But isn’t that for white people? Plus, don’t they pray to that statue of the fat dude?”
These are the questions I get the minute something even remotely religious comes up. I’ve been asked these questions so often that I cannot help but giggle at their confusion.
At the sincere amazement.
After my response of a clear “Yes”, the conversation usually turns to the tune of how indeed? The Buddhist way of life suits me because; I’m the big eyed, fair skinned, mixed-race looking Zulu chick, who happens to speak English exceptionally well and has the etiquette of a princess-in-waiting.
So of course I’d choose that apparently ‘white’ belief system.
In actual fact, I speak 5 languages. I’m a mother (to a Sagittarian toddler, who thinks he knows more than mummy). I’m a big sister to 4 siblings (with an age gap so wide, I’m often mistaken for their mother). I’m a lover of love, a believer in music having the ability to heal all sorts of wounds. I refuse to use cuss words after every fourth word simply because it sounds cool.
I am a lady.
In every sense of the word. But I will not co-exist in wedded bliss with a male being. This love I love is to be shared with another woman.
I’m that chick at the stadium, cheering for Kaizer Chiefs, fully kitted out. I am also completely at home during the “Beemer versus Merc, horse power versus elegant design” debate about cars.
Mother dearest says that’s my lesbian side peeping through.
I am a scholar of life. I take photographs to archive my memories. I sing to express everything (but I refuse to take it further than the confines of my home).
I am me.
A spoon dipped in variously flavoured ice cream tubs.