Just a boy...

From the title, those that know me personally or otherwise- via fb or twitter- or have been in proximity to me while a Beyonce song was playing know that I am huge fan. Many will probably roll their eyes and think “not this again,” while others will say “of course! He is a faggot; we never expect anything other.” But I would like to make a suggestion, read the title once more and try to imagine me not being the typical homosexual male, biased, and gyrating to everything “Beyonce”, while at the same time believing that I am her, as I sing in front of the mirror, mimicking her every move and vocal technique. This is not about Beyonce, well ...to a degree (lol). It is about manhood and boyhood and why the latter is just a waste of time in cultivating a long lasting relationship aimed at commitment and all that comes with it.

Having failed once more, and quite recently, at an attempt to foster a relationship with a man, I found myself  like any other person would, listening to the songs that seem to heighten the sensation of pain just so I could deal with it and move on. Normally I would deny that I am hurting and just pretend while carrying a smile on my face during the day, and at night have the rivers visit me as I wet the pillow while suffering perpetual episodes of anxiety attacks. So in essence, I would and have before, pretended that all is ok in front of others when my insides are turned out, exposed to an environment they are not used to and cannot thrive in. This time around I lost it, I was angry and ready to explode and I understood why and accepted it (post-Beyonce’s If I were a boy).

 I did not cry as much as I thought I would but the anger was there; a throbbing, burning sensation that filled me every time I heard of, saw a picture, sms, or some stupid memory collected from the past six months. The anger arrived and the first thing I did, well after accepting the feelings, was to put on a Beyonce cd. I expected myself to dance around and sing while cleaning my room (homo much???) but then what happened is that I listened and it made sense. Resentment was the first song, followed by If I were a boy. The latter had me sitting reflexively on my bed and feeling. I felt what I imagine Bey went through when she wrote the song- each and every line spoke to me and I understood. And miraculously the anger disappeared. Some might call this rationalisation of the situation, but seeing that I’m more inclined to use my emotions to deal with things I refer to what happened as emotional re-awakening or intelligence. Yes! I used the term intelligence while speaking of something related to the queen Bey (yol haters out there are continuously saying how unintelligent she is) smh! Wrong!

Anyway, when she sadly sang “but you’re just a boy,” I got it. I was in love with a boy instead of a man. He listened but could not hear me, he used strong words such as I love you but could not follow through on them, he tried hle, but when maturity has not pushed one to the level where they need to be, or when one has their priorities set out up-side-down in a relationship, there is no way that ship is going to sail through the storm and arrive safely and in-tact to the shore. This is of course a one sided analysis of the “ship”, but that’s all I can give seeing that when I took the boat and decided to sail the other way there were a few, shallow, and useless utterances between us. I wanted more, sought an explanation, some-sort of line that would make me believe that he understood what I meant, but I got no such. But when “you’re just a boy,” hit me I understood . I accepted it and slowly I am moving on. I’m not a black man-super-bottom that just walks out of things and have all feelings relating to the other just vanish; I think of him, miss him, sometimes I do things (gestures, say things) that remind me of him. WheN my mind recalls how he would have reacted in a given situation. But then I put myself first, prioritise things according to what I want instead of empathising, overly at times, with the other when they don’t give a damn.

This is not an entry from the diary of a mad, black homo. And I am not lambasting my ex-lover (somewhat); I am just being real to myself and for myself. Maybe he feels that I too was a boy, I mean I am aware that I can’t communicate properly and that is something I’m working on. Most times I expect the other person to understand how I feel without saying a word, lol, and of-course that is childish behaviour because I am such an astute communicator. Maybe I wanted and expected too much, maybe maybe maybe… meh!

But it is what it is, I want what I want and I deserve it. And unfortunately it took me a while to realise that I was on a ship that could only give me 50% when I gave 80% and was willing to even go to a 100%. I sailed back to the island of “me” and it was hard; the boat would sometimes get filled with water from the sea, I would get tired of rowing, was freezing and just wanted to give in at times… just let the ocean swallow me whole. But then hope never left, I knew I would heal and begin to feel something other than anger and frustration, I knew that I would reach the island and would have learned something from being on the “ship” with my dark chocolate. It is true that sometimes life lets us be with people only a while to teach us more about ourselves, the world, and things beyond the world. I continue to listen to and watch Beyonce’s performances of Resentment, If I were a boy + Oughtta know (Alanis Morisette) and nuances I missed from the songs now stand out to me.

TBC…