It’s a Saturday night/Sunday morning. Loud music’s pumping from the club across the street. It’s been giving us sleepless nights. Someone should complain. After I’ve been there, of course. I should be studying for a supplementary I have on Monday, and yet, here I am, in a heap, phone in hand, tears furiously pouring out my eyes. Why? Because I saw an ex on Twitter.
Oh but this wasn’t just any old ex. This was that guy…. That guy I thought I’d still be with right now. In fact, the first post on this blog of mine was about him. I could never mention his name because he’s one of those ‘closet case’ types. Let’s call him……. Siz. Siz and I had a whirlwind romance. When his cousin hooked us up, I had thought that the cousin just needed someone to keep Siz occupied when he wasn’t working. I think that’s what the cousin thought too. But Siz and I, we began talking more and more, longer and longer and eventually agreed that there was something worth exploring between us. So we did. We explored it. And each other *insert silly little giggle*.
But it wasn’t without its ups and downs. Not only was I dating an ‘in-the-closet’ politician, but he was being pursued, I was told (by the very same dude who hooked us up. Di Gay Mara!), by rich and powerful men who could offer him way much more than this poor little boy from Soshanguve ever could. Naturally, I started feeling insecure, over compensated by giving some awfully bad sex (Eat, Love and Pray you don’t poop stuff) and I almost kind of stalked him. We broke up and made up many times in the course of that 2/3 months we knew each other. Then came the final break up.
11th February 2012. It’s the morning of the Tuks Rag. Yours truly is psyched and revved up, ready to go drink, have fun and spend time with Siz. Now, Siz had a lot of work to do that day so I could only see him in the evening. I couldn’t wait to see him. I was drunk and horny and just needed to be near my boyfriend. So he rocks up and right beside him is this cute tall boy. He introduces me to the giraffe and tells me that he’s one of the charity cases he’s helping. Awesome stuff. But I was mad as hell. This was supposed to be our night and Siz brings this other person into the mix. This fag was on fire. Hell hath no fury kinda stuff. So we headed over to the YFM area (don’t know what to call it because it clearly wasn’t a marquee. We were in a parking lot). Siz and his pet project danced and drank and were complete guys while I watched the festivities proceed. My arms were crossed and I was wearing my classic ‘I’m furious’ scowl. Siz calls me aside a couple of times and tells me to “behave myself and have fun” because apparently his protege was starting to ask awkward questions. After an hour or two of my not relenting or ‘behaving’ as he would’ve put it, he decides that he’s taking me to his friend’s flat and that he and the tall guy are going back to the Square. I protest (as only I can) and I think amidst all that protesting I asked if he was fucking the kid who was with us. He stopped and turned and nearly slapped the living daylights outta me. But like the gentleman he is, he restrained himself and continued walking towards the car. He took me to his friend’s flat (the friend was out of town on that weekend) and said that I should sleep and that he’ll come back whenever he feels like it. So there I was, in the middle of town, in some white man’s flat with his 2 adorable cats and a boyfriend who was mad at me out having fun. Great. I thought he’d calm down and that we’d have sex and things would go back to normal. Boy, was I mistaken.
In the morning, he walks in. Throws himself on the bed. I try cuddling with him but I’m met by an impenetrable wall of steel. He’s got something on his mind. I just thought we’d talk or fight about the previous night but he starts by saying “I can’t do this anymore”. He explains that the relationship is taking its toll on him and that what had happened (nearly slapping me) was very out of character for him and that had it happened, it would’ve raised a lot of questions. He couldn’t afford that at this point of his political career. So he told me that it was over. On the morning of the 12th of February 2012, the world was mourning the loss of Whitney Houston. I was mourning the loss of my relationship.
When he drove me to go catch my taxi, he was deathly quiet. I tried begging him to reconsider but to no avail. I got home and sent him a barrage of messages, called numerous times, left long ass messages on Mxit for him. But alas, it was all in vain. Siz was done with Tshego. My grief was immeasurable but as time went on, things became easier. Until this one night I saw him in Hatfield at Romans. He walked in just as I was being ordered to clean my best friend’s vomit off the floor. He came over, made small talk and went back to his crew. He was awfully close to some whore. I kept my cool until I got to my friend’s flat. There, with the music and lights of Hatfield beckoning, I could be found on the floor, going through my phone calling every single number that hadn’t been saved, hoping it’d be him at the end of the other line. After hours and hours of searching, I finally restored backed up content on my phone and I found his numbers and smses. I called him countless times, desperate to reconnect, but he didn’t pick up. He didn’t reply to my texts. I was a mess. That whole weekend plus the following week was horrendous. Eventually, I got over it and told myself I was over him.
Until tonight. Siz is taking his politics elsewhere and was letting the world know what he knew. Enlightening stuff really. Just when I saw tweets mentioning him, all the RT’s and the bruhahaha they caused, my whole world collapsed, again. So here I am at 1 am, still crying over a man I probably sent packing because of something his cousin said. The sleeping pills aren’t helping. All I can do is lay here and think of the times he’d be in this same bed, holding me.