What makes a day beautiful?
I don’t know. But it is something that comes from the inside of me, that sees what I see as beautiful.
Woke up late. Saturday night, but we did not stay up too late. This morning, could not leave bed, because my lover was wrapped up around me, and it was warm in bed, and there was a drizzle of rain outside.
No longer the morning now. Afternoon. But it is still drizzly. The sun is not seen, a blue grey curtain of cloud covers the heavens. And only the bright light makes it through. And it is cold.
No, not snow cold. Just a tingly, refreshing, invigorating cold which makes me look out of and say, oh, what a beautiful day. I will not mind the water and the rain, the mud and the lack of sun. It is bright, without the sun being out. A day, and a time that one can feel oneself dancing in the mind.
Maybe it is what is in my mind that makes the day beautiful. My perception of it.
That would mean that I can find beauty where others would not. If I see beauty, I can see it even when others would not, and would still love what I see.
Poetry. It is a lasting fascination with me. Cant say what it is doing to me. Good things, but great good things. When I hold my lover in my hands, I feel that the words which I cannot say can now be written. They will flow off the finger tips, though my toungue is heavy and stuttering. Great thing that my lover can read my face and my touch and my hugs. Funny that he is not so much into reading as I am. Sometimes I want to shake him and tell him, read my blog, it will tell you how much I love you. But maybe he understands. Maybe. A little.
There is a kuchu function. One of groups here is holding a drag show. You know, real, live drag. Should be interesting.
Of a sudden, there is a blossom of confidence within the kuchu community. People are getting proud of what they are. They understand what they are. And they are affirming it. Last Sunday, we were told that a Transgender support group had been formed. There are a considerable number of transgenders amongst us. Yet, before, they were not identifying. Now, they are, and we are taking it in stride. Of course Victor being a transgender has a lot to do with it! Plucky woman, or, er, man. We are still developing our identities, but for me, being in the middle of it, it is fascinating. Wish I could pull myself away and look, without participating.
Kuchus, all of us gay Ugandans, we are no longer the self effacing, down trodden, invisible, pride-less individuals that we were. Now people are out. Out and about.
It makes me happy. It makes me feel that something is happening. Now I can say that I understand the meaning of Gay Pride. Because these kuchus are manifesting a pride in what they are which is a huge contrast to usual slinking off, tail between the legs.
Me too. The other day, one of my workmates made allusions to my sexuality. Inquisitive, trying to make me say something either way. Oh, she has heard the rumours, is the one who informed me, obliquely, that my name was in the tabloid.
I was amused. I did not out myself, but I did not step back with the usual subterfuges. I am not denying what I am. No longer.
Gosh, I, and other Kuchus, we are growing up. Mature! Never thought this would ever be. But it is.
I cannot attend the drag show. Other commitments. My lover is going there. With a friend of ours.
A day of beauty indeed. A time of hope, a river of possibilities, of a sudden, in a desert of thorns.