Heartfull

My heart is the most complex part of my anatomy.
At times it is neither mine, but yours.
It seemingly has a mind of its own
Marking its own pathway,
leaving its own treads.
I follow it with hope and trust it with fear.
Because sometimes it is my foe, biding its time
To see me fall.
It holds the lies my eyes shield
And is witness to the thoughts I leave unspoken.

It is the invisible, the unseen window that reflects only when touched
It is the me the world does not see
And at times it is the me that I do not know.
I know it will hurt me, I know it will scold me.
I know it will viciously teach me,
Do everything but break me.
For it is my guardian,my keeper and my reasoning.

I AM

Everyday that I exist symbolizes a struggle
A fight for survival imprinted through the ages
Every inhale, every exhale is a resounding murmur of perseverance
Every day that I walk as nothing less than a human being
Is a testament to the dignity and pride  of souls unseen that could not be crushed
My very existence is an unmistakable, resonating political statement
Reverberating through the history books
My existence is a mark of triumph tainted by inequality, defined by resistance and achieved by bloodshed
From the kink in my hair, the sound of my voice, to the shade of my skin, I represent a fallen political ideology
My name is a continuation of a life force that was never meant to be
My recognized achievements are goals I would never have been allowed to achieve
And my echoing voice is one that could so easily been invisible had those before me not fought
Lived and dedicated their lives to giving me mine
My history is my beacon, my compass and my burden
My history is the me the world refuses to see
My history was meant to break my soul but it strengthens my core
Because my existence makes people uncomfortable
My existence makes them clutch their purses tighter and assume my deviance before I even speak
So I am existing not only as a spiritual being on a physical journey
But as a constant reminder that you cannot stamp out the BEAUTIFUL BLACK SOULS.

Changes....

I wander through life a hopeful soul
Attempting to leave my mark
Etch my aspirations on an unforgettable scale
In an unremarkable but distinct way
My soul is my virtue that clings to reason
But my heart is the muse that longs for change
A change, maybe a revert to the me I used to be
Because she was much closer to home than I am now
And yet she did not know
She was deeply unaware and encased in naivete
What I know now she never imagined
And what I now imagine she never knew
But I miss her, and sometimes I want her
To hold me, shield me, and hide me
I need her to be
But sadly I cannot be me if she IS.

Why judge me for who I lay with?

I have always had long held beliefs. Things I thought were either right or wrong and there were no grey areas. No nuances, just facts. There is a God. Friends with benefits is never a smart endeavour, and homosexuality is wrong.  I still believe in the first two, but no longer the third. Something shifted in my kaleidoscope when I moved from a country that held hostile views towards homosexuality, to one that was open to this lifestyle. Surrounded by people who were not judgmental or disgusted by this way of life made me question my own reasons for being skeptical. The nature vs nurture argument came into the realm of possibilities and I realized that  my own family did not raise me to be an advocate against homosexuality, because that issue never came to the surface. But the country I lived in, the majority of the people I met and the president who presides over us had concrete ideals that stated that homosexuality was against all that is natural, and it was against religion. It simply was not done and condoning it was the most far-fetched idea. It would be more probable that people would stick forks in their eyes and hold themselves over a fire than even remotely entertain the idea of accepting homosexuality. It is not natural to be born despising a way of life. No one is born with a hateful mind and a prejudiced heart. These are instilled in us according to the environment we live in and how we are nurtured.

 I think about it now and realize that it is culture that steers peoples beliefs and ideals. My mindset was changed because of a change in culture but others still hold theirs to heart even if they are in a place that is accepting of the very thing they find heinous. It hurts my soul to see and hear the violent statements directed towards people who are seen as society's deviants simply because of whom they choose to have in their heart and in their bed. How on earth is that any of your business and why should your comfort or lack thereof be taken into account when one chooses who they wish to be with? It was never about you. The humane thing to do is let people live their lives without fear of judgement, mockery and even death. Blood is shed everyday in meaningless wars and avoidable accidents; and we shed more as a result of a dislike towards a lifestyle deemed unfit? How will I explain to my children that people are being killed because society does not believe they are with the right person? Something needs to change. People need to open up their minds and let go of their prejudice because we are now at a point where it  simply does not make any sense. Statements such as "Being gay is wrong because it just is" no longer hold any weight and simply display ones blatant ignorance and bigotry. Life in itself is a cultural norm because we all live. It is violence that is the "alternative lifestyle" because perpetrating purposeful harm on another human being to bring injury, pain and shame is not normal.

 "The mind of a bigot is like the pupil of the eye; the more light you pour upon it, the more it will contract."-Oliver Wendell Holmes,Sr.

So which one?

You know those times when there is something you truly want but life hands you the opposite? This scenario is mind-blowing in its regular occurrence for me, but if you let yourself go, and give yourself the chance, it is something that is amusing.

Why? I mean I wanted pomegranates and I got oranges. Delicious in their own right but not as infinitely gratifying as the sweet and luscious feel of pomegranates. The colour in itself draws your eye and elicits a powerful love affair. How do you toss the oranges back in the fruit basket, without bruising them and making them sour? How do you politely reject something that sees itself as capable of making you happy?

You know it won’t. It can’t. Not only because you have consciously chosen to deny it that belief but because oranges remind you of something ordinary and normal. And that is something you don’t want to possess. Pomegranates though; there is something you can see yourself sinking your teeth in. There is something forbidden about them, and it is this that you wish to explore. The seeds will make it hard to swallow and their seasonal appearance creates a rarity which makes them that much more desirable. We are inevitably drawn to what is the “unsafe route.” Pomegranates are messy and oranges are simple. But simplicity will not make your heart race and neither will it wholly satisfy you. So as much as oranges are safe, pomegranates are simply that. Pomegranates.

 

Fashion: Me or You?

It is a form of self-expression. It is a reflection of the self that the world cannot see. It is you, illustrated in the fabrics, design and intricacy of the material. This is what we hear when it comes to describing fashion. It is all about you and your desires, but is it truly? Is our fashion not motivated more so by others than ourselves?

In a world where looks carry much relevance and your substance is usually judged by your appearance, I believe clothes have become less about your preference and more about social conformity. Society advocates uniqueness and individuality, prompted by changing times; but once you remove the layers of words you see that, once all the purchases are rung through, we all look the same. The punk-rocker donning the studded boots is similar to the preppy cheerleader, dressed in plaid. They both dress to appeal to that which they wish to become a part of. They are dressing not to show who they are, but to find themselves. Because wherever they find acceptance, they find validation.

 Undeniably there is an element of self-gratification in the image we portray with the clothes we wear, but more resounding now than ever before, is the incessant voice of popular opinion, dictating what or what not to wear (pun intended). Fashion ceased to be about you when terms such as “heroin chic”, “understated elegance” or “inspired bohemian” emerged. Other people, experts on your style telling you the meaning of what you are wearing. So now do we wear clothes for us, or to be labeled by phrases that we find “apt” and to our liking? I know that at some point in the week, I am going to walk in a store and try on a couple of items. The one I will buy is the one that will elicit the biggest reaction…in those around me. So ponder on it, without restraint. Who is your fashion for?

Where there is love....

Pain. People say death is the one most important thing we have in common, but it’s not. Pain is. Pure, heartbreaking sadness. The kind that makes you gasp for air. The shocking, unexpected pain that literally takes your breath away. Reason seems unfathomable and all that seems to be is how much it hurts. How will life ever be the same? Truth is it will not. Nothing will ever be the same and a chasm is created that you will probably never breach. How do you move on from something that has so drastically shifted the kaleidoscope of your life and made you question your reality? What kind of world is it when you would rather someone is dead, because that pain is easier to bear than that which they have inflicted on you through their existence? The situation is made the more unbearable because you still possess love for the person who has hurt you, for they too have been damaged and broken. They too have lost something that they can never retrieve. We are both irrevocably linked in the midst of the pain and we always will be.

It’s such a small town. A tight-knit community of family, friends and believers. Religion was our backbone for all that surrounded us. It defined us and it shaped us. It introduced me to some of the most amazing people that I had ever met. People who inspired me and became a surrogate much needed family, as I was so far from my own. It was here that I also met a couple who graciously offered me their friendship and taught me so much. I confided in them, I trusted them and I loved them both. She was the epitome of the clichéd “breath of fresh air.” She made that statement her own because it did not define her, she defined it. A beautiful spirit in every sense of the word and I sought to emulate her. If I could have even a single strand of the joy she possessed, I knew I would be happy. 

He was an encyclopedia. The more you were around him, the more you discovered and the more you learned. He was a dependable presence in the midst of hardship. When you needed an ear, a clear voice and an immersion of love you went to him. He embodied the qualities that are seemingly lacking in people of today and he was someone who was always going to be constant in my life.  

Being told (from someone who was not that prominent a figure in my life) that the couple who represented the love that I desired to one day have, where in turmoil of the greatest magnitude, shattered my world. Their relationship seemed an illusion to shield his sickness from the world. Soliciting young boys for sex. Why? How? Hearing it was the most heartbreakingly surreal experience. It was so unbelievable in its reality. It did not sink in. It has not sunk in, and it probably never will. But it will always be an ever present shadow of the true and utter weakness of man. Here was a man who was raised in the church, who represented the church and who was a supportive presence at my baptism; committing such a heinous act. I will never be able to shed enough tears, the pain will never be less astounding and the shock will never cease to stop me in my tracks. Hearing it will always be like it is for the first time. A continuous replay of heartbreak.

What scares me the most though is not what he did. It is that I still love him. I still care. My first thought when I heard was, “Is he ok?” because irrespective of what he did, that predator was not the person that I knew. He was a broken man, and the one I knew helped heal the broken. He helped heal me. Does my love for him still, display my humanity or my failure? It begs the question, what would it take, what would he have to do, for me to stop loving him. This dilemma has made me question my morals, and also given me an understanding of the emotions that are felt by close friends and family of those who are accused of crimes that disgust us; murder or rape. There is anger, there is desperation, there is sadness, an overwhelming sense of powerlessness….. and there is also love. Still. Even after everything, you still have love.

I have not talked to him. I do think about him and I do wonder how I missed it. Were there cries for help? Was I too caught up in my search for help that I never noticed he needed mine?

I think about her too. “For better or for worse. In sickness and in health.” These are the words she promised that symbolize forever. This is the biggest trial for her and I cannot even begin to imagine how she is feeling. My pain and heartache is magnified to extremes when I think about the battle she is facing. What has it done to her heart? What has it done to her faith and what remnants are left of what she used to feel? Can she stay for this? My heart is broken, but her soul has been darkened.

I pray to God (even though I question how he could let this happen) to be her light. Her guardian angel and the mirror through which she views the world.  And for her to know, that although there is nothing I or anyone can say to make it seem remotely bearable, I have love. For her and for him, and I have not forgotten the man I knew who was present in the special moments of my life.