LEAVE GAYS ALONE, PART II 

I am in love with myself, deeply so. I love myself more than I love anybody or any other thing else, much more than I love my women, my Rolexes, and my Mercedeses.

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My parents, my siblings, my children from other fathers, my brothers and sisters from other mothers, my teachers, and my God do not come into the picture here; for them the love is supreme. It is because of the great love I have for me that I can have the awesome capacity to love I happen to posses.

In my private moments, I thoroughly convince myself that I am the greatest thing called man to ever walk the face of the earth; for all times. I am the best there is anywhere on planet earth. Beyond planet earth I really do not care much about.

Spielberg tried with ET, The Extra Terrific. It didn’t work. What a most unhandsome guy! He still charms the world, though. #SIAFA-Secretly I am a Fan^™. But I’m still the best. Nevertheless, could I have chosen, I know for sure that I would have come out a totally different man. Perhaps still as overly narcissistic and with the same love I have for my people, as well as my opulent life-style play things, but very different all the same.

Given the hard realities of life as a Black man in a hard world, a Black man born and raised in the hot bed of anti-Black racism Apartheid South Africa, if prior to my conception I could have chosen my parents, they most certainly would have been of White aristocracy class in, say, England. And I would have been born in North London somewhere, say, Chorleywood.

That would have been real cool. I would have chosen to be tall and slender, say, 2m. My body would have been one of those which respond well to physical exercise training, such that I would go strutting around with the neatest and perfectly ribbed sex-pack, above which would be the finest sculptured chest and the most perfect squared broadest shoulders. My hair would be David Bowie blond, of course. Never mind he hailed from South London. London is London. Blond is blond, and we have more fun. That’s just the way it is.

It would have been real nice to have been White by choice and became part of the most powerful people on earth, both for the bad and the good. But then again, I became, I am Black. How it would turn out to be that my parents would be Black and African in Africa I have no idea of; and I really do not care much about that. For I am Black, I am. I did not, I never, not that I could ever, choose to be Black. Black is the nature of me, the nature of my being, with all my bad and good attributes, as well as my strengths. I have no time for weaknesses. I remain the proudest Black man I know. But, to be honest, I could have been spared the Black curse.

I am short, chubby with a pot belly, and black as coal. I have a flat nose, have a roundish face, have short curly black hair, I have small ears, have little body hairs, have a sickeningly inflated ego. I have loads of physical and mental endurance. I have a huge appetite for food and the good life.

I am independent, I am creative, I am emotional, I am my parents’ first child together, and, oh, I am a heterosexual man with profound love for women. These qualities of and about me I do not recall ever choosing, or making a conscious pre-order of, they were pre-packaged in my parents’ sexual reproductive cells.

It’s called genetics work, through which a thing called DNA will be understood to be, and contains the intrinsic truth about me, where I come from, and where I am likely to end up as a consequence of my all-round inherent personal attributes.

I popped out of my mother’s birthing organ predestined to be the kind of man and person I am today. It’s all in my DNA. I can, of course, if and when necessary, with relative ease make and learn to live with cosmetic and behavioural changes to suit, and adapt to changing and changed circumstances, but that can never change the real essence of my being; who I am, and what I am.  Once the reproductive cells fusion is done, the DNA is signed, sealed, and delivered; that’s me in full from cradle to the grave. So is everyone else, really. That’s being human for you … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA BLOGS – As I See It”. Order Simon Chilembo books on Amazon)

Simon Chilembo
Welkom
South Africa
March 03, 2016