I fling open the bathroom door; the music’s faded to an echo behind me. Changing from an animated, alcohol-infused body to an almost dominant, defiant “boet” body, I scan the room. To the left, three urinals protrude from the wall – all filled with men standing open-legged paying no mind to each other.
When I was a six-year-old, snot-nosed, Spicegirl-obsessed little boy, I remember reading X-Men comic books. I distinctly remember being Wolverine’s number one fan. I didn’t realise how tortured of a soul he was. Retrospectively, I probably fell for his muscles. Internalising his struggle in a more argumentative way, I realise that Wolverine was actually going through a lot – being a misanthropic, immortal, animalistic creature (Sounds like the prospects of what most men seek to be. LOL).
The due date of my portfolio is etching closer and closer. I, as a stress-magnet, 11th-hour-struggler, and pressure-cooker decided to read through what comprised my “source of employability”, and one of the requirements was producing a podcast series. *Heavy Breathing*
Back in 2014, my first year at University, I made a friend –my first friend at Rhodes. At the time I didn’t know he was gay, and neither did he know that I was anything but a friend. He was a white man, with short, golden hair that wafted over to one side – kept so by gel. He wore glasses and was scrawny in stature. There was no attraction to each other whatsoever, but as our two bodies became comfortable in a foreign space lurking with millennials, we came into ourselves. As a result, we drifted into our respective degree-stipulated friend groups – aligning with people who shared our similar interests.