Love Song for Sammi

For Samantha.

It is another day, Sammi, and I’m still typing. My thoughts change at such a quick rate. I started out by saying that it can be so hard. But it isn’t. I love talking to you, Honey. And it is so easy to be honest with you.

I started off by saying just how sorry I was that I could not be by your side right now. But I can set that sorrow to one side now, Baby, because like I’ve said to you a few times before; God is. God is right there with you. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but He isn’t going to give up on you now. Not ever.

Been searching my own soul for a while now. And along the way it found yours. Well, that’s how it feels anyhow. My purpose in life was being set. It used to feel so scary before but today it’s quite phenomenal. It’s challenging because every single day of my life it feels as though I’m doing something new. No turning back. Only looking forward. It feels a lot easier now that I’ve got you in my life.

Samantha, God can’t let you down now, not since He knows what work you’ve been doing for Him. I’m pretty damn sure that He’s still got plans for you. Just wondering though; am I part of them? I’m an eternal optimist, even when I’m on the dark side of my bipolarity. So, yes, it feels that way. And whatever goals that I have, it’s daunting but it feels a little lighter now that you’ve got my back. I’m grateful for every moment spent with you, Sammi, even if it’s only a thought.

I have been asking myself since day one of the virus. Of all the times, why now. Why did we meet only now? It’s Love in the Time of the Virus. It’s plain to see that we are being tested. But this is an exam I’m going to pass. It feels like I’ve been studying for this exam my entire adult life, perhaps even during childhood years – you remember that story I told you about Batman, Superman – Wonder Woman?

It’s true. I know you’re going to pass this exam too. If we don’t see each other on those dark, dark nights, it does feel awful. But we look forward to tomorrow. And I can hardly wait. Sam, its been dark, dark before for me. But then I used to give up so easily. And then I lived with the regret. For years. Loathing. I wanted you in my life the day I first met you. Why I deserted you so quickly is sad, really, but it also taught me something beautiful about you.

You were so gracious. And yet I could feel your sadness. I felt it. I had to go back. And I did. And boyo! Was I forgiven. A lot of people tell me that it is all nonsense; I read about it sometimes. Soulmates. Does it even exist? Is there such a thing? And what does it signify? It is profound and you never really know until it actually hits you. But is this how God does it? Is this how He brings two souls together?

I wondered to myself. Have I found my soulmate? I wondered too loudly because you whispered right back to me. Should I tell the world? Should I tell the world about us? I’d like to tell the world about the work you do. I’d like to tell them more about what I’d like to do too. And with you? I believe in soulmates. People have lost faith in God, they no longer believe. They blame Him. If He existed to them, they thought He was the Evil one.

But its not that. So powerful is the Universe He created. I believe He did, I know you do too. He let evil roam; how crazy is that? But while you’ve been battling lately, try and remember still; He’s got a mighty plan. I wanted to write a more informative post in your honor, Sammi, about LGBTQ+ life life, but I guess there’s still plenty of time for that. We’re not going anywhere. But see where this post is going. It’s turning into the longest love letter I’ve ever written. Let the world think how crazy I am, I really don’t care. You don’t care either. Good to know. Crazy in Love? Who cares. My heart took over for once.

I’m going to keep writing this until He tells me it’s time. Time to stop. This post is no longer a dedication to you, Samantha, it’s completely yours. It is not a figment of my imagination. I’m not writing to the muse. Tell you a funny story. She was at least kind enough to tell me to bugger off, but so nicely, all the more reason why I was so fascinated by her. There’s more. She’s my muse from Manila.

I’m not going to give up on her either and I think that one day when we’re walking through the streets of Manila, she’ll consent to a coffee date with us. All I can do is ask. I’m going to keep her in the drawer for now. I smell a great book, an intertextual challenge that might just impress Mrs Woolf. I must tell you this story some other day. How Virginia Woolf’s Orlando just blew me away. Over and over again. And how it altered my literary approach. So then; are you my soulmate? It feels that way. It’s like looking in the mirror. Born on the 25^th of June. Born on the 10^th of July.

Men and women. Men and men too, as it turns out. They get together. They hang out. They act out. Women and women too, sometimes they even fall in love. Harsh reality this, it does not always last. Many people live in reality. They, you could just say, are of a practical mind. Heck, they even get things done. And yes, there is that too. Some of them are changing the world. For the better. But heart-breaking news. For them there can be no such thing. A soulmate. I feel it in my bones.

I feel it in my heart. You are so down. I’m down too. Not because of my downfall. I’m down because you’re hurting. We are thousands of miles apart. But it feels as though you are right here beside me. It’s like a dream where you can only go so far. Oh, how I wish it was real! And yet it is. Because I’m not writing to a picture on the wall, and yes, turns out that it’s beautiful too. I’m writing to you. I’m writing to your soul. I’m writing with freedom, no one can stop me, only God can. And He’s not, see. I think I’m writing to my soulmate.

Are you mine? I think I understand how love, I mean, true love works. I was rash, I was brutal. I was selfish. It was at a point where I had no idea what the hell I was doing. But from the moment I rejected you, I was in pain. I had a feeling that I had hurt you. It never went away. I went on my knees and asked for forgiveness. You did that. Oh, it’s too easy to say we weren’t committed so – hahaha – life goes on. No. It stops right here. You are my lamp. The light is flickering for now, but see, it’s not going to go out. And one day, I pray that it is soon, it’s going to burn.

There is a purpose. You are my purpose. It would have been so easy to settle for the girl next door. Be practical, Mark. Life’s not easy. Why make it more complicated. Fair enough, but since day one, when bliss passes there is that regret. You live with it for the rest of your life. I cannot let that happen again. This is the life we have been given. Somehow we must make it awesome. But what if you are given a gift, a gift in the form of someone who’s gentle, soft fingers are touching yours. How precious it is. You feel it like a brush, a gentle breeze. It does not leave you. How can I make it go away like it was just another dream? Waking up in the morning.

When you wake up in the morning, that dream is so quickly forgotten. And you wish that you could remember it, in vivid detail. You feel sad that it’s gone. But not this one. Day in and day out. Night after night. It is still with me. The dream. And yet. I think of you every waking hour. I even think of you when I sleep. People think I’m crazy. But not you. Even so, what you must be thinking. Of a man like me. I ask God daily. Have I done something to deserve you? And if so, I am very grateful indeed. Something like this. It is rare, and I do not wish to take it for granted.

This is the way of life. It’s the way of Love. That life you had before, still feeling it, it’s going away.

Lady with a lamp. Now is not the time for giving up. Now is the time for fighting. You will always have memories of what happened in the past, even until just moments ago. There’s a wind blowing. It’s not an ill wind. It’s God’s breath on us all. Can you feel it on your cheek? I can. I’m embracing it. Do that too. When the virus is gone, what will happen? It’s got to be a new life. We will not be picking up from where we were. We’ll be plucking on those Spring blossoms that is the new life. I had to ask. How it came to be that God brought us together in such a time of hardship? Girl, I know it’s hard, but get over it. Please try. I am. I’m trying.

I will not give up. Not this time. I was going to plead with you. Please don’t give up. But no, you’re not. Now, Sammi, I will not go as far as saying that we were meant to be together. I’ll leave that in God’s hands. And yet still. I cannot imagine Him allowing our circumstances to pull us apart. Not when our hearts are sold. How could He? After all, He is a God of Love. Jesus has been saying it all along. I’m Blessed to have people who care for me, but Jesus, well, He’s my best pal, He really is. He’s yours too, I just know it. And listen to this; it was what you said; He’s been keeping the bench warm over there.

For me. Whatever I am doing now, whatever I can only do for now, is for you my sweetheart. I want to be worthy, but more than that, I want to be your comforter, especially for those days when your lamp needs some oil to keep on burning bright, because boy, have you got work to do. You talk always of supporting me in my projects, in my endeavors. But it’s not that, see. The things we’re doing, that we’re going to be doing someday, are things we’re going to be doing together, even while we’re in separate rooms. We’re not here to do each other favors, we’re going to love and serve. Not just help each other to our embraces every night.

We’ve got more important work to do. My passion projects; turns out, they’re yours too. Now, this is beautiful, I think it’s one of the most beautiful rainbows I ever saw. It took me years to appreciate it. The colors of LGBTQ+. Is it superficial to others? But when it’s your life, how bright the colors of that rainbow flicker. I say; the kids are going to be alright. All because of the work you’re going to be doing for them. And you’ll never be working alone. Good to know there’s thousands more like you.

Ladies with lamps. Not just kids with identity crises, kids with gender dysphoria. Kids from broken homes. Kids who are lost. Kids without food and love. Kids born into a cruel world not of their making. It’s a purpose, see. So ladies with lamps, you’re one of them, can brighten up their lives and lead the way. Towards a bright future that is worth living. I like our colors, by the way. It’s beautiful.

Pretty pink. For girls. Powder blue. For boys. White. For the soul? You tell me, Sammie, because this is something you knew all those years ago. I read about it somewhere some days ago, but never saw my way towards exploring its full meaning. I think I’m doing this now. The soul has no gender. And when you think about it, how could it. Because what will it be like when we leave this world, these bodies of ours? Our bodies, they burn to a cinder. They get eaten by worms. But the soul, well now, it lives forever. And its living right now, isn’t it? But still, our souls are not invincible, only God’s is. He’s given us guardian angels to guide the way for us so long.

He’s given us Guardian Angels to light the way for us. And it just so happens, He’s not forgotten. I honestly believe that He’s given us soulmates too. For each and every one of you; those of you who are still searching. And those of you who know it, all be Blessed because this a cruel world and there are many of those who are lost in their search, suffering.

Oh. He’s given us this too. Software and tools and stuff. We can still connect. Just think, if we did not have the internet, we would never have met. The thought never crossed my mind. Tried it here and there over the years but somehow never had my heart in it. But when the virus engulfed us all, I said, hell no, not this time. So I cannot connect with the girl next door. Use the net to see if I can connect elsewhere, no matter where in the world. And then I found you. Somewhere outside of Manila.

Sammi; are you my muse. No. The Love of my Life? Sammie? Are you my soulmate? And get this my dear; that story in the Book of John; the man being born blind. Before they crucified Him cruelly on the Cross so that He could Save us all, He cured this man of his Blindness. The question was asked, but Jesus responded in no uncertain terms. Today; He’s given me my hearing. And every morning when I wake up and hear the birds singing, I feel blessed.

So it goes, girl, that if Jesus can give me my hearing, he can give you the body you were meant to have. I love it when you tease me. In your pain, you still find place in your heart to laugh. That’s good, Sammie. And when I finally react to your sweet sense of humor, my cheeks ache. Your laugh. It’s a genuine laugh, it feels real. Don’t know when last I felt so glad. And when you cry, I’m crying too. Like now. Please hang in there, Baby. You remember what I said just the other day? I wish for the day that we could be sitting on a beach together – your beaches are quite idyllic, I see, it looks like Paradise over there – I didn’t say this much, but I’ll say it now. Sitting together, hands locked together, just to make sure. And I did say this. A year from now?

To wish that it could be sooner, is asking a bit much. Passport. Visas. Savings. Traveling expenses. Thank goodness, though, Leonardo da Vinci’s dream is still alive. They thought he was crazy back then. That was a time when people were burned at the stake for believing. Not now, but maybe next year, we’ll be flying. Mon Cheri, we have to keep believing. Only way to survive. But dreams only come true with its actions.

So, work to do. It breaks my heart to listen to what you’re putting yourself through. I feel as though I am at a loss. But it’s not that. Give it a few days, never mind a year, because this boy is not giving up on you. One of the lessons I’ve learned in my short life. There’s been people in my life that have pulled me through. The lady with the lamp. Her happy whistler. My wise and loving pop. The things they do, they do it not because they feel obligated, they do it because they want to.

How do I know this? I can feel it. There is this thing called trust. I trust you, Sammi. I’ll be honest. I feel guilty. But I feel a little better in knowing this. Do I feel obligated to help you? Hell no! If that were the case, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now. No, I really want to. It feels great, doesn’t it? You’ve been there, I just know it.

You feel glad that someone’s back on her feet. No, you don’t pat yourself on your back for a job well done. You thank God that He made it possible. You thank Him for choosing you to be that child’s lamp. This is why I keep on saying to God. How is this possible? Are you looking favourably on me? Are you giving me my dream girl? Because this is the kind of kid I have always dreamed of holding in my arms.

It’s got to be. A gift. I do not want to lose it. Not now. Not this time. And let the world know; I really do not care. Because Samantha.

I love you.

 

 

 

What it Must Be Like to Be a Woman

For Mothers and Daughters.

Men.

Have you ever in your short life wondered what it must be like to be a woman in this day and age?

Love in the time of the Virus.

Again, I must apologize to Senor Marquez, Columbian maestro of magic realism, renowned for masterpieces such as Memories of My Melancholy Whores, One Hundred Years of Solitude. And of course, Love in the Time of Cholera.

His work does remind me of one other great writer, Albert Camus who produced the masterful The Plague. Africa should be so proud. Always just remember that Camus was not only French – he probably spent many a year musing through the streets of Paris, eternal city of Love – he was Algerian.

And yet still. Men. Forgive me for saying this but how can Africa be proud, the way it continues to treat its women. Call me a rabble-rouzer, I really don’t care anymore what you think of me, but I cannot stand by idly while you, a Zulu King, can pick and choose any virgin, old enough to be your grandchild, to deflower – or rape? – at any damn time you damn well please.

You call it the annual Reed Dance. I call it Mass Rape. A man does not necessarily need to rape a woman physically. He can do it with his eyes. If I must have the courage of my convictions, then I must be prepared to make that acknowledgement. Yes, I too, have wondered what it must be like to wantonly take a woman and do as I please with her.

And in the transaction, the exchange that takes place between a man and what is impassively referred to as a sex worker – she’s been called many names; prostitute, whore, harlot, Gentoo. I cannot excuse my loneliness. Or even my curiosity. I’m ashamed to say it. But there it is.

Sexual fantasy. And much, much worse.

And before you judge me.

Be very careful. How is plowing a woman with one drink after another a more acceptable transaction? It’s not a fair trade, and she’s the one who ends up paying, sometimes with her life.

Sexual fantasy. Taking what you can get when your own woman cannot or will not.

I can’t blame her.

It simply isn’t right.

Goodwill. King of the Zulus. What a name! King Shaka must be rolling in his grave. Do I hear the Ancestors calling? Go roll your bones for all I care. Yoweri Museveni, the strutting, longest serving president of Uganda. What despicable, despotic Idi Amin could not do, he appears to have done.

And is still doing, lock-down or no lock-down.

And yet.

No. It just isn’t right what Museveni and many Ugandans continue to do to so many lesbian women and gay men over there. And trans-gendered women too. Ugandans’ claim to fame is selective appropriations of the Holy Bible, otherwise known as the Word of God. Go on. Go read the Book of John. This is a predominantly Catholic country, by the way.

Bench warmers over there obviously missed Pope Francis’s famous sermon in which he proclaimed;

‘Who am I to judge?’

He could only have been inspired by Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, because it was He who said; let he who has cast no sin, cast the first stone. And yet. Have the victimized really sinned? Because it seems to me that they are mostly in it for the Love. And why not take what He said literally. Love your neighbor as you love yourself. It’s how you feel inside, your heart, right? Love your wife, man, if you have one. A heart. Do not hurt her. Do not abuse her. If you cannot love your wife, you cannot love yourself. Instead of beating her to a pulp, why not beat yourself up.

Until you get it right in your head.

Until that day comes, as far as I am concerned, women are off limits to you. But who am I to judge? Certainly, women are off limits to me as well if I cannot love them. I cannot love them if I cannot love myself. But today, I feel glad. After all this time, I must love myself after all. The lock-down owing to COVID-19 could not have come at a better time.

But yes, I know. It is really hard. People have been losing their jobs. People have been losing their livelihoods. And people have been losing their lives. As far as I am concerned; unnecessarily. Not through the novel Corona virus. But through the regular beatings. It has been going on for years. Indeed, it is said that women and children enjoyed a brief reprieve once my country’s version of the Lock-down came down.

Because guess what, chaps; no more alcohol, read my lips, no more alcohol. And no more barroom brawls either. Hooliganism, and worse, stamped out. Overnight. Bars, pubs, shebeens closed, lock, stock and two smoking barrels. But plenty of cigarettes and crystal meth – we call it tik here in Cape Town, a city ironically named the Mother City. Smokes and meth. If you can afford it. Actually, you can’t.

Guilty as charged. What a twelve-dollar pack of cigarettes could have bought in fresh fruit and vegetables, enough to feed a poor family of five for a few days. Yes, loving in the time of the Virus is hard. Today, let me state quite emphatically that I am NOT proud to be a South African. Men, our country holds the ‘proud’ record of having the world’s fifth highest COVID-related infections in the world.

Who lies above us in this inestimable record? I tell you what; two countries stand out. Clue. They hold the record for harboring the world’s largest nuclear weapons arsenals. So much for reducing the stockpiles, Mr Obama. Anyhow, something else stands out about these two great countries. They are ruled by misogynists, one with an iron fist, the other with a limp dick.

Yes, they don’t always have nice things to say about women. And they don’t have nice things to say about me and you either. Lesbians. Gays. Bisexuals. Trans-gendered men and women. And fun-loving queer kids too. But Messrs Trump and Putin, sorry to go breaking your hearts because boy, have you got a mountain to climb.

Because, lads, you’ve got some way to go before you can catch us. We hold some of the highest records for the most beatings, most murders and, of course, proud record this, most rapes. South African-born literary luminary, JM Coetzee, was not far off the mark when he wrote his Booker Prize-winning Disgrace .

Amongst the highest rates in the world. For murder. Beatings. Rape. But here, you see, we murder our women, we beat them too. And if we’ve got time, we’ll rape them until Kingdom comes. We even correct them. We correct lesbians. Oh, we rape boys too, most of us when behind prison bars. See if you can top that, guys!

And we rape them before, during and after Holy Mass.

Disgraceful! Indeed, it’s worse than that.

Mr Coetzee packed his bags for Perth. And he actually went! The thought has crossed my mind. But I have somewhere else to go. Not to escape the harsh realities of daily life here in South Africa. Because, Julius Malema, I too am a son of the soil. And my reasons for going elsewhere are motivated by love.

Not violence. Not hate. I certainly do not hate my fellow man, but I wish he would just stop already. More has to be done to stop this scourge. And to think, just the other day I had this to say to a lady with a lamp. I said this to her. Heck! If I can survive in this country, I can survive anywhere in the world. Oh! That’s just so easy for me to say.

Because get this; I am not a woman. And while I may still tremble at times, I am still able to defend myself. But not a woman. She could try but, nine times out of ten, no. Now try and do this if you can. I tried this in the past. I have been trying in recent days. But be warned. It’s not easy to imagine yourself in a woman’s body. No, it’s not that I have gender-bending feelings from time to time, not that.

No, because in South Africa, if you are powerless as a woman, life is extremely hard. Today marks the early days of what we South Africans commemorate as Women’s Month. We wish to stand up for the rights of all women in this country, and for that matter, the rest of the world. I for one wish to stand up for the children too, those without food, and those who are beaten, and raped by their uncles.

Uncles, my arse!

I wish to stand up in church one day once the lock-down restrictions are a thing of the past and shout and scream at the top of my lungs. Stop raping the boys! That’s going to be quite a challenge for me because I’m not accustomed to raising my voice. But when it does happen, very rarely, thank God, I’m extremely angry.

Nevertheless, it’s on my mind all the time. I wonder sometimes, lovely man that he is, if it’s on Pope Francis’s mind too.

And he’s still not my father.

There’s this old English saying. Women are the fairer sex. That they are, and God Bless them for that, I adore them for that. But weaker sex? I think not. Men. Come on now. Admit it. It is we who are the weaker sex. If we’re not violent, we don’t always seem to know what the hell we’re doing. Let’s use this as an example.

Let’s look at those countries with the worst COVID-related infections in the world. And compare them with some who have slayed the virus like Wonder Woman would a demon from out there in the universe. Cyril Ramaphosa is South Africa’s State President. He’s also a billionaire. How he got his hands on that lucre is a story for another day.

Donald Trump is the USA’s President. They call him the Commander in Chief over there. Huh? Anyway, he’s a billionaire a few times over. How did he make it? Actually, he didn’t. He inherited it from his immigrant father. I’m led to believe that he still had a silver spoon in his mouth when Trump Snr handed over the poisoned chalice. And then there is that man.

Vladimir Putin.

Tsar of Russia.

Rumor had it that he was the wealthiest man in the world at one point. Prizes for guessing how he might have got to that point? And is it any wonder that our country’s former statesman, Jacob Zuma is a huge admirer? And he’s a huge admirer of women too. On the charge of raping one, here, in a court of law he was adjudged to be not guilty. For crying out loud, the man took a shower!

But today that woman is dead.

Putin the richest man in the world? Today; perhaps not. That disputable record belongs to none other than Jeff Bezos, the Amazon king. While thousands of people are losing their jobs every day as a result of COVID-19 (somehow I doubt that that’s the real reason) Jeff Bezos is making more of those billions.

Where others fall, go steal from them.

How stuff works. Go read an Amazon book.

Speaking of the Amazon. If you thought COVID-19 was bad, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Because just you wait and see what happens when Jair Bolsonaro finally burns the Amazon jungles to the ground. Putin, Trump, you can pack away your nukes, we might not need them  after all. Bolsonaro, we’ll he’s a billionaire too.

And he’s a misogynist as well. Let’s not even talk about what he thinks of the beautiful Brazilian trans-gendered women over there.

But enough of these men.

Let’s talk about the women. Not for nothing is Germany’s longest serving Chancellor, Angela Merkel, referred to over there as Mutter. And today, COVID-19 is under control in Germany. It’s under control in Finland as well. But Finland’s Prime Minister is far too young to be referred to as that country’s mother.

Or is she? I ask you. Jacinda Arderne is what you could refer to as the consummate multi-tasker. Women are good at that sort of thing. Multi-tasking. And leading. You’re surprised? I’m not. Now, this gorgeous lady, first known holder of office to parade with others on Pride Day, breastfeeds her baby while running her country. And running it very well indeed. And beating the living hell out of the virus.

Just like New Zealand’s mighty All Blacks beating the crap out of our beloved Springboks. Today, the people of New Zealand are walking their streets at night without any fear. There’s no virus, you see. But it’s more than that. Because New Zealand also enjoys amongst the lowest crime rates in the world. And by that read that women and children are relatively safe.

I wish I could say the same for my country. Heck! We may be Rugby World Champions, but we’ve got nothing to be proud of over here. I’ll say it again. Jacinda Arderne. You really have outdone yourself! You’re a swell gal if you don’t mind me saying so. And it would not surprise me at all if Time Magazine makes you its Person of the Year in this year of the Virus.

Men. Forgive my emotions. Forgive my anger. I’m guilty. Don’t you feel it too?

Women. I really do have tears in my eyes, no really, I do. It’s Women’s Month here in South Africa and in that spirit, I would really like to wish you well for tomorrow, come what may. I pray that it will be safe.

May God be with you.