"In order to construct, one needs to deconstruct." This is the statement I put across on one of my random meet-ups with a lady friend I have come to recognize in the midst of crowded book launches and Tagore's music nights. It just so happened that I needed a walk to wipe away the long day with a good meal and a chat. Her partner, a smartly dressed witty male of Indian descent, engaged with us fondly; it felt as though I was talking to a singular person. They were in sync with each other, you could tell she did not second guess herself and neither did he. They had met at an intersection with no reservations to reverse.
For the longest time as a child, I would often wonder whether adults around me took notice of my presence, however as the only child from my parents, my history with the adult world has been pinned down to the unstable ground I have with taking instructions. As a child my father would often give me the space to sit beside him, under his endearing eyes, marking his grade 4 test papers. He was as gentle as I'd needed him to be, comforting as I needed a friend to be and strong as I needed my lover to be for me when all else fell apart. He represented a time of Black pride and solidarity.
I looked at the couple with a familiarity. She a Colombian with bearings in South Africa and He, a black man. 20 years ago, the Apartheid government would have put both individuals in jail. Not only would they actually make sure they were punished for loving each other, they'd threaten their aspirations of being parents. They'd make sure, they'd never look at each other the same way.
Today, we're voting for a President for the 5th time. I have roamed the streets of Cape Town and I chose to look at this city with eyes of an innocent child. From the outside, the city looks and feels light however it's issues run deeper. We have black males dating white women, excuse me, white European women. On the other hand, our sisters, have resorted to dating men who've committed themselves in matrimony and fail to find new ways at looking at themselves. I'm not judging, it has slowly become a norm. Or maybe a way of life.
When I began to write this piece, I wanted to address the inequalities that had faced inter-racial couples in Apartheid times however it dawned on me that I was barking up a tree that had long been empty. Young people do not care about the pigment of their friends, lovers or parents. When I refer to "young people", I taunt those that speak of the nineties in nostalgic tones. The eighties babies, who engage with politics as the very same sisters who give up too easily in love and are angry. Angry at the politicians, the government and everybody else who has not delivered their bread and butter on a silver platter.
We have grown up in a transitional period with great hope. Today, what are we voting for? What are our aspirations? Perhaps, we not ready to look at ourselves, yet. I am reminded of my own journey as a young woman in Cape Town, cheating on my black boyfriend, the African National Congress, because I want to punish him, fundamentally.
For the longest time as a child, I would often wonder whether adults around me took notice of my presence, however as the only child from my parents, my history with the adult world has been pinned down to the unstable ground I have with taking instructions. As a child my father would often give me the space to sit beside him, under his endearing eyes, marking his grade 4 test papers. He was as gentle as I'd needed him to be, comforting as I needed a friend to be and strong as I needed my lover to be for me when all else fell apart. He represented a time of Black pride and solidarity.
I looked at the couple with a familiarity. She a Colombian with bearings in South Africa and He, a black man. 20 years ago, the Apartheid government would have put both individuals in jail. Not only would they actually make sure they were punished for loving each other, they'd threaten their aspirations of being parents. They'd make sure, they'd never look at each other the same way.
Today, we're voting for a President for the 5th time. I have roamed the streets of Cape Town and I chose to look at this city with eyes of an innocent child. From the outside, the city looks and feels light however it's issues run deeper. We have black males dating white women, excuse me, white European women. On the other hand, our sisters, have resorted to dating men who've committed themselves in matrimony and fail to find new ways at looking at themselves. I'm not judging, it has slowly become a norm. Or maybe a way of life.
When I began to write this piece, I wanted to address the inequalities that had faced inter-racial couples in Apartheid times however it dawned on me that I was barking up a tree that had long been empty. Young people do not care about the pigment of their friends, lovers or parents. When I refer to "young people", I taunt those that speak of the nineties in nostalgic tones. The eighties babies, who engage with politics as the very same sisters who give up too easily in love and are angry. Angry at the politicians, the government and everybody else who has not delivered their bread and butter on a silver platter.
We have grown up in a transitional period with great hope. Today, what are we voting for? What are our aspirations? Perhaps, we not ready to look at ourselves, yet. I am reminded of my own journey as a young woman in Cape Town, cheating on my black boyfriend, the African National Congress, because I want to punish him, fundamentally.