I love love. I love love because with all of its consequences, human beings still have the will to find love. I love love, not only for its character to turn things upside down,but the sheer joy it brings to one's unfulfilled affair with thyself. Temporarily, it is able to disarm you with its charm and adrenalin as if its like,if not almost, swerving on a roller coaster. At the innocent age of 7 years old, I stood frightened close to the adjoining wall of my own bedroom,ears widely plucked to hear my parents argue, on the other side. My mother was complaining about how my father did not have the time to even look at her, while she was getting undressed or even be enticed by her while she walked around naked in their sacred space of a married couple. I was not shocked, I felt sad and the very same feeling has been part of my own love life as long as I can remember. I grew up being told that due to the failed marriage, perceived to be my father's fault, that I needed to concentrate on my own career and studies in order to subtract that ugly feeling of being betrayed and hurt by a man.
16 years old, I grew fond of a particular young, smart and terribly good boy who lived in my neighbourhood. He liked me a lot and for the first time in whole entire life, I was scared to have those warm fuzzy feelings that made one giggle by themselves whenever they thought about that certain person who made them feel good. How dare I go against the very same lessons I had been taught by my own mother, who was now raising a teenage girl, all by herself in the nineties, living from hand to mouth?. How dare I go against all that I had heard through those walls in my own home with my mama and daddy? I broke it off immediately over a long conversation on my first cellphone, about how I was too young to be involved in romantic affairs. Particularly because I had been told that " If I wanted to be pregnant, having a boyfriend would be the first step to that". So, as a teenage girl,while most of my friends were losing their virginity, I was meditating about love.
Track back to 14 years old, I am dropped off by my own mother and my mother's great aunt at a party in an upmarket suburb of Bloemfontein; Boom Shaka, Mdu, TKZee are blasting out of cars parked outside the venue and I get checked in line by my mother about curfew and not having a sip of alcohol. As embarrassed as I was, We both knew that was not going to be the case. I had always been the friend who would hold the bags, watch over the drinks and give advice about who to not go for in situations that required careful consideration at house parties. I was comfortable with that and it only mattered when I was not approached by anyone at these sort of events.That did a lot for my own self-esteem. So, for most of my high school years, I pondered constantly on love and its meaning in my life as a young woman. I asked myself many - sometimes being overly obsessed- questions about why I only had my first kiss at 14 with a guy that later became a boyfriend of one of my closest friends and how come attraction was not mutual when you most needed it to be.
At the impressionable stage of being 19, after a long break from having a boyfriend, I met a man I fell in love with; I imagined him loving me for as long as he wanted to. It was always about how men would determine the time span of a relationship and not I or both of us. For about 3 years, I was consumed in his life and he in mine. This was the time when I had shaken off the baby fat and my whole physical form had taken a sharp turn to a "respected" beauty. All the boys that never had time for me, had the time to talk to me and all the boys that were with those ravishing beauties at parties, were now looking at me. It was an ego boost, for real. One that took me a long time to realize that it was not love, it was lust. I confused attention for love and I am sorry to say that I still do. Its my battle, It was my mother's battle with my father and its part of the pathology that Iyanla Vanzant talks about when she speaks about our relationships with men, the fact that those that are toxic have such influence to paralyze women in such a belligerent manner.
Now, almost a quarter of a century into my life and almost the same age, she gave birth to me, I am still wondering about love and how it has managed to deepen me into misery and lift me out into growth. I have men that I have loved so much that they loved me less. And not, because they did not care for me,but because I wanted that love so badly, I was willing to do anything for it. Even if it meant going against Steve Harvey's 90 day rule of not giving it up. But, well, what the heck, even when I did try the damn thing, they managed to leave anyway. So, what is the point?
The point is, I have taken a slight turn into love, where I will grow with love, knowing the difference between wanting someone and partnering with someone, love that heals and love that mends, love that relays sexual freedom and harmony, moreover love that conquers and nurtures the soul. The latter is that kind of love that is not obsessive, jealous, unfulfilled, depressing, cheap or shameful. Its the kind of love that prays, sitting on a humble stool and waiting patiently for a mirror that answers "Yes" with acceptance, joy, realness and vulnerability.