Nobantu Shabangu

My neighbours are preparing for a party. Their door is wide open and blasting 90s RnB music. I don’t know if I have mentioned it before but I do not particularly like RnB.
I have just came back from work and I found them blocking my door because they were taking photographs of their outfits in the corridor- one of the girls had really nice navy blue high heels that I wouldn’t mind walking in, she left her purse on the floor by my door and after taking numerous photographs she went back for it, she bent over in her navy blue heels and her shorts got even shorter; I don’t think she had underwear on, actually she definitely had no underwear on.  I wish I was in a party mood like they are but instead I am sitting in my green plastic chair looking at a peculiar cloud suspended in the blue sky- it looks like an armchair and I so wish I could sit on it. I am eating a green apple as I type this blog/ journal post, that might not seem amazing to you but to me it is because more than a decade ago I swore off eating apples. I grew up eating apples, my grandmother packed them in my lunch every single school day, when I went to visit family members they would hand me a big red shiny apple and when I went out with my mother I would be fortunate enough to be a receiver of a caramelised apple- I hated caramel and hated apples even more because I just had too much of them- to me they were a poverty snack. My white friends in primary school had cheese, crackers, celery sticks and baby carrots and what did I have; brown bread with mashed boiled eggs and an apple. So when I went to high school I swore off apples and I met a friend who had also sworn off apples and that solidified our solidarity- our friendship was stronger because of the vilification of apples in our lives. So what happened why have I gone back to eating apples? This year I unconsciously decided to deal with my demons from the past twenty four years of my life, I have decided to confront all the bad and to deal with it instead of burying it in a pile of heartbreak, I feel these unsolved hurts maybe what is holding me back psychologically and also what prevents me from understanding myself more. I plan to recount all the bad things that have happened to me or around me and let them go, even thinking of getting a psychologist for this because shit I have a sordid convoluted history only they can decipher. I hope my psychologist will be older than forty, open minded and understand my background objectively. I would like to think that having a common ethnicity is important but I do not want to undermine the professionalism of a person because of the lack of it.

The cloud that looked like an armchair has changed form and now looks like a mushroom- amazing.
When I read my horoscope for this year it did not mention anything about love or finding the perfect girlfriend- which is really frustrating because I would like to be wifed like right now. Yeah I am a feminist but I have always dreamed of being a housewife, cooking, looking after the kids, dressing in the sexiest lingerie for my wife to find me in are all thoughts that run through my head while I am at work. That being said I do not believe in horoscopes that much- I only believe in them when they tell me of good news to come and when those good news do not manifest I get mad and swear off horoscopes until I’m destitute and I must return to them
I have just finished eating the green apple and noticed my 2014 calender is still up; a sign that mentally my mind is still in 2014. I must move on.
Twelve days left until I leave the city and I do not know how I feel. Right now when people are preparing to leave for parties, when the sounds of different taxi radios fill the red sky, the nauseating smell of cheap perfumes clashing with the smell of steaks being deep fried in cheap oil fill the corridors, and a group of women singing church songs which move my soul to the days when I saw the world through the veil of sweet innocence- I wonder why I’m moving but my mind is unchanged, I have to move for my own good. I question myself; Nobantu this, Nobantu that, Nobantu when, Nobantu who? I’m going insane. I need walls that will talk back. Right now I will put my radio on full blast and listen to golden classics of a gone era and deal with the pile of dirty dishes and the pile of dirty laundry.
Nobantu go.