A Taste Of Oblivion : The Short Comings Chronicles VOL1

MY FATHERS SON

I am my father's son

I look everything like my father, I look nothing like my father. Black as night with lies as the second skin my father was born head first, black like an African pot I'd try to mimic him as I'd feel the need to do so. My father was always there but my father was never there at the same time. Built stairs only to live them in the middle of the forest for me to finish and build a house that I'd too leave unfinished for my child to finish. My father was always loving yet he was never loving at all, he was warm but also cold as if the warmth was never there to begin with, a constant battle. He would yell at me for liking pink cause it was a colour for girls. At 17H00 I knew I had to go fetch the cows and put them in the kraal but I'd be so invested watching SABC, Winx Club and Dragon Ball Z that my head he'd hit and silently curse cause my father was impatient, one of the many traits I acquired. My father would hurt me but he'd never hit me at all cause words cut deeper than any knife and stick like a fading tattoo kiss but I'd still love him, I wanted to be like him cause he was the only man in my life and I wanted to be a strong Xhosa man like him but my father was also weak but he Hercules at the same time. My father masked his pain but then again he never felt any pain at all cause he never showed it much like me, my father's son.

I am my father's son. I look everything like my father, I look nothing like my father. Thick afro shaved to baldness as we left for the city, new start, new beginnings, new us. My father had rules and I'd follow them blindly, he told me he loved me but sometimes I felt as if that too was lacklustre but maybe that's how love was cause I never knew any other kind than what he gave. He was always at home but never there at all, so what was it that made me look up to him I'd ask myself as I stared at the ceiling a ghost of his presence lurking through the hallways of the house and making a daunting figure in the back of my head. Was it the way he made me fear him and make that double as respect too? Was it the way he was so strong you could feel his presence fill up an entire room or was it the way he'd be here but not there at all cause as much as I was like him we were nothing alike, everything the same but nothing similar.

Same hair.

Same blood.

Same thick brows one would say we were twins but him older than me cause my father had me whilst he was still young, we were both children. People said we looked alike, I scoffed as resemblance I saw none cause he liked to chase skirts and I liked to wear them, he liked to have lipstick smeared on his shirt, evidence that he meet someone new yet I liked my lipstick painted an ever changing colour on my lips. He liked small breasts but I wanted mine big so I bought double D's, he was never the same as me but he always was.

I'd disappear at night mimicking him as he too would be gone, we were the same really but not even one at all too. He'd work day and night and so would I but that he never knew cause my father talked a lot but he never said a word, we lived together but in two different worlds with our spirits roaming subconsciously till out of continuous as we'd have out of body experiences cause my father and I had breakfast, lunch and supper together but never ate.

I never knew my mother, he said she died sometime back so he took care of me, maybe if she were here we'd say nothing but say a lot at the same time cause my father was like me, silent but I was like him, loud. He taught me how to be a man whilst behind closed doors I taught myself how to be a woman cause we were the same; teachers but weren't the same at all; different subjects. He'd tell me how to walk and I'd learn how to dance, he'd teach me how to talk and like a thousand song birds I'd sing, he'd sit me deathly-still for a photo, "don't smile, real men don't smile" but real woman did so I'd smile as bright as a Christmas tree as I'd pose and make love to the camera. My father said real men only knew missionary but I'd learnt all different angles cause I was my father's son yes but at night his daughter.

My father was a man of many talents but understanding none, how would I explain to him that I was a queen to the art of drag,

"Dad I dress up as a woman for spiritual healing,"

he'd ask if church wasn't enough though,

I'd answer "Daddy this is me understand,"

But he'd say this was never me, his son cause me and my father were the same, stubborn but we weren't the same at all, he wasn't open minded so he'd kick me out from his heart, not from his house though cause he was still somewhat kindish but in his eyes I was no longer his son. So I'd live with this man who say's were just strangers in one house and then maybe I'd try and teach him to understand cause we were everything, everything and open to learning but it'd take time till I am again my father's son cause my father likes to eat his cereal cold and so do I, alas something similar at last. My Father's Son.

FIN