The title of this post is a product of an inside joke.
I saw a tweet and it read “I’ve been single for so long, I’m an album now.”
I took it a step further.
I’ve been “single” for four consecutive years now so I sang “‘Bout to drop an Album this is my fourth.”
You know, from that song “Run Up.”
This post was also inspired by someone who posed the question. “Zothile kanti why don’t you date?”
Have a seat.
The only “He” I know is Helium
The only “him” I know are the hymns we sing during mass
The only “dates” I know are the laxatives and the calendar related ones.
Firstly my mom is totally against it, her argument is that it could be a burden.
At this stage of one’s life it could prove to be a great liability. I can’t say I disagree with her, it makes sense, I for one have a lot on my plate already, trying to keep a relationSHIP afloat is the last thing i want added to my to do list.
Me, going against my mom? Not a chance, I don’t want to die.
The string of lies I’d have to concoct, the guilt that would ail me afterwards… it’s not worth it. Let’s not forget that Mrs N Zulu is like the FBI, she’d find out eventually, Bulawayo is quite small.
Reason number two.
These people? We got to know about each other’s existences over WhatsApp, Instagram or Facebook. So my issue here is that there is so much that can be watered down and filtered through a phone – honestly after series of conversations characterised by small talk I don’t seem to know a thing about them and they don’t know seem to know me from a bar of blue soap.
And its not easy to lie with a straight face but it’s easy to lie behind a phone screen.
I know communicating through a phone is the only way to go at the moment, it’s rather impractical to say to your family as you leave the house
I’ll be back in a few I’m going to look for a boyfriend.
So what if I threw my mom’s advice out the window and looked past reason number two? There’s reason number three. I’m hellbent on the belief that these relationships are usually like the flames of a matchstick.
You strike a match and it burns so brightly and beautifully and before you can even blink there is nothing but black. Ash. Remnants of a matchstick.
So I’m quite skeptical when I hear “Zothile you and so and so would be a perfect match.”
Oh and let’s not forget that moment when you spasmodically drop the matchstick because the flames licked your hand and burnt you.
There are people who do date in high school. If you are reading this, it is not an attack, I’m just here talking about how I’m not taking that route. I’m not scowling at anyone’s decisions. You can cope, I don’t think I can right now.
All I can foresee is tragedy, fire and brimstone, I’m not sooted for this at the moment.
(I’m hoping you got that pun, suit is a homophone of soot. Soot is comprised of the black charred bits that remain after something’s been burnt)