Pride Week

It’s that time of year again, when the LGBTQI (and probably other letters as well) come out in their masses, rainbow banners and heads held high.

Most pride marches in SA are a whole day event, followed by any number of after parties all over the larger cities. My university has gone a step further, and has instituted an entire week dedicated to the many gender and sexual identities found on our various campuses.

On the one hand it’s so great that gays and lesbians, transgender and intersex students and whoever else finds themselves represented in a rainbow colour on the iconic pride flag has a place under the sun and can celebrate their diversity in peace. On the other hand, does it not feel like a way to press all the weird into one week in an attempt to try forget about us when it’s all over again? What I’m saying here is not that we’re too weird, I’m saying that society seems to that if they give us a day or a week to enjoy our freedom, we’ll go away after.

I don’t really support pride week, although I am up for the parties, they’re great. I’m much more into everyday celebration, not by waving a flag and forcing my pride down everyone’s throats, but rather by just being open and out all the time – and not overly and obnoxiously out, but just out in the same way that straight people get to be straight all the time. Please don’t misunderstand, pride is great, we just need to have pride all the time and not only in organized events.

And yes, I am aware that’s there is a level of suppression, but I don’t think that angering the old and conservatives is the way to stop the suppression and cases of violence. Let’s not get into some anger-states just because I said what I said.

I mentioned that I’m not making a political point right? I’m not. The whole point of this post is to make clear that I want pride all the time. Not the oversexualised, sometimes angry and politically charged pride march.


Boom Clap

By a series of not so spectacular events, a friend and I found ourselves in Prague earlier this year. This post isn’t really about the beauty and splendor of Europe in the summer, but let me just mention that nothing compares to it. It’s romance is one I cannot even begin to describe – all I can say, is that it awakens a special kind of yearning deep down in your very being, a yearning for an understanding of all the secrets of the world and a yearning to see and experience all the beauty hidden away in every fold of space and time.

Amidst all the beauty and splendor and romance and whatnot, I was reading. To be honest, my summer reading list was rather haphazardly composed of books I had either found in my house or had previously downloaded onto my tablet. It included “The God Delusion” and “A Song of Ice and Fire: A Dance With Dragons”. Both of these books were fantastic in their own ways, but neither resonated with me on a personal level in the way that another book did. This book I borrowed from my friend after she had read it, also on our Euro vacation. This book was so marvelously simple and so marvelously real. I read it cover to cover in less than 24 hours, and that’s fast for someone who gets bored in mere moments.

I just now realised that all this happened months ago, so my revelation on how great this book is has been lived by many others by now and besides, many have even seen the movie adaptation, which I’m sad to say I still have to see.

The story is about a girl with cancer who falls in love with a boy with cancer. There’s joy and there’s sadness, love and hope and tears. I won’t spoil anything though. The book is called “A Fault in Our Stars” as is obvious from the title of this post – a song title of the first single off the OST. As a side note, also check out the song by Troye Sivan, that was inspired by this story.

The gist of what I wanted to state here, was that reading this story in such a magical place was almost beyond belief. This story, read in this setting, made life so much more than it was mere moments earlier. Silly, I know.

It goes to show, literature needs to stay important, even in an age where everything has to be truncated to 140 characters or less.


With regards my title, yes, I know I’m not nearly as funny as I think I am.

I discovered last week that a guy in my class is bisexual. Seeing as this information reached me through a grapevine and did not uhm, come straight, as it were, from the horse’s mouth, I’m not going to give it too much weight. I do however, want to give it quite a bit of weight, because I’d be lying if I said that the prospect of a new boy to dote on wasn’t pleasant.

Now, the only other properly ‘out’ boy in my class has proclaimed to the world that he has no interest in this new prospect, so there will be no stepping on toes in that regard. The way is paved, but is it a way to walk?

I’ve mentioned that the bi-lemma includes me not knowing how accurate the said informer was, but there’s a bit more to it than just that.

Should I be interested in someone purely because they’ve suddenly become available? I’m not one to chase after straight guys, because come on, am I seriously that desperate? And does it look like I enjoy setting myself up for disappointment? No. But now, suddenly, straight is no longer an issue, so the way is open to make a move, however subtle. Easier said than done though, right?

I have to ask myself, was I ever attracted to this boy? Before there was a glimmer of a possibility that we could hook up or that we could even, god forbid date, did I ever look at him and think, hmm, that would be nice? I can’t recall that I ever had such thoughts about our topic character. I also can’t, with all honesty, say that there was ever a time when I thought to myself that he was not worth a second thought. Does that mean that I’d been neutral until just then?

Okay, last week, we spoke. This in itself doesn’t seem so spectacular, but in a class of nearly 400 students, who speaks to everyone often? No one. So we spoke, and there was a wink. From him. Toward me. Toward? Anyway. He doesn’t know that I know. Well, he doesn’t know that I know what I think I know. So this wink was in all probability totally innocent, but who can blame a guy for being excited about a possible admirer.

I’ve now, actually just now before I started writing, invited the subject of my bi-lemma to be friends on Facebook, slightly late maybe, since he was a guest at my 21st birthday party. This is a big leap for me. I’m shy in real life, even though I seem very loud and outspoken on social media. What on earth is the next step? Do I want there to be a next step?

See, the problem of ‘shitting where you eat’ is a big one that stresses me out quite a bit. I’ve made out with two of my class mates, one guy and one girl – both pretty darn attractive if I might add, and since it happened, I have’t really been speaking to either. So, I’m not really keen on making my way through the class and leaving a cloud of awkward nods and shy greeting in my wake.

More to follow as the story unfolds then.


Okay? So first things first (I got you singing Iggy in your head hey?), the title is not misspelt. Chidren are similar to children, but they’re webbed. I’m sure I stole that from a comedian, possibly Izzard.

Anyway. I’ve always wanted kids and I’ve even been thinking of specializing in pediatric surgery. This past weekend however, the mere image of kids has changed in my mind forever.

I’m not easily swayed, and my convictions are pretty strong for the most part. So having my world crushed and spinned and titled in the matter of a few hours isn’t a usual occurrence for me.

I gotta say, there’s not much more to this thought, but I’m going to push on anyway.

My cousin has a little one that’s starting primary school in January, and since I’m the youngest of the generation older than this jack in the box busy body, it always falls to me to entertain the grandchildren at family gatherings. This weekend was no different.

If I’m being honest, the little ray of sunshine didn’t do anything more annoying than usual, it’s just that she’s become too old for her tantrums and attention needing stunts to be considered cute.

It was warm, and I got annoyed. That was enough for me to change my mind about kids forever.


Tonight I’m actually really sad.
I had lunch at family today, and all was going well at first. While waiting for lunch to be prepared, a bunch of us were sitting outside in the sun, having a few drinks. Conversation was civil until, out of the blue, a friend of my aunt’s decided to show us all that he was an absolute dick.

Not only was the integrity of my degree and educational institution questioned, but so was my honesty and work ethic. This I can still handle, I know about all the hatred from the the white Afrikaner toward tertiary educational institutions, especially when regarding the medical profession. So, these things I’ve learned to shrug off without too much thought.

What really pissed me off was when the racism surfaced, strong and wet with a hatred that, in my life, I had not yet experienced.

Hatred toward black people, the Islamic religion, the Jewish religion, and basically simply toward all non-Afrikaans and non-Christian folk everywhere. I was so angry. I was literally on he verge of tears, and what do my parents say? Nah, don’t stress, that’s just the way he is.

Excuse me, but do we say about murderers and rapists, don’t worry, that’s just how they are?

Do I go out and say to the world, listen, I’m gay, but homophobes are so chill, that’s just how they are? No, because what kind of a bullshit excuse is that?

So with a heavy heart I have to wonder if my family would speak out if family or friends were to speak homophobic words in my company. I also need to wonder, even though I hope it never comes to this, if my family and their friends have any place in my life after I graduate and move out. Melodramatic maybe, but I do not stand for inequality or xenophobia.

Peace, hope and love. Values to live by.

What Are You Looking For?

Isn’t that just the worst question a man could ever ask you?

I’ve been on two and a half dates with such a cutie – he’s attractive, successful, funny and, above all else, he seems to like me. As an aside, if someone expresses absolutely any interest in me, I suddenly find them to be so much more attractive.

Anyway, this guy and I chat on social media all the time and things are going well. Until yesterday, when suddenly I get the dreaded ‘what are you looking for’ question. What the hell is one supposed to say? I mean, we’ve been out three times, I don’t see a future for us after such a short period, so do I say this? This could potentially scare him away forever…

Alternatively, I could be deep and say that I eventually want to settle down, move in and get married, move somewhere splendid and raise some kids… Uhm… Am I crazy though? If someone said that to me after two and a half dates I would change my number and get plastic surgery. Just to be clear, this is what I want in my life, eventually and with someone I probably haven’t met yet, but the slightest mention of marriage seems to be like cursing in the gay community.

Saying how I actually feel about said individual seemed like the best option, though the possible outcomes seemed endless. I went ahead and told him that maybe we’d be friends, maybe we’d be more, I’m not looking for anything too serious too soon and relationships scare me at this point in time .
I was so pleasantly surprised, this boy said he feels me (you know what I mean) and if anything, we seem to be enjoying our chats even more than before.
Before I end this off, the dreaded above mentioned question really irks me, especially when asked in the context of our lovely little community. Let me not get into the depths of the casual sex pool and other explicit outings in this post.
I avoided screwing my chance with a hottie, and that feels like a win to me.

Nothing Good Happens…

It’s got quite an allure, the young hours of the morning. There’s a certain charm and anticipation of what’s to come, the promise of something new and as yet unobscured and uncomplicated. It’s the promise you live for, not the eventual outcome.
The early hours are also, however, ominous and unforgiving. The witching hour, the 3 am creepiness seen in the Exorcism, the time dolls come to life and when vampires are free to roam unperturbed through villages and neighbourhoods alike. Maybe worse than all of the above, it’s that time of the morming when your drunkeness wears off, you’ve had all the sexual pleasure you’re likely to get that day and everybody else in the world goes to sleep. It’s that time when you’re left with your thoughts and only your thoughts, all narcotics aside.
Let’s be honest, there’s nothing in this world more dangerous to any person than that peroson themselves. You are your own worse enemy. No one will judge you as hard as you judge yourself, not even the gays. These wonderful morning hours is exactly the time for tossing and turning, thinking, thinking, over thinking, over complicating, self loathing and irrational freak outs. I know what I’m talking about here.
I tend to watch series before I fall asleep, and Californication has been my series of choice recently. Hank Moody leads this life of sex and drugs, lost love that is still around on the side lines and making mistake after mistake in every aspect of life. A few nights I’ve found myself drawing all sorts of parallels between myself and this fictitious old man character. Until the next morning, when rationale returns and takes me to a place of sanity, sort of, once more.
Moral? Nothing good ever happens after 2am.

PS Do I Love You?

We all know that falling in love is pretty darn complicated, right?
It all start with how damn hard it is to meet someone – someone, that is, that is not a serial killer looking to kill unsuspecting homos, someone who isn’t as shallow as a Kardashian, someone who has an emotional intelligence better than that of a three year old and someone who shares at least some of your interests. Meeting people happens in weird ways these days. We meet people online, in clubs (god forbid), through friends, at the gym, at work, at varsity etc. The most uncertain and most stigmatized way is definitely online.
Meeting someone online leaves you vulnerable – people lie. You never know who’s on the other end of your computer or cell phone screen. The pictures of them that you see may be very flattering, they may seem to have many friends and be super accomplished, and yet they could end up being an ugly old fart looking for a gullible young guy who can be bough or otherwise convinced to do some things normally seen as uhm, a moral grey area, as it were.
Anyway, let’s assume you meet someone wherever and however and agree on a first date. This causes so much stress, I feel like I can explode before a first date. Is my hair okay? Should I really have skipped my swim yesterday? What the hell do I wear, what if we arrive wearing similar outfits?! Do I be myself or turn down the weird and loud for the day, and if I do, what does it say that I’m letting him see something that I’m not – even worse, what if he like fake me more than real me? So much can go wrong, and so much can go right. Small talk is an issue, and I have found recently that religion is such an issue (I feel like a blog post on this subject might follow at some point).
I met a guy recently, online (the shame) and we went on a first date two months ago (to the day, actually). Gosh, his pictures were all so great, chatting was always so good and I felt a connection (no online puns here please). So I meet him for a movie and I get there first. As he comes down the escalator, my heart kinda skips a beat. His pictures did not prepare me for reality. Oh. My. God. What a gorgeous man. Anyway, we go for coffee and eventually the movie and it was the best.
Meeting someone? Check. First date? Check.
Next is keeping it up – more dates and meeting friends. This is hard as everyone has schedules and I hate when guys feel like they need to text me every five minutes. Anyway, longest of all stories short, my friends love him, I love his friends and we actually see each other as often as possible. Things are going well.
Now, I have the worst case of insecurity on the world. Seriously. Remember when I said he was hot? Well I’m not. That makes life really messy, because he could have so many guys and they do look at him. They look at him when we club in such a way that I feel like I could be single at any minute, but I also wanna slap some bitches. I’m not sure if my insecurities leD to me being jealous, or if these two things are completely mutually exclusive? Feel free to tell me if you know – but only if you have some authority o the subject, please.
Anyway, what ends up happening? This boy is also jealous. He holds onto me and kisses me often, to show other guys that I’m not here alone.
Why is our unconfirmed, not yet official, semi-relationship going well? He thinks I’m more than a catch than he is. I know he’s the better catch. Oh, and neither one of us is a cheating dick, but that could be a topic for another day.
This post started off as a general realtionshippy, love topic mini essay, but I have wondered off topic and gone into the territory of my own life. So before I give away too much, I’m going to stop right here.
Till next time, hope all two people who read this enjoy it 😉

The First Time

Here goes. Number one.
The first time, the cherry pop as it were.

It’s true that no one will read this very first post from a brand new blog, although it may receive a quick glance by accident from people searching the tagged phrases. So be it. With this blog I am going to bring my various experiences under scrutiny and under the watchful gaze of well, hopefully some people at least.

I will be blogging as a South African, a gay man, a medical student and a human being. I hope that some may learn from my life or simply end up giggling at how ridiculous this all seems. All of that being out the way, it feels like an anecdote is in order.

The first time. I’ve heard that the first time always hurts. Luckily for me, my first time couldn’t hurt, in the same way it couldn’t hurt a straight man. Not only did it not hurt, but it was not by any means romantic or very exciting, it was rather bland, and so was every consequent meeting of a sexual nature with my boyfriend at that time. See, I was 17 and had never dated anyone with their own apartment, it was new and pretty cool. This man was a good four or five years older than me and beautiful as only high school romantic idealism could imagine. It was splendid and it was going so well. One weekend a few friends and I decide to stay over at his apartment. The first night, giddy with our new found adulthood, we all go out on the town and even pay security a bribe to let the boyfriend’s little sister get in to the local drinking hole. Needless to say, our adulthood did not stretch to our senses when it came to what was an appropriate amount to drink. After partying maybe a tad too hard. We go back to boyfriend’s place and one thing leads to another. Without sharing too much or being too crass, things were over pretty quickly, or at least, for him.

Ah. The memories. The nostalgia. The awkward aftermath.