Xolamzi ka Sam A SECOND LOOK Thuli Nhlapo’s article, “Colour me yellow” (November 17 to 23), made me cry for her, for myself and for the others out there, who have been labelled and called names. What really got to me was when Thuli said that “since my attempts to be accepted were unsuccessful, I gave up. It was useless to try to smile when I knew I was not wanted. A frown and a serious look became a mask that I wear to this day.” What she said hit straight home. I have been there. I know what it felt like to be rejected, unwanted and abandoned because of how I look. I know how it feels like to be laughed at, to be scorned and to be called a boesman. To have children mocking you because of the freckles in your face. Thuli was not just writing about herself, she was writing about me, about us. The journey of my life was not an easy one because I was different, and people made it a point to make me know it and not forget it. No matter how hard I tried to fit in and to be accepted I couldn’t. I was different and I paid the price for being different.
I have a pile of letters from my past. After reading Thuli’s article, I took them out, and I tried to recall that time in my life. I could not remember. Because I have moved. I have changed. I have healed. The experience of being rejected as a child has indeed made me strong. One of my friends recently wrote me a letter saying that “Xolamzi, how did you become such a beautiful soul, what paths did you ride in that I did not, how come I have never met another you? What walls did you climb that made you to be who you are, what thorns were thrown your way that were not strewn my way?” To my friend I would like to respond by saying, it is hard to say, but I know you will understand one day. At one stage in my life I was deceived, rejected, lied to, and lied to. There was a time when I felt like giving up. I lost hope of ever being accepted. I was angry. I promised myself that one day I would get revenge against the people who have made my life hell. Since hate begets hate, the baggage of carrying that load of hatred became enormous for me to carry it around. I decided to drop it, to let go and to forgive. Letting go of my bitterness and resentment left a hole in my heart. I needed to fill the hole with something, anything. So I went to church, attended prayer meetings, in the search for God, and the meaning of life. I even started questioning His existence. Until I realised that in all my attempts of being loved and accepted I was neglecting the only person that I could not part with for the rest of my life: me the me who has always been there longing for love and acceptance. When I realised that I needed to get to know me, and love me, I became withdrawn. I spent most of my time alone. I started sleeping and reading and running on my own.
Slowly, but surely, I could breathe again. After some time I was not hurting anymore. The inferiority complex slowly diminished and the fear of being abandoned disappeared. I discovered wonders of being me. I fell hopelessly in love with myself. I enjoyed being with myself and by myself. I started building the relationship between my body and my soul. I now love myself so much that those around me wonder what is it that draws them to me. I do not claim to be perfect or that everyone now loves me, but I am content with the ones that I know love me. Most of all I love me. I am now on a mission to spread that love. My younger sister calls me “Lamie”, the shorter version of lammetjie, which in Afrikaans, means “a lamb”. It is the most affectionate thing anyone has ever called me and all in the name of love.