Social Media: An Ode to Self-Discovery

So, hi. First off. I have opinions and stuff and when I share them with the few people who have the vagina (we say vagina, because balls are too damn sensitive a sexual organ to be so strongly related to courage, in my opinion) to claim me as friends, they say these opinions are worthy of sharing. So here I am. Wasup.

I’ve always wanted to blog but had no idea what I’d say. I’m one who tends to keep most of her thoughts to herself, even on Twitter at times (shock horror gasp). I’ve opened and closed two Tumblr accounts, rambled over and over about how I’d love to formulate my mess of a mind into something cohesive and coherent and actually start a blog. I’ve constantly asked writer friends for advice on writing and they encouraged my thirst (hehehe) for it but I then stayed disappointing myself in not putting time aside to actually write shit down. So let’s give this “Social Media: An Ode to Self-Discovery” thing a nickname. I bestow upon it the nickname: An Ode to Getting My Shit Together.

I’ve always had opinions, right? I’ve always had more than my fair share of pissing people off with my verbal diarrhea and lost more than a fair share of friends because I wouldn’t tolerate them encouraging certain behaviours that I strongly disagreed with. It literally was not ‘til 2012 when one of my friend bullied me into getting Twitter and I found people who thought the way I did that I realized that it wasn’t because I was being conceited in cutting people who said certain things out of my life. Oh, so there’s a name for this? Voila. Feminist Tshego leapt out the damn ashes and found healing in tears that I had shed years earlier for losing friends over my big mouth (I’m no Phoenix but hells yeah Harry Potter references).

To say that I had found MY PEOPLE when I started interacting with feminists on Twitter would be a sick understatement. I thought I was happy with my life, intellect and opinions before? Guuuuurl, I had no clue that asking questions and being reassured by (especially black) feminists would lead me to realize that there was nothing I would lose that wasn’t worth losing as a result of affirming my opinions and backing them with feminist theory. Now, the first thing I did (which is apparently the last thing on the minds of anti-feminists; more on that much later) was ask for books to read. I had always loved reading, I was literally a child whose parents’ form of punishment comprised of taking away my books (bad parenting, that) so when I found resources that put me in space where I felt safe to speak out against the sexism I had yelled at people for in high school; a space that altered the slut-shaming I was guilty of as a first-year virgin who judged friends who had had sex; a space were I could learn to not only develop my own thoughts but learnt that I was not an outlier for having strong opinions and questioning bullshit.

So this is my damn ode to social media (and in this context social media means Twitter because the corners of Facebook I’m confronted with are dark and scary and not in the masochistic ways I prefer) for being the portal to my self-discovery, yo.

Gotta send love and warmth (and gut-wrenching orgasms) to these women who taught me that there is strength and ineffable power in knowing that your opinions are necessary. You know damn well the reason I doubted my opinions and thought them to be conceited was because women are taught not to have such. I was a late bloomer to this fact and if there’s one thing I’d want to teach my 13 year old sister (who is, unfortunately already falling into the sexist, heteronormative and patriarchal ways of thinking) is that her being a girl is no reason to ever undervalue the thoughts she carves for herself. (Fear not, I’m not great at these big words so I really doubt I’ll be using them much in blog posts.)

Shout out to the right side of Twitter (hashtag Feminist, hashtag IdRatherBeFucking, hashtag FapNation, hashtag TeamLayATowelDown, hashtag GetTshegoLaid, hashtag MelaninAsLove, hastag Etcetera) for encouraging a young un to speak up in ways that are more sensible than when my teachers would write “Tshego is smart but she talks too much” on my school reports each year. Here’s to attempting to put thoughts on paper. May Jesus and all his homies look down on me.

On that note. Hello, peoples. I hope I do alright at this blogging thing. I’ve been held back by the fact that I never thought I was intellectual enough to do this because I do follow the blogs and tweets of some INCREDIBLE black feminists and stay comparing vocab. Mistake number one. I’ll be typing the way I speak, bruh. I may keep the thesaurus close-by for when I say “amazing” too many times but please, I’m not here for academic awards. These are the ramblings of @mbongomuffin, only longer and slightly more verbose. Expect Feminism. Expect Black Love. Expect Kink. Expect a Damn Mess.