Brute.

(on the unflinching nature of being and yielding intensity)

hey, sunshine. the year is collapsing into my lap (in a strange way). regardless, i feel prepared and have made myself available to experience. let it be good and holistic. also, please check out the little note at the end of this essay.

thank you for being here <3

---

i’ve been thinking about intensity a lot, more specifically what it means and how i find myself relating to it. there’s a casual novelty in being ‘intense’; a newness born from unintentional but thorough emotionality. it is a precious and sacred thing to be intense, in the same way, that sensitivity and sincerity are invaluable assertions. i’m also acutely aware of how uncomfortable people are with it. this discomfort led me to a place of study and thought about why that is.

if anything, we’ve done a standup job of associating intensity with inconsolable passion. is this association negative? no, i’d argue it isn’t, at least not in the manner that others might view it. but that’s the thing: people’s views, and often the mainstream conception of passion, are filled with an interpersonal depth that touches the realms of damn-near psychosis. we see this presented in both subdued and distinct forms. i’m reminded of Morticia and Gomez Addams and their quite literal, unconditional, and unwavering love for one another. the pitch-black fire that burns between them is unlike anything we’ve seen in pop culture. rightfully so, given how passion and devotion were the foundation of their relationship. the execution of their love is riddled with romantic eulogies of forever and then some. as dramatic and love-stricken as they are, it still feels so real and believable. i’m by no means saying that our relationships must be this way. only that their intensity is the very emblem of a love that is not lost in performance. it seems to make everything they say and do for each other all the more meaningful.

it’s a tightrope to maintain that sort of intensity without being disingenuous or losing oneself to insincere compulsion. it reads more like a fetish when we try to force intensity in this way. and when i say maintenance, i don’t necessarily mean being intense on purpose and attempting to manage it. i mean allowing yourself to be intense and doing so with an understanding that what you’re feeling and embodying is natural, until you mutilate it by trying to draw it out of you like an emotional exorcism. but what does that mean, to allow yourself the pleasure of being earnest? i think it’s in the way we show up for ourselves first.

the reason so many people struggle to hold the intensity of others and even of themselves is because we are not holding space for that internal dialogue. this has ridiculous effects on our bodies and spirits too. internal dialogue, how we converse with ourselves, is important. but more than that, it is essential to teach us how to regulate our emotions and allow them to move us subconsciously. after all, that is what they are there for: to move us. scientifically speaking, intensity can actually trigger a strong physiological response in the body. this makes it really difficult to regulate our behaviours and even to focus. alongside this, our past experiences, personality factors, and far more nuanced social contexts play a part in our challenge of being able to hold intensity.

however, this doesn’t serve as a free pass to avoid it altogether. i see it as an invitation to lean into intensity, especially with how fearful some of us are when it comes to relying on others and building firm connections. commitment and intensity are often used interchangeably, and that is something that has stuck with me for a while. rawness is next to meaningful connection, and that is a battle many of us push back against. i’ve recognised how some people desire friendship, connection, and romance, but are unwilling to be seen. being seen by someone is intensity playing out organically. i am revealing myself to you, and the intimacy of that act is powerful. it’s hearty, full of truth, light, and darkness. it is, more than anything, the precipice of intensity. i imagine a ship being led by a woman full of emotion. her spirit is leading the crewmembers, and she is being led by the ocean. her intensity allows for experience to run through her, for life to exist in her. and i think we could all learn from this.

if you’ve said something interesting, of course, i’m going to be prompted into a light or heavy tangent, and of course, i’d love to hear your thoughts. what i will not allow is for my intensity to be depicted as draining. that is not only unfair but deeply telling of our incapability to listen and be heard. i believe that listening and feeling are both major components of intensity, and they work together in incredibly erudite ways. of which, i think we should draw from and use as a way to truly connect with one another. there is an intimacy waiting in the depth, one that can only reveal itself if we open our hearts to it. it’s okay to be uncomfortable, but that shouldn’t stop you from experiencing what could be a totally radical or even minor shift in your life, personal manifestos and thinking.

when i allow myself to assert feeling subconsciously into what i do and say, the layers of depth enrich my existence, adding contrast and dynamic to an otherwise complex existence. while others often shy away from intensity, hesitant to dig into themselves and dissect what we talk about, i feel this nudge, like a calling from God, to push further. it’s not to irritate or perform, as i once said, but to create space for both myself and the other person to hold and explore the things we feel. that is so beautiful to me. writing also feels like the one place where i can practice this intensity more intentionally; playing with variation, tone and execution, without being told that i am trying to disrupt a chasm that already lacks depth. as i let myself feel and be led by feeling, i drift closer to truth.

what i hope you take from this is that intensity is a gift, a precious one at that. it brings so much in terms of growth and connection, but also in allowing yourself to rest in the simple knowing that you are giving yourself permission to exist fully. like a lemon being squeezed and compressed, there’s something beautiful in that. and i love the sting of it all.

yours,

Thando. x

---

hey!!! i have a poetry book called Waiting on a Rapture and i'd love for you to read it. it’s available on Gumroad as both an ebook and with a few limited-edition, paperback copies on there! (this site is easiest for South Africans and those in adjacent countries). standard physicals and the ebook are also available on Amazon for all my other lovely readers. alright, enough self-promo. go read Turtles All The Way Down by John Green and Find Me by Andre Aciman.

Waiting on a Rapture playlist:

Apple Music

Spotify