It was a bit of a rush job. I actively decided not to think about it for 3 whole days. I ignored the possibility of possibility. The reality of dreams, because, well because things like that didn’t happen to me.
But that morning I couldn’t contain my excitement.
“What must I say?”
“Just be yourself, they’re gonna love you my nana. Oh I’m so excited for you.”
“Do you think I should have a copy of the magazine?”
“Of course. Read this months issue. Know who the editor is, where it started, what it stands for and how that aligns to what you stand for and where you see yourself.”
I knew I had to have a copy. But what did I stand for? I wrote a book about feminism. Does that make me a feminist? If I want to be a part of a women’s magazine, should I tell them I’m a feminist. That’s not even the point.
The rest of that morning was a blur. Like the past 3 days I ignored the blaring loom of 1:30pm. It may have helped that we had a consistent supply of sickeningly hot men within our view on the train that morning.
But once I got off it became far too real. I spent the rest of the morning reading up on the history of the mag, I found out there was a new editor, and I planned what I was going to say if they asked whether it resonated with me.
Then I searched. High and low for that months copy. Nothing. My internal pleas and cries to the media lords must have been answered because I finally caught sight of her royal Lupita Ny’ongo beckoning me to not only see her, but do that through the blush pink statement sunglasses. Perfect. A gift. One I can wear and prove my avid readership.
I was so stressed, I was pissed off. At nothing, for nothing. This was finally something I wanted and to be honest, with the number of people that were rooting for me I didn’t want to disappoint myself any more than them.
“Where do you see yourself in the context of the magazine in future?”
“I’d really love to be an editor”
“You do understand that there are two types of editors, a fashion and/or beauty editor and then the overall editor that is in charge of all departments and the voice of the magazine”
“Yes of course. I meant editor-in-chief. I feel like I want to be responsible for being the voice of women. I’d really like to be a part of all the processes that reflect how women view themselves and the role they play in the world.”
“What other projects have you been involved in?”
“Well I did a year long project that focused on feminism and existentialism. My main focus however was African Feminism. I also wrote a book with short stories that all linked to each other in the end. And the idea was to speak with a voice of an African feminist. I made commentary on our abilities and responsibilities in the modern world, on what our hair and how we speak means in society.”
I was more pissed off when I left because I didn’t know whether I’d made it for sure. I’d wait I guess. I’d go home and wait for Thursday when I’d have a skype interview with the editor.
Thursday came. And as the day crawled I reminded myself to invert everything my gut tells me in future. To take everything I believe will happen, as proof that it won’t. But that was before I got the phone call of my life. I was the candidate and I had been accepted without the need for a second interview. Basically, I’m unmatched. My excitement, also, unmatched. So unmatched it was met with dismay. I’ve never seen dreams met with such confusion. I’ve never seen dreams disappear so quickly.
Writer: Sinegugu Ngwenya