The man who didn’t finish being a boy.

African boy child….

Unsent but not unspoken. Welcome to another entry of letters I wrote but never sent out…until now.

The boy child learnt to walk too fast. And I just don’t mean the physical walking. They were thought to grow up way too fast, they were thought to get over the future flash.

   Nobody taught him positive masculinity, it was always the negative things that made him less of a man. Now he wears an armor to cover up all the insecurities he had to grow up with, all the silent battles he had to face alone, because he’s a man and he has to fight his battles alone.

He was neglected for far too long, he was a man for far too long, he was ignored for far too long. He receives compliments with a tinge of shock and confusion because it’s an unusual occurrence. And now when he’s about to shed tears he’s reminded of just how less of a man crying makes him, when crying is a part of growing too. Someone tell this boy that his tears are welcome here.

    The man who didn’t finish being a boy. When we talk about sexual abuse, he’s been dismissed because the male child can’t say me too. When you talk to 85% of the male child, you find out that most of them lost their first time to sexual abuse.

    So he continues to hide, chase the supposed bag, with the responsibility of the world lying on his shoulders. The boy becomes the man of the family, striving for perfection that can only make him mad.

What happens to the him when the weight becomes too much to bear? A boy who’s not yet a man but is torn between vulnerability and societal expectations.

    He learns to adapt, he leaves the war front with battle scars, that only run so deep. The fear that he’ll never be enough is nothing but crippling.

  I don’t know how to end this letter, but let’s hug our male friends when next we see them😭. Let’s call this a boy child appreciation post. Even though some of you can be really annoying, rude and make us feel like we’re losing our minds. We love the majority of you 😂💗.

   Today’s whatever it is, is wildflower by Billie Eillish.

Love,

Ms. Tsaku💌