Beautyful People

Chapter 5: The One About Why Thebe Is Like That.

On Wednesday, June 11th, 2014, Thebe Dlamini sat by himself at the bus stop waiting for a lover who would not come. He did not know this, of course; not until the clock had struck 21.15 and all the buses going out of town had passed him. He would continue sitting there for two more hours till the sadness tugging at his heart morphed into something else: first pity, then with a faint, almost inaudible laugh, indignation. By the time he returned home, he would have convinced himself that staying was his decision and that the heartbreak he felt was the result of his stupidity from loving a man too much.

It's a tale as old as time, meeting the architect of your demise and falling so head over heels with them that sense and sensibility exits the chat; so much that when the story has been told, you feel as though you invited the heartbreak and betrayal. It's something we have in common with our ancestors and those who came before them. So why then do we believe ourselves smart and self-aware enough that had we seen it coming we would have done everything in our power to avoid it?

In a letter detailing the events that preceded what Thebe's nightmares and episodal panic attacks deemed as the worst day of his life, Dr Vanity Ora wrote...

𝐼 𝑔𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝑜𝓇 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈 𝒶 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝐼 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓈𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓈𝓅𝑜𝓀𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇. 𝑀𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒 𝒶 𝓁𝑜𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝒸𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝒷𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇, 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑜 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒹𝒾𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝒷𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓍𝓉. 𝐼 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓈𝑜, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃, 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒾𝒸𝑜𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑀𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃.

𝒲𝒽𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒹𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒹𝑜𝓃𝑒, 𝑜𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓉, 𝒹𝒾𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎? 𝐸𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝒶𝓎, 𝐼 𝓈𝓊𝓅𝓅𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒽𝒾𝓂, 𝒴𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝐻𝒶𝓇𝓁𝑜𝓌, 𝓂𝓎 𝑒𝓍-𝒽𝓊𝓈𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒹.

𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝓂𝑒𝓉 𝒽𝒾𝓂. 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝓈𝒽 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑒𝑔𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑒 𝒶 𝒷𝒾𝑔 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓉 𝑒𝓍𝑒𝒸 𝒶𝓉 𝒶 𝓁𝒶𝓌 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓂. 𝑀𝓎 𝑀𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒟𝒶𝒹𝒹𝓎 𝒻𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝑜 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽. 𝐻𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒴𝓋𝑒𝓈' 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝒷𝑜𝓁𝒹, 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔; 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝓀𝑜𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝒶 𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝑜𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈. 𝑀𝓎 𝑀𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒹𝑜𝓂 𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹, 𝓈𝑜 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓋𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓌𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝓅𝒾𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒴𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝒟𝒶𝒹𝒹𝓎'𝓈. 𝐼 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓈𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓊𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝐼 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒶𝓅𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓃𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓇𝒾𝒶𝑔𝑒.