Disclaimer: This is not a comment on race... You can be any colour you want in the world – as long as it is black! Not quite the famous quote by Henry Ford, but a good description for the attitude of some men out there. At face value they give you the impression that you are allowed all freedoms: of choice, expression, political opinions. When in actuality they’d prefer you mute, demure, sedate, housebound, lacking in thought and unfalteringly dependent on their nonsensical views. I’m just tired of meeting this type of man, who at first glance claims you to be the gift they’ve been waiting for from God and when they get to know you decide that no, actually you would be a better person being a female version of their dull selves. Well, not wanting to be one to mess with such ‘divine intervention’ I must admit to be guilty of hanging around them for more than one occasion. Then running away, at the revelation of their character, with a sprint that could rival my girl Semenye! I met a rather dull accountant a year or so ago. Dull because he not only spoke numbers, but he spoke in a monotone that lulled one to sleep and work was the only topic he could weave words around. Mr Dull would, as an after thought, add this ! punctuation to convince me of his joy. This was ok, because it’s quite lovely to see one passionate about the work they do. But it becomes problematic when they utter aahs and umms when it comes to other issues. And I wasn’t even discussing the merits of, fashion powerhouse, PRADA only hiring people who can run in high heels. These were simple issues that I could even engage a stranger on the bus on. Mr Dull wasn’t even motivated to go vote on election day. His reasons were non coherent mutterings about being tired, getting a few drinks in, not knowing who to vote for and such silliness. In the beginning he’d feign interest in what I had to say, what I was about, my journey, the strides I had covered, my forecasts and the passion I would deliver my speech in - Something rivaling a toddler excited to see Barney on a sugar high. Yes that was my delivery: racing to the end without a thought to catch my breath, excited at a tentative ear. In the beginning Mr Dull was interested in the stories I would retell from pages written between covers. He’d want to hear my interpretations of Jazzonova, Selaelo Selota’s ‘Bayandiphata – phata,’ Incognito’s ‘Bees + Things + Flowers’ Ray Charles lamenting ‘how long’. He’d commit to engagements to go watch a play, go meet my friends, eat out, travel, read, take a HIV Test and just be young and fabulous. He’d commit and then at the last minute make excuses. In the meantime my diary was fast filling up; meeting his family, helping his sister, suggesting business ideas to another sister, attending his friend’s wedding, meeting his colleagues. Even my place was becoming his – his toothbrush dominating my bathroom cabinet and his face cloth creating a presence on my towel rack. He’d suggest what I should and shouldn’t cook, what he was tired of and felt like eating. Unashamedly he didn’t contribute to the groceries. When I started making plans towards the things I wanted to do saving for travel and to further my education. His silence became loud suggestions on how I should spend my money - doing something else. My love for red wine became an issue around women not looking good drinking. Buying music was money wasted. Traveling alone to attend a jazz festival was unbeknown for a woman. Shopping for said jazz festival, when suddenly nothing looked good to me, was irresponsible in the recession. Not feeling like cooking was unusual for a woman. Mr Dull and his experience of twenty something had not only become an expert in women but an expert in me. I met Mr Duller quite recently. Actually as I type this I am withdrawing in interest of him. He seemed a likely prospect, aesthetically pleasing to the eye, witty even. Until he told me that he saw no reason to study further and up skill himself, even worse was his statement that this would be a waste of money. My jaw dropped, eyes popped out at hearing this – but there was more. He then asked me what I wanted in life and I named the many things that are in my mind and on my plate right now. He started shaking his head and admonishing me. This man, who had only known me less than two full days, told me that I would fail. He said I couldn’t be, all the things I wanted to be and that I needed to choose one thing and focus on that. Wow, I’d never met anyone who blatantly tried to force someone else to be as underachieving as they were. This guy, bless he dull soul at 29, not only believed that he could only amount to a small something but that I too had to be dragged down that dim musty and depressing pit. It was the beginning of a prayer – thanking God for giving me the possibilities and strengths to be who I am and what I wanted to be. Even if the list kept growing and growing, my passion would never fail. It was about thanking Him for enabling me to do more than just dream these things, but act on them and make the right choices with them in plain view. It was all about realizing that no label is definitive for me – and that every day I will seek to discover something new, fresh and exciting. I will look forward to this, which will be a continuous discovery of self and will give me more options than the safe demure expressionless black. This revelation is about constantly striving to be the best that I can be, doing what inspires me, upskilling, upgrading and rebranding my current self. And like Dulux, you can be any colour you can think of and never have to settle for the mundane.