EPISODE 2: OPEN WHEN YOU NEED TO KNOW WHAT YOU REMIND ME OF

Lerato la pelo yaka,

Sometimes I also wish we could exchange eyes.

Not because I want you to see the world the way I do, but because I want you to see yourself the way I see you. And perhaps, if we exchanged eyes long enough, I would finally get to see myself the way you see me.

Every time you speak about me, I hear things I struggle to recognise in myself. You call me a man of strength? When I feel weak and brittle. You speak about me with a certainty that humbles me, because you see courage where I see survival. You see potential where I see unfinished work. I think maybe that is one of the greatest gifts of love: being seen by someone whose vision reaches beyond your doubts.

I guess it’s true when they say:

“You should doubt your doubts”

[PRESS PLAY]

You also ask me, sometimes without asking, what you remind me of. The truth is that you remind me of everything I have ever imagined a woman could be. Not perfection, because perfection has never interested me, and I doubt that perfection exists. You remind me of something far rarer. You carry grace and intelligence in the same breath. You are soft without being weak, ambitious without being arrogant, and strong without needing to announce it.

I notice the little things about you. I notice how your voice softens when you talk about love. I notice how excitement finds its way into your words when you speak about your dreams and goals. I notice how deeply you care about empowering people and how naturally you speak about lifting others instead of stepping over them. There is power in that. The world often teaches us that power must be loud to be real, but you remind me that power can be gentle. It can sound like hope. It can sound like a woman speaking about the future with belief in her heart.

Rato Laka, you remind me of Mama Winnie Mandela. Not because of the history books or the photographs, but because of the fearlessness she carried. The resilience, bravery, and refusal to shrink herself for the comfort of others. There is something about the way you speak about people, especially Black people, that reminds me of that same spirit. You care deeply about our people. You want better for them. You want to see them educated, empowered, and free. Every time you speak about those things, I find myself paying closer attention because there is conviction in your voice.

You also remind me of the spirit behind Steve Biko’s words. There is something beautiful about a person who understands who they are and refuses to apologise for taking up space in the world. You carry yourself with that kind of confidence. I am not talking about the kind that demands attention, but the kind that earns respect. The kind that also makes people listen when you speak.

You always tell me that I am a man of strength, but I do not think you fully understand how much of that strength grows because of you. I am like a tree planted near streams of water, and you are the water. Your knowledge, wisdom, and perspective water me. The way you think and the way you love water parts of me that I did not even realise were thirsty. Every conversation with you leaves me growing somewhere. You help me grow in love, in understanding, and in life itself. Sometimes I wonder who I would have become if I had never met you, and every time I ask myself that question, I arrive at the same answer: I would not be this version of myself.

You remind me of sunsets in the village at Bomma’s house. Those evenings when the birds begin singing their final songs before darkness arrives, when the air softens, and everything feels peaceful without trying to be. Whenever I think about those sunsets, I think about you. I think about sitting beside you, listening to nothing in particular, holding your hand and feeling like there is nowhere else I would rather be.

As I write this, I find myself smiling because I cannot wait for those moments. I cannot wait to hold your hand. The kind of hand-holding that says more than words ever could. The kind that turns crowded places into private worlds. The kind that makes a journey feel shorter simply because you are walking it together.

I might gatekeep songs as you do, but I will never gatekeep the love I have for you. You remind me of that one song a person plays every day but never tells anybody about. The song people ask for, search for, and try to find, but somehow never discover. The difference is that I cannot hide how much you mean to me. Maybe I am not hiding the world from my girl. Maybe I am hiding my girl from the world. Our love is the kind of love people know exists, but they never quite know who it belongs to.

You are the reason I wake up with a smile on my face every morning. You are the reason I find myself staring at the ceiling long after saying goodnight, thinking about how beautiful you are and all the things I want to do for you. Thinking about the memories we have not created yet. Thinking about the life that waits ahead of us.

You remind me of the kind of woman who makes a man want to become better. The kind of woman who makes a man wake up early, take life seriously, and think carefully about the future he is building. Not because she asks him to, but because her presence inspires it naturally. Before you, I never really understood why people spoke about love the way they do. That does not mean I did not take it seriously. It simply means I had never experienced something that made me understand.

You remind me of everything beautiful. You remind me of the ocean, not because it is vast, but because the more I learn about it, the more there is to discover. You remind me of our beautiful country, resilient and full of possibility. You remind me of sunlight breaking through clouds after a long stretch of rain. You remind me of the kind of beauty that makes people pause and pay attention.

Wa gago goya go ile