attitude
Because today I truly don’t care
Tribute be to myself and only me

By Fezekile Futhwa

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A Case of the Ex

In my attempt to appease the raging mortification that took me over as I woke up after a very inebriated night of celebrating; and realizing that I had done the horrifying “drunk dialing” that I had promised my self never to do again; I searched my throbbing head for answers as to why and how I could have done this. Of course, at my age and with the number of “relationships” that I’ve had, it’s not an oddity but the feeling after the consciousness remains the same; pure embarrassment and self annoyance.

I thought long and hard and enquired with some friends who had been in similar situation and I was still not satisfied. It then dawned on me that instead of looking at the present dilemma (and I call it such because it makes me feel uneasy) I should rather try and assess the root of the issue; this of course being done for myself and also for anyone else who has had a similar experience, on either side! This brought up what I have now called “A Case of the Ex”, a distinction between all the men “I’ve loved before” and how each plays a role in my sometimes strange behaviour.

•The Believer

There is always the man who will always believe that he will always dangle your heart on string. He is probably the one you may still have some sort of communication with and yes; there’s the flirting and the reminiscing but it all stems from your guilt that at some stage during your long relationship with him you deceived him into believing that he was the one and yet you knew deep down inside that he was not. You make up for your deception by being civil and always showing a genuine concern for his happiness and it is genuine but it is only because you somehow pity him. You wish you could tell him that he didn’t break your virginity or he wasn’t the first to meet your mother but your “take it to the grave” female instinct will not allow you to.

This certainly is not the one you call while intoxicated beyond limits because he’s more a friend than a sexual fantasy you’d like to take home after a night out.

•The Real First Love

He exists and somewhere at the back of your mind his name is still important but for completely different reasons than it used to be. You loved him dearly and believed that you would be mother to his children and he would come home from the hunting fields with an enormous kill that you would merrily prepare and serve to him on your knees.
Something went wrong? No; you grew up. You matured and life was not about first base, awkward condom moments and uncomfortable sleeping positions. In some instances you talk to him and share some deep inner secretes and you only do this because you don’t really care whether he knows it or not because his opinion ceased to matter a very long time ago. Being a lady, polite and always on your best behaviour with him is highly significant because it’s such an immense ego boost when he sees how beautiful you still are and how much you’ve progressed and have become an intelligent and respectable woman; and it never hurts to hear the tone of regret on his voice or see him looking at you as if wondering what could have been.
Middle of the night or early morning phone calls are few and very far between; that is if you still have his number!

•The Shack-up Guy

Ok, so life got a bit a hectic and somehow you managed to find yourself doing what the proudly South African call “vat ‘n sit.” The stigma attached to it by so many of our cultures is so overrated. I mean, considering the times we live in, it is quite a comfortable arrangement. Digressing from its economical conveniences and back onto the “shack-up guy”; he’s sweet – at face value, kind – in writing, charming and if you’re lucky, God blessed him with incredible looks. The relationship was great and the fact that you were guaranteed some canoodling and kinkiness at the end of a long day made everything seem worthwhile. There’s an isiXhosa saying that states: “Hlala nomntu uzokumazi (live with another person and you will know them)” and this just about sums up our hottie here. At the end of it you were emotionally and in some cases financially exhausted and it didn’t matter whether he left (if you’re a smart girl, the living quarters would have been yours) or you did but you just needed space. After a few cold nights of an unfamiliar sleeping spot in the middle of the bed you got used to the idea of being alone and were finally able to separate being alone from loneliness. You vowed to think extra long and extra hard before doing that again and life, as it always does, continued.

This guy is not the ideal man to call when trigger happy and besides, you don’t want to call him because the time you spent with him was enough to nauseate the need out of your system. Too much of something is never good for you!

•The Sailor

Remember that Lionell Richie song, “Sail on”? He sailed on. He came, you saw and he conquered – your heart. He gave you butterflies and one glance made your stomach do vaults and somersaults. Pity is that chance just never gave you the chance or he had a girlfriend and he loved her and you hated her even though maybe you didn’t know her. You looked at him and always thought about what beautiful children you would make and how much the two of you were similar in so many ways. There were no kisses, just brief glances and smiles and sometimes you brushed passed him and lingered there just to make the moment last a little bit longer. Of course he’s gone; either married the woman you envied or has someone else for you to envy! I always say things not done at the right time are never right and because your first meeting produced no results – although both of you felt an incredible chemistry – time took over and feelings subdued.

You never play drunken phone mate with him because you respect him for being so loyal and for having such restraint despite your eye battering and leg showing and you think somewhere at the back of your mind that maybe…“he’s just not that into you”.

•The New Experience

The weirdo, the geek, the completely not your type guy and the one you did because you thought maybe a change from the norm would have a better outcome. He was sweet like all the different ones are and you did like him but the thought of being outside your comfort zone made things a lot more challenging. In the end it was short as your difference just couldn’t gel.

Short, forgotten and obviously no desires of any sort of communication thereafter; even in Vodka jiffies.
•The Single Fling

You’re single and so is he. He’s not looking for attachment and neither are you. He’s fun and he asks no questions and it’s perfect. A couple of rendezvous and pleasurable times and you started wanting to ask questions but the arrangement was to the contrary and so you kept your mouth.
Because you could feel yourself becoming a tad bit attached you decided to detach but not wholeheartedly because the nights were just too hot and other options were thin, very thin. It felt somehow painful to let go even though you knew there was no substance to the entirety of it but you willed yourself and dug deep within for the last drop of self-control and you did it or you felt like you did it. Some time later you found yourself being haunted by dreams, daydreams and thoughts of this squire for hire and wondered what would happen if you sent some invitations. Another song says, “If you hear that the squire for hire is in your town…run…” and oh you should!!!

Poor guy, he falls prey to all your midnight or after dusk phone sessions. Reason being that in some way you believe that there is unfinished business and even the dead come back to tie up loose ends so why shouldn’t you? He’s sweet enough to lay you down (not in that way) easy and be well-mannered but you know you should stop but it’s like an addiction and it’s easier said than done.

After all is said and done; I do feel better for writing my embarrassment away and this analysis of mine has shed some light on my confusion. I don’t know if I’ll call again so for now I’ll stop tormenting over my actions and just accept them as part of daily living. Thing happen - that’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

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The Disco-Net

Remember those times when you used to hang with the girls and be completely happy and at ease; those good times when you threw caution to the wind and sleeping with the enemy was not a crime but an act of mischievous behaviour that was followed by lengthy renditions of all the details and haughty laughter. All you did was giggle and give ‘high fives’ to whoever had the most exciting stories. You walked into the room with your gals and even the punch bowl turned to take a look; the belles of the ball; the envy of all ‘those other’ girls dressed in puffy outdated outfits reminiscent of a scene from Grease.
Of course you were the stylistics and were at the forefront of every fashion trend but not only were you the best dressed but you were the most intelligent; the ones who mastered what I refer to as the ‘Triple B – BBB – Beauty, Body and Brains’. Everyday was an event and every event was something to be noted. There was never a dull moment and there was always someone behind you to catch you when you slipped or to fasten your zipper and always someone in front, ready with needle and thread and a bag full of all your accident fixer uppers! Those were times were just simply grand.

It so happens though that once; or maybe twice or more times in a lifetime that human nature sets in. There are of course many factors that lead to its onset and we all have different definitions (more so excuses) and reasons for ‘allowing’ it to happen. Some call it distance; some call it betrayal; others call it irretrievable breakdown but I; I just call it ‘The Disconnect’.
It happens that the phone calls become shorter and fewer, the news are not so thrilling and the goodbyes are a relief instead of a gloomy conclusion. The get-togethers become obligatory and you drink yourself silly just so you can put together some sort of thwarted conversation that you are more than happy to forget the following day.
Some people feel the need to keep up the pretences and some just zone out and create their own world where they imagine that everything is still the same and everyone else is clearly delusional.
This is the time when the disco-net is cast into the sea and the swimmers are distinguished from the bathers. The big fish are determined and the little sardines are caught and made Human Natures next meal.

The end is inevitable for and in everything and even those things which are set to last a lifetime come to end because life itself is not everlasting which is why I fail to understand why there are so many of us who still paddle our little flippers towards the net and not away from it and even when we are caught in it; we do nothing to fight against it but instead we allow insecurities and obscurities about the way life should be to cloud the fact that we are all living for an end but when it comes when we are still living we fail to acknowledge it. I believe that endings are not so miserable but it is our reactions to and our preconceptions about them that make them so distressing and grievous.

Sometimes it is not about envy, sometimes it is not about betrayal, sometimes it is not about anger and frustration. It is not about the logistics and guilt; and not about who should apologise and who should say something first. Sometimes it is just about an unplugging, a movement in a new direction, an attempt at something new and an evolution of the being.
As people; I also believe that we owe it to each other as a symbolism of humanity and an understanding of our own basic needs to grant leave where leave is due. We need to let go in order to be able grasp at something else. We also need to stop the accusations and bring to an end the assumptions. Life is about progression and it’s about fighting wars within ourselves and also with other outside forces. Once a battle is won the army needs to move on to the next one so that they can be closer to conquering the enemy and winning the war. This is the same for the relationships we build as friends (and as lovers but that is not what I am addressing here).
Some of us dread to acknowledge the presence of the net and we close our eyes and allow it to engulf us. We try to squeeze in moments and even those moments are plagued by thoughts of separate moments. We start to wonder about the others intentions and in doing so we become so engrossed in pretending that we do not realise that our own intentions are a matter of wondering.

We forget the times when we used to laugh at these sorts of things and we would look at other people and say, “look at those fools, fighting over petty things; when will they get it together?”
Getting it together is sometimes not about mending what is broken but about taking the pieces and building something new. A friend once said to me at a time when I was feeling low and down, “you have to learn to live on the broken pieces,” and this is what my “Disconnect” is about. It’s about moving forward, following a new current and avoiding the many disco-nets that are being cast into all our oceans on a daily basis.
I choose to be a big fish and to not get caught in the disco-net. I choose to acknowledge that it is there and that if I do not swim away I will be a meal for the ravenous Human Nature.

Jerome K. Jerome once said in his infamous wisdom, “Let your boat of life be light, packed with only what you need – a homely home and simple pleasures, one or two friends, worth the name, someone to love and someone to love you, a cat, a dog, and a pipe or two, enough to eat and enough to wear, and a little more than enough to drink; for thirst is a dangerous thing.”

I do not know whether he and I have met in a previous life but I do believe that I once told him about my ‘Disco-Net’ for he could not have said what he said without an inkling of it.

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