To my ex boyfriend

If I stay with you, none of my dreams  will come true. I dream of travel and I dream of lending  my hands to disaster relief, to activisim,  to loveing someone to ultimately love the world better. I see the distruction and the peoples  obsession  with money and being better than another. You dream of suits and cars. And a house wife.

I dream of freedom and faithfulness. So I will cry for a couple  of months and I will  hide from the world for a while. I will feel stupid  for not seeing it coming  and wonder why giving  you my all wasn’t good enough. I will regret not telling  you off and go over every word I should  have said when u told me to find someone else.

I always tell my friends, he may not tell you, but he will show you how he feels about you. When he stops posting pictures  of you, and you start wondering if he still  finds you attractive  cause you can’t remember  the last time he said your beautiful. You might not have noticed  but he’s stopped saying  he loves you. I missed all the signs but I wouldn’t have thought  them signs until you said I must have known love is gone.

Everyone goes through heartbreak, this is my turn in the ups and downs of life. “What about all the times you insisted you wanted to marry me, when  marriage was not something I thought of but you made me consider it? What about the kids names you picked?”
-“That was a long time ago. It doesn’t  count”

“So you wasted my time?”
-“it was only two years”

Better now than when I’m older and fat with your kids, too old and afraid  to follow my dreams.

You can watch me cry and break for now. Soon you will watch me win and  live my dreams – dreams  you never knew I had.


South Africa ‘in transition’


South Africa has a racist past, like 50% of the world we were colonised by the British at one point and then by the Dutch, leaving a  residual few who still think they’re gods among mortal men. For example, a couple of years ago the news headlined university students who pissed in cleaners’ food and forced them to eat it on camera. We all know who’s who in this story.Thousand bucks for anyone who finds an article on a black person being so evilly racist. Rather, evilly criminal. I’m tired of the word racism being used in place of “criminal”. Racism is judging someone based on their race. For example saying because colonists and people who came up with slavery and the shocking treatment and “punishment” of those slaves were white , means all white people are inherently evil. But assulting or killing someone because they’re black cant be prettied under racism. That person is a murderer. You cant be jailed for being racist but there’s no debate that murderers go to jail.

In addition to the many evil doers who justify their ways by race, there are a couple of over looked everyday racists. Because although they are not criminal, they seem to suffer from a consistant itch to draw a line between “them” and “us”. I started working this year and some 60 year old white guy saw the crown of confidence on my head built by the staff of ownership over this land which is mine and the opportunities I fight for. And my grandparents fought for. And my ancestors died for. So he felt the need to “educate” me on how the company was barbwired with high fences against black people and how he was never against segregation but “good for you guys for fighting. A lot of white people fought with you guys”. As if to say: ‘welcome’ you finally tore down the fence of economic segregation and can work for us from the inside. “You guys” implying we are still living in apartheid times . Not a day goes by when he doesn’t make a joke or comment about “my culture”. With 11 official languages in South Africa and even more than 11 traditional groups, you can’t look at a black person and tell if they believe in ancestral praise or Muthi; kingdoms or parliament; if they are Zionist or Christian. He just assumes every black person is like the “one black friend” he feels the need to mention (world class ignorant dick he is).

The other thing I have to encounter, is with a couple of European students who came to work with us on a student exchange program. They landed on my soil, started spuing ignorant racism and have not stopped since. They search me out to ask “why do black girls wear their hair like that ” “oh wow there are black people even in the richest areas?” ” oh I know alot of black people who vote for the party with white members in it?” ” where do black people learn to twerk hahaha”.Among other dumb questions I should know answers to. And mocking the numerous accents. In primary school there was a joke among us where if we were asked something silly and it included the words “why” and “black” we’d say “teacher, it’s my culture” and every other black student would laugh at how outrageous that was. And… that it would work.
The real answer? I do not know! Im just working out her future, enjoying life. Its exhausting to have to wonder how to answer ignorant questions.  Should I call the black association? And where do I get the number to call them. Who is the authority on these things? What if I answer the questions in detriment to my race? Too much pressure!  Maybe its not exactly racist (Im not too sure what qualifies)It is, however, the definition of ignorance. Malcome X might have been an extremist but I understand the notion of wanting to rather have this residual seperated from the general population.
Realistically Id settle for genuine people and being speared the fake smiles and b.s small talk and lame jokes. I dont expect my german-south african friend to represent her race, just herself. And she doesn’t expect it of me.

And then, ofcose, there are outright racist insults and name calling. Which is alarming because the comments are intended to make you uncomfortable or most of them believe they can intimidate you. In fact its not intimidating nor uncomfortable, just alarming that someone is trying to intimate you. These people are living in someone elses mother land and walk around with an attitude like they are just tolerating the landlords, and the landlords are suffering them. The 20 year old joke about ‘black people planning to evict them out of south africa’ dipicts this attitude. I have to disappoint a few but you’re not the center of our consciousness, so no: wer not plotting against you, nor thinking about you. I bet u think this song, this band, this whole country is about you.

Finally I say this to say:
There’s a misconception that my entire existance consists of being aware of my blackness- its not. If im asked to discribe myself I might miss out on mentioning that I’m black because, like being female,  it isn’t enough for you to conclude on who I am. So Is it really that important that someone doesn’t like me because of the colour of my skin? Nope, hate on. I’m not endangered like in 1984, im not paid less*, I can achieve anything I want on my mother soil. And thats gained me a couple of haters- haters gonna hate.

PS. When you travel to South Africa please note that there’s a huge economic gap between black people and white ( because of the history we’re trying to correct). We* like to sing and dance and the residual share the opinion that they would want aparthied back, the government doesn’t kick that residual out of the country though. Our racial progress is slow (world wide) and thats the reason most of us feel pressured to be active and speak on it because when a fight comes to you, you have little choice but to become a fighter.

* not referring to black people as a whole only anyone who agrees. I can never speak for an entire race, as much as I can’t answer for an entire race.

No space in bed for a feminist

Man, Woman, Jewelry

I’m one of those annoying feminists wanting to challenge the wold view on what women should or shouldn’t do. Be beautiful; be sexy… but not too sexy! “Too sexy may seem trashy”. And be intelligent ,don’t be a smart ass though. And don’t say anything nasty against your fellow gals; you don’t wanna be a bitch.

I say do it. Be loud be frumpy be happy any and every way you know how. And be strong. Anytime a male treads on the stereotypical I’m first in line to challenge that thinking; “It’s so lazy not to take the time to get to know individuals but rather accept stereotypes as truth”. admittedly I don’t take lighthearted jokes as such… my scale of reaction being based on a belief  that the small daily “attacks” are the foundation of rape, molestation and abuse. I war against men who constantly replenish their idea of women being inferior. Imposing and strengthening that belief in each other (and sadly succeeding to impose it on women too) is dangerous.

But there’s no space for that in bed! Sensuality and pleasure involve vulnerability and a little profanity. If its gonna be fun im going to play those stereotypes and lure him- be that object, that’s the fun for me. To be carefree and lax out.  It’s not fun or sexy to me to want to dominate or be equal all the time (sometimes of course).

I hate to admit it but I am the inferior party in the bed (male-female relationship). If I “just wanna have fun” and hook up or in a long-term relationship; he will get up and go unscaved every single time but one time or another I will change form.  I might change and no one will see during the day or worse my whole body could fall pregnant. There is no 50/50 there. He’s 100 percent satisfied (by natures design pregnancy only happens if he’s satisfied, it makes no difference or consequence if I am) . And I am changed- I’ll look it in a few months ( and go through the bulk of the emotion alone).

It pisses me off frankly. I felt the same when I sat out of swimming and boys jumped in anytime of the month, I felt the same when I realised I would have the kids plus work, and everything else males do – being a woman disillusioned by the prospect of a real 50/50.

But that’s just the way it is.

Maturity might mean realising that in fact, women get the sweeter deal. We are stronger and more capable, it doesn’t hold us back, we have been thriving for ever. You bring life into the world and get to experience creative power. It’s a glorious thing?





“I am awfully greedy; I want everything from life. I want to be a woman and to be a man, to have many friends and to have loneliness, to work much and write good books, to travel and enjoy myself, to be selfish and to be unselfish… You see, it is difficult to get all which I want. And then when I do not succeed I get mad with anger.”

“The average 24 year old.” Search. “Life of the average 24 year old”. Search.

Google can’t tell me what the average 24 year old does or has or earns. Are they 1 or 2 years into their fist job? Are they interning or still in varsity, are they married, in a committed relationship or single?

I’m turning 24 years old in a couple of days.There’s alot I am proud of. Like quitting varsity where i waz unhappy to go to a technicon then working in “record time”- sort of, learning to love and be loved (hardest lesson of my life so far) and working so damn hard to get a good job; getting an internship for that good job. So after a big work project that kept me up for weeks, I decided I was doing great and looking back  I’ve achieved my goals for this point and have been more daring than I thought I was capable of being. I bought cake, some bubbly and celebrated my awesomeness!

Today, though… today im wondering what I will have to show for it when 24 catches up with me. I have a long way to go, to keep proving myself at work, to go for interviews, to  turn this internship into a solid job in this dog eats dog industry and being “only as good as your last fuck up”. I have to stick it through in my relationship after learning it’s not smooth now that I’ve “found the one”-its actually hard work! Its learning how to balance out the ratio so that you are both happy and both your needs are met. Communicating those needs when you don’t always know what you need from your partner when you’re facing a novel challenge in your life and watering my relationship so that it spawns into marriage(some day in the distant future). And the all important keeping in touch with friends and family- calling and visiting and making sure I dont get lost in this rat race through the maze of figuring myself out, so far im not passing at this area of life. There’s a lot to be done…


“If you trust in yourself. . .and believe in your dreams. . .and follow your star. . . you’ll still get beaten by people who spent their time working hard and learning things and weren’t so lazy.”



Oh the star of my soul fell at the wrong time. It smashed and scattered me far. I would take a voyage to find the mates of my soul. Those whose hearts found the world not what they expect.

The star would have stayed up longer but it plummeted with great suddenness,  there was no time to acclimatise. There is no trying now for my heart has found out, that the vessel is strange and the earth seems an enemy.

Bless me, there must be a reason the orbits ejected it. The heart rests not until it knows. I will soon voyage to find tge reason and hope I find on my way the other scatterings of the star. That will make me happy to be alive and open my sleeping eyes to how short life is.

For here days are too long for the words not understood.  I wish the star return but I am closer to the end now than the beginning.  May I rather finish that I may rest my fallen heart. There may be reward at the end, or there might be another voyage.

– There was a fault my dear, of the sort that cannot be reversed. It brought you on a thundering star much sooner than you were expected. Hode my dear, run faster for there are heels to be cut if u dont hasten your step. Forget being understood child, be content with being unmoved. But run… the hearts of your star are running too, but your paths will never meet. Your mates you will never know, just as the reason for the stars tumble.

Getting there


There exists, in the Southern tip of South Africa, a thick forrest where woman like me gather on dark nights to take leave of ordinary life. When the darkness (like i doubt youv ever seen) blankets thicker over the dense forestry, I walk its narrow paths that one can only see if you’ve known them. Edging through the night as it grows in its phases a howling alerts my senses to stratch out my arms and balance the surging flow of impluse, duck my head lower under the umbrella of thick trees and bushes so the crunching noises a few trees over doesn’t turn my way. The air and mist drys my cold lips as I freeze on the spot and chant a pecifing reminder that if I don’t take the next step forward, I wont be taking too many steps back either.

So I edge onto the damp leaves in front of me with my soilded, blisteted feet. Breathing slow and sparingly, only enough not to pass out. The adrenaline sends my body to overdrive so i lift my skirt from my ankles and clutch it to my chest, careful not to get caught on the dry branches or tripped by the protruding roots. Whatever is out there can see me as clear as if it were morning, and smell me, and taste me in the air.

“There they are!”, my heart leaps and sinks remembering there is still the forest to get through, the rapids to face and seeing the faint light at a distance means im much farther to hearing the drums than i anticipated. The rattling wind makes the trees sing a beautiful tone, over the sound of anything that may be approachig. It sounds like the purring of a lurking preditor, but I know its the wind blowing through the clutter of trees on the bank at the stream, even from here i can hear it. I pause to get my bearings, to listern for clarity of what it could be. I swallow hard as I take the next step… the sound of my throat contarcting seems too loud. I have to get to the beating drums and dances of jubilation where they wait for me with open arms. I dart my eyes up and down here and there as if im expecting to develop night vision ,and i am dizzy with caution. Not fear- fear reeks, Im terrified with caution.

Katlego blogged?


About love and life, passions that she allowed to take her too far. Mostly she blogged literature, to turn wierd, crazy, stupid ideas into a word of sincerity; thats why she writes, to express the sincere moments in a way that cleanses her soul of the debris of everyday life and allows a moment of truth.

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