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All the latest from In10macy and more
The
Philosphy of In10macy
"THE HOME OF GOOD VIBES."WE CREATED THIS SPACE WITH THE INTENT TO "WOO" YOUR MIND. THE EXPENSIVE TASTE, THE AURA, THE AESTHETIC, AND THE CULTURE. IT'S WHO WE ARE.
"THE CLASS OF 10."EVERYBODY'S GOT THE RIGHT TO LIVE THEIR LIFE THE WAY THEY WANT TO, BUT ONLY A 10 CHOOSES TO DO IT. SENSUALITY FLOWS THROUGH OUR VEINS, IT'S HOW WE SPEAK, HOW WE CONNECT.
ONCE YOU LET YOUR TONGUE TASTE THE WORDS, REST ASSURED IT WILL LEAVE A MARK - CONSIDER THIS A PROMISE FROM YOUR FAVOURITE SOUL PROVIDER.
"THE REAL RULER OF THE WORLD." A WISE MAN ONCE SAID, "SUCCESS COMES FROM DOING THE THINGS YOU LOVE MOST." LOVE IS FOUND WITHIN EVERY RICH SOUL. IN10MACY EMPOWERS YOU TO BE THAT RICH, PURE AND WHOLE SOUL. LOVE IS PURPLE.
LOVE IS THE TRUTH. LOVE IS 10.
CULTURE WAS NEVER JUST THE CLOTHES I WORE OR THE WORDS I SPOKE.
IT WAS THE INVISIBLE HAND GUIDING HOW I LOVED, HOW I FEARED, HOW I DREAMED.
GROWING UP AFRICAN IN A WORLD THAT SPOKE A DIFFERENT LANGUAGE,
WORE A DIFFERENT SKIN,
LOVED IN A DIFFERENT WAY —
IT WASN'T ALWAYS A BEAUTIFUL DANCE.
SOMETIMES, IT FELT LIKE A WAR INSIDE MY OWN CHEST,
TWO HOMES PULLING AT THE SAME HEART.
THIS STORY ISN'T JUST ABOUT CULTURE.
IT'S ABOUT SURVIVAL.
IT'S ABOUT THE PIECES I HAD TO HIDE,
AND THE PARTS I FOUGHT TO KEEP ALIVE.
THIS ISN'T JUST A STORY.
IT'S A CONFESSION.
IT'S A CELEBRATION.
IT'S THE RAW TRUTH OF CARRYING YOUR HERITAGE ON YOUR BACK,
WHILE TRYING TO BUILD YOUR OWN WINGS.
THIS IS THE STORY OF PITCHOU —
BORN IN EUROPE,
RAISED AS A FOREIGNER.
"What they thought would protect me almost buried me."
AFRICAN CULTURE GAVE ME ROOTS.
IT ALSO GAVE ME CHAINS.
I WAS TAUGHT TO BE PROUD OF WHO I WAS —
AS LONG AS I FIT INTO RULES THAT WERE WRITTEN BEFORE I WAS EVEN BORN.
RULES THAT SAID A CHILD SHOULD NEVER QUESTION AN ELDER,
EVEN WHEN THE ELDER WAS WRONG.
RULES THAT SAID LOVE WAS STRICTNESS,
SILENCE WAS RESPECT,
FEAR WAS DISCIPLINE.
IN A WORLD THAT WAS LEARNING TO SEE PEOPLE —
REGARDLESS OF THEIR COLOR, THEIR VOICE, THEIR DREAMS —
I WAS STILL BEING TOLD TO SHRINK MYSELF INTO A BOX BUILT BY PEOPLE WHO NEVER GOT TO BUILD THEIR OWN.
TRADITION BECAME A CAGE DISGUISED AS A HOME.
BUT WITH TIME, I STARTED TO SEE THE TRUTH:
THEY DIDN’T DO IT OUT OF HATE.
THEY DID IT OUT OF LOVE.
A LOVE SHAPED BY FEAR,
AND A FEAR SHAPED BY THEIR OWN PAIN —
PAIN THEY NEVER HAD THE CHANCE TO HEAL FROM.
THIS STORY ISN’T ABOUT BLAMING THEM.
IT’S ABOUT UNDERSTANDING THEM.
AND UNDERSTANDING MYSELF.
I USED TO THINK I WAS BORN ON THE WRONG DAY.
EVERY YEAR I’D WATCH OTHER KIDS BLOW OUT THEIR CANDLES,
CUT CAKES,
OPEN GIFTS,
AND I’D WONDER WHY I WAS NEVER WORTH THAT KIND OF JOY.
IN MY HOUSE, BIRTHDAYS WEREN’T A BIG DEAL.
AT LEAST, THAT'S WHAT THEY TOLD ME.
"WE ONLY CELEBRATE BIG ONES," THEY SAID.
"FIVE YEARS, TEN YEARS, FIFTEEN... THAT'S WHEN IT MATTERS."
"YOU'RE STILL ALIVE, THAT'S ENOUGH."
BUT EVEN AS A KID, I KNEW THAT WASN'T THE FULL STORY.
WHAT THEY NEVER TOLD ME WAS THAT THEY GREW UP NOT CELEBRATING EITHER.
THAT THEIR OWN CHILDHOODS WERE MARKED BY EMPTY TABLES AND HEAVY EXPECTATIONS.
THAT MONEY WAS TIGHT, PRIDE WAS TIGHTER,
AND ASKING FOR HELP — EVEN SOMETHING AS SIMPLE AS CHILD BENEFIT —
FELT LIKE WEAKNESS IN A WORLD THAT ALREADY LOOKED DOWN ON US.
THEY CARRIED THEIR STRUGGLES LIKE ARMOR.
AND SOMETIMES THAT ARMOR KEPT OUT THE LOVE, TOO.
I SPENT YEARS THINKING I DIDN’T MATTER BECAUSE MY BIRTHDAY DIDN’T.
YEARS THINKING JOY WAS SOMETHING RESERVED FOR OTHER FAMILIES,
OTHER KIDS,
OTHER HOMES.
IT TOOK GROWING UP TO REALIZE:
THEY WEREN'T TRYING TO HURT ME.
THEY WERE JUST TRYING TO SURVIVE THEIR OWN PASTS,
AND IN THE PROCESS,
THEY FORGOT TO LET ME FEEL LIKE I WAS WORTH CELEBRATING.
I LEARNED FEAR LONG BEFORE I EVER LEARNED NUMBERS.
I WAS SIX — MAYBE SEVEN.
SITTING AT THE KITCHEN TABLE,
PLASTIC TABLECLOTH STICKING TO MY ELBOWS,
LANTERN HUMMING IN THE BACKGROUND BECAUSE THE LIGHTS WERE OUT AGAIN.
PENCIL IN MY HAND.
SWEAT ON MY FOREHEAD.
"EIGHT TIMES SEVEN."
MY FATHER STOOD OVER ME,
HANDS ON HIS HIPS,
EYES LIKE FIRE.
I GUESSED.
HE DIDN’T EVEN WAIT FOR ME TO FINISH.
"NAKO BETA YO MBATA!"
(I’m going to slap you!)
THE SLAP CAME QUICKER THAN THE WORDS COULD LEAVE MY MOUTH.
"USE YOUR HEAD!"
"YOU WANT TO BE A FOOL?"
"IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?"
MY MOTHER FROM THE KITCHEN —
HER VOICE SHARP ENOUGH TO CUT STONE:
"IF YOU FAIL IN SCHOOL, YOU FAIL IN LIFE."
"NO SON OF MINE WILL BRING SHAME INTO THIS HOUSE."
I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT SHAME WAS YET.
BUT I KNEW HOW IT FELT.
EVERY TIME I GOT IT WRONG,
I WASN’T JUST MAKING A MISTAKE.
I WAS FAILING THEM.
FAILING MY BLOODLINE.
FAILING MY NAME.
THEY TAUGHT ME TO FEAR BEING WRONG MORE THAN THEY EVER TAUGHT ME TO LOVE BEING CURIOUS.
WHAT THEY DIDN'T SAY —
WHAT THEY COULDN'T SAY —
WAS THAT THEY NEVER LEARNED HOW TO TEACH.
THEY KNEW HOW TO SURVIVE.
THEY KNEW HOW TO BE FEARED.
THEY KNEW HOW TO MAKE A CHILD SILENT BEFORE THE WORLD MADE HIM INVISIBLE.
YEARS LATER,
I LEARNED THAT SOMETIMES A BEATING ISN'T ABOUT AN ANSWER.
SOMETIMES IT’S ABOUT A PARENT FIGHTING A WORLD THAT ALREADY MADE THEM FEEL STUPID.
AND THEY SWUNG THAT SHAME DOWN THE BLOODLINE.
I WAS NEVER JUST A CHILD LEARNING MATH.
I WAS A SON TRYING TO SURVIVE LOVE THAT DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO BREATHE.
I WAS FIFTEEN THE FIRST TIME I WATCHED SOMEONE I LOVED DIE.
HIS NAME WAS K.
JUST A KID, LIKE ME.
ONE MINUTE WE WERE LAUGHING,
THE NEXT MINUTE, HE WAS GONE UNDER THE WATER —
SILENT, FAST,
LIKE THE RIVER JUST SWALLOWED HIM WHOLE AND DIDN’T EVEN SAY SORRY.
I STOOD THERE FROZEN,
TOO SCARED TO MOVE,
TOO YOUNG TO UNDERSTAND WHAT FOREVER REALLY MEANT.
I NEVER TALKED ABOUT IT.
NOT TO MY FRIENDS.
NOT TO MY PARENTS.
BACK THEN, FEELINGS WERE FOR THE WEAK.
TEARS WERE FOR THE HIDDEN.
I JUST STUFFED THE PAIN INTO THE BACK OF MY MOUTH
AND PRETENDED I WASN'T DROWNING TOO.
A YEAR LATER —
SIXTEEN YEARS OLD —
I CAME HOME LATE.
NOT "REAL" LATE.
7:30PM.
CURFEW WAS 7:00.
I WAS OUTSIDE KICKING A BALL,
20 STEPS AWAY FROM MY OWN DOOR.
NO DRUGS.
NO TROUBLE.
JUST SWEAT, SMILES, AND STREETLIGHTS.
I WALKED IN,
AND THE HOUSE WENT SILENT.
THEN THE STORM HIT.
"YOU THINK YOU'RE A MAN NOW?"
"YOU THINK LIFE OUTSIDE IS FOR CHILDREN LIKE YOU?"
AND THEN —
THE LINE I NEVER FORGOT.
"SOMETIMES I WISH IT WAS YOU IN THAT RIVER INSTEAD OF K."
JUST LIKE THAT.
LIKE THROWING GASOLINE ON A FIRE HE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW HE STARTED.
I STOOD THERE,
STUCK BETWEEN WANTING TO BREAK DOWN
AND WANTING TO BREAK EVERYTHING.
I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING.
I JUST LET THE WALLS SWALLOW ME.
LIKE ALWAYS.
BUT THAT NIGHT, SOMETHING IN ME SNAPPED.
I REALIZED THAT IT WASN'T JUST THE RULES THAT HURT ME.
IT WAS THE HABIT OF MAKING EVERYTHING BROKEN MY FAULT.
I WAS TIRED OF APOLOGISING FOR BEING HUMAN.
TIRED OF BEING A TARGET JUST BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THEIR OWN PAIN.
THAT WAS THE NIGHT PITCHOU STARTED FIGHTING BACK.
NOT WITH FISTS.
NOT WITH CURSES.
WITH DISTANCE.
I STOPPED TELLING THEM WHO I WAS.
I STOPPED GIVING THEM PIECES OF ME TO BREAK.
I GREW QUIET.
AND INSIDE THAT QUIET,
I STARTED BUILDING A SELF THEY COULDN’T TOUCH.
I WEREN’T GONNA TAKE IT NO MORE.
EVERY TIME —
SAME SH*T.
SHOUTIN'.
CURSIN'.
ME STANDIN’ THERE LIKE A DAMN WALL.
BUT THIS TIME?
THIS TIME MY BLOOD MOVED BEFORE MY HEAD DID.
HE SWUNG ON ME —
AND I SNATCHED THAT HAND MID-AIR.
CAUGHT IT CLEAN.
THE LOOK ON HIS FACE?
PURE SHOCK.
LIKE HE REALIZED TOO LATE —
THE DOG HE KEPT BEATIN'
GREW TEETH.
I HELD HIS WRIST TIGHT —
MADE SURE HE FELT ME.
MADE SURE HE KNEW.
AND THEN I STARTED SHAKIN'.
NOT OUTTA FEAR.
OUTTA YEARS OF WANTIN' TO SWING BACK.
OUTTA YEARS OF SWALLOWIN' EVERY DAMN THING THEY THREW.
"D-don't... don't try..."
"D-don't f*ckin' try again."
“NEXT TIME I WILL PUT YOU DOWN."
THE WORDS JUMPED OUTTA ME ALL BROKEN,
STUTTERIN',
LIKE A GUN JAMMIN' BEFORE IT FIRES.
BUT HE HEARD ME.
HE FELT ME.
HE KNEW RIGHT THEN —
THE KID WAS GONE.
AND THE MAN LEFT BEHIND?
HE DIDN’T OWE NOBODY SH*T.
I LET GO OF HIS ARM,
WATCHED HIM STUMBLE BACK LIKE HE’D SEEN A GHOST.
MOMS SAT DOWN WITHOUT A WORD.
LIKE THE AIR LEFT HER BODY TOO.
I GRABBED MY JACKET,
SHOVED MY FEET IN MY BEAT UP SNEAKS,
AND I BOUNCED.
LEFT THE FRONT DOOR SWINGIN'
LEFT MY CHILDHOOD BLEEDIN' BEHIND ME.
FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE,
I FELT FREE.
AND FOR ONCE,
THE MONSTER THEY WERE SO SCARED OF?
WAS ME.
THAT WAS THE NIGHT I LOST MY PARENT’S FEAR…
AND FOUND MY OWN.
THE NIGHT AIR FELT DIFFERENT WHEN YOU HAD NOWHERE TO GO.
I WALKED OUT WITH HEAT STILL IN MY FISTS,
THINKING I WAS FREE.
BUT FREEDOM DON'T FEEL LIKE MOVIES.
FREEDOM FEELS LIKE EMPTY STREETS,
BUZZIN' LAMPPOSTS,
AND THE SOUND OF YOUR OWN FOOTSTEPS FOLLOWIN' YOU AROUND LIKE A GHOST.
I WALKED PAST THE SHOPS.
PAST THE OFF-LICENCE.
PAST THE BUS STOP WHERE THE YOUNGERS SMOKED THEIR HEADS OFF,
TALKIN' 'BOUT MONEY THEY DIDN'T EVEN HAVE YET.
NO ONE LOOKED AT ME.
AND THAT WAS THE WORST PART.
I COULD'VE BEEN BLEEDIN' OUT FROM THE INSIDE —
AND THE STREETS WOULD'VE JUST KEPT MOVIN'.
I ENDED UP SITTIN' ON THE WALL OUTSIDE THE SCHOOL.
THE SAME SCHOOL THEY USED TO SAY WOULD "SAVE US."
DIDN'T FEEL LIKE SAVIN'.
FELT LIKE JUST ANOTHER PLACE TO LEARN HOW TO SHUT UP AND STAY SMALL.
I SAT THERE, HOODIE UP,
HEAD DOWN,
BLOWIN' STEAM INTO THE COLD AIR,
THINKIN' BOUT K.
THINKIN' BOUT HOW FAST THE WATER TOOK HIM.
THINKIN' MAYBE THAT'S HOW LIFE WORKS.
YOU DON'T GET DRAGGED UNDER.
YOU JUST... DISAPPEAR.
AND THE WORLD KEEPS PLAYIN' FOOTBALL ON YOUR GRAVE.
IT TOOK ME YEARS TO LEARN THAT FIGHTIN' BACK WASN'T THE END OF THE STORY.
IT WAS JUST THE BEGINNING.
I LEFT THAT HOUSE THINKIN' I WON.
I DIDN'T REALISE I WAS CARRYIN' ALL THEIR BATTLES INSIDE ME.
THE FEAR.
THE PRIDE.
THE SILENCE.
I WORE IT LIKE ARMOUR FOR YEARS.
BUT ARMOUR GETS HEAVY AFTER AWHILE.
AND IF YOU NEVER TAKE IT OFF —
YOU FORGET WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO JUST... BE A PERSON.
I AIN'T BLAMIN' THEM NO MORE.
I AIN'T BLAMIN' ME EITHER.
THEY DID WHAT THEY KNEW.
I SURVIVED HOW I HAD TO.
THIS STORY AIN'T ABOUT VICTORY.
IT'S ABOUT VISION.
SEEIN' WHERE THE PAIN CAME FROM —
AND CHOOSIN' NOT TO PASS IT ON.
THIS IS THE STORY OF PITCHOU.
A BOY WHO LEARNED HOW TO BITE BACK —
AND THEN LEARNED SOMETHIN' EVEN HARDER:
HOW TO HEAL.
#IN10MACY
#10OUT
Born on the first year of the greatest century to ever exist, its only makes sense that a name like mine was a part of the equation. But even a ni**a like me got no blueprint. With mortals like 2Pac, Hugh Hef’, and the Great Gatsby breathing, the youth in me figured out the game. After all, real recognizes real. But what did ‘real’ mean to a ten-year-old me?
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