Nothing is truly post-.
I sit on the edge of that hyphen, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar path before me.
The hyphen signifies a transcendence. But, simultaneously, it marries us to what we seek to escape. It connects post, to colony, to apartheid, to racial.
The hyphen is the entry point to the archives marked on our bodies. It is commemoration.
Hyphens do the work of giving coherence, I’m told.
Sitting in the middle of post-colony or post-apartheid, I’m wedged between many existences.
I can’t tell if these hyphens are cutting me up or holding me together.