(Ir)rational fears.

Sometimes, when I gaze upon the sky, I wish I could paint. I wish my fingers were nimble enough , To capture the whimsy and flamboyance it embodies. The grace it moves with . The beauty it unashamedly showcases. Oh, what a feeling, to capture the emotions of nature!

Breathtaking, yes?

I can’t believe I got to capture that! It literally looks like a painter made the sky their canvas. I’m overreacting, you say? Its okay if you don’t see the beauty in that Cynthia, unlike your boyfriends face, art is subjective.

Listen, sometimes its okay to get your head out of your ass and look at the world around you. There exists so much out there. Nature is the most dramatic friend you’ll ever meet. Fr! Seriously, get off your phone for five minutes and go sit outside. Take a picture even. Breath. Create memories with yourself. Heal with nature. I know I sound like a hippie suffering from withdrawals, but I know what I’m saying.

At least I’m not telling you to go hug a tree!

I was minding my lonesome business, spacing out and getting lost in the vastness of my mind, when two bees fell right next to me. At first glance, it looked like they were fighting. The buzzing and wriggling was so frantic, it could only mean that hands were being thrown… In my mind at least. Wait, do bees have hands? Dammit! I knew I should have paid more attention in biology class!

The only bee I have knowledge on is Beyonce!

Apparently, they weren’t fighting…technically. Oh, no. After closer inspection (because, lord help me, I was bored and curious enough to stick my nose into dangerous territories) it became clear that they were rather busy doing.. Something else. If I were a proper lady, I’d say that they were trying to know each other biblically. Alas! Lady propriety said deuces and jumped out the freaking window, when those two decided to screw out in the open. Right in front of me! I could have stepped on them. How would they have explained it to the other bees in bee heaven, that they we coming and going at the same time.

What abhorrent manners!

My flabber was gasted, okay? We’ve established that my knowledge on bee-ology is limited. Non existent even. So quick question, are bees into exhibitionism? And before you ask how I know what that means, girl, I had a wattpad phase! So, are they? I mean, I don’t see why it had to bend its nyash in front of my innocent, bystander eyes. I think I need therapy. Who do I call? Animal control? A priest?

FYI, I didn’t stick around to find out who won the fight, or else I’d have inadvertently solidified my place as a permanent resident of rock bottomville. However, and I’m not shaming anyone, I did notice that a few seconds after, one of them flew away, leaving the other rolling and buzzing on the ground. Listen, I know a woman scorned when I see one. I could tell she was furious. Did I accidentally witness a case of a one minute..bee?

A beetrayal, if you will!

Safe to say, I’ll never look at a bee the same way ever again. Beelive me! I have fears, unfortunately, and being flashed in broad daylight is one them. Another, is cannibalism. I know, what a drastic turn, right? From eating to…Eating. I don’t know about bees, but do you know that there are other carnivores that find pleasure in eating their err.. Partners? I bet that bee would have appreciated getting eaten. I’m sorry!

I wish I had the attention span needed to understand science because it’s so interesting. And its not only animals that practice cannibalism. There are communities that do it too. No, I am not talking about that one aunty from your fathers side of the family, whom you’re convinced would have already used you for ritual sacrifice if not for the fact that your Mom is a prayer warrior. Obashata!

Why does that side always give demonic vibes!

There are people that actually feast upon the flesh of other people. Disturbing, I know. Think, hannibal lecter. It needs to be said though, that the American obsession with creeps and rebranding then as hot, troubled, individuals is psychological, but I don’t know any Americans to make an informed assessment.

That being said, one of my biggest fears, is finally getting on a plane, and it ends up crashing somewhere totally obscure. Then we have to eat each other to survive. Or get stranded with a community that appreciates a nice collarbone broth. The chances of that are one in a million, but you don’t know my village people! My fears might be far fetched but they are valid. Haven’t you heard about that one story? There’s even a book about it. I’m just putting this out there, but my base state of mind for years has been stress and anxiety, so I probably taste like rotten cardboard.

Just saying!

I’m convinced that that there are people out there, who would bite me if they got hungry enough. One, is politicians. I don’t need to explain further! Two, is the people that eat their meat rare. Brian, the essence of the cow is flooding your plate. I can hear its mooo from the after life. Why don’t you pull up your knickers, go out and hunt it with your own bare hands, then eat it raw out in the wild, just like the cavemen did! Lastly, people that eat exotic foods all in the name of a versatile palette. Sir, why are you putting a snake in your mouth? Do you want to bite my hand next!

Like I said, my fears are absolutely valid. And completely rational. I am afraid of bees. I am afraid of ever running into cannibals. I am afraid of the dark. I am afraid of crowded spaces. I’m afraid of marrying the wrong person. I’m afraid of wearing heels and breaking my back in seven different places. I’m afraid of public speaking while unaware of a piece of spinach stuck between my teeth. It has happened and I still need a safe space! I’m afraid of anyone ever seeing me dance because I look like a constipated gargoyle.

A rhythmless, constipated gargoyle!

I am also afraid of people that get angry and start throwing things. Or punching walls. Or does that only happen in Hollywood? When I get angry, I cry… Mainly because I’m emotionally unregulated but who cares. Also, I can’t throw a punch to save my life. And to be honest, if I ever have to throw anything in a fit of anger, its probably gonna be myself. I, for instance, can’t imagine trashing my phone because I’m angry. Have you seen the prices of these things? Am I buying a new phone or putting a down payment for a house!

My phone is literally on life support but I would never get angry enough to smash it into the wall. Lord knows I have wished I could though. Every time it overheats, takes three business days for a full charge, which barely lasts two hours, constantly freezes and has more cracks than your relationship, I am tempted. The thing is, I am simply not rich enough for such displays of depravity. The most I can do is calling it names. Piece of trash, is a favorite.. Or ng’ombe if I’m feeling particularly spirited!

Can’t imagine my life without it though.

It keeps me warm! Scorchingly warm.

I am.

Image:courtesy.
I just want to be wealthy enough to afford evening strolls in places like this, and fries whenever I want( all the time) without bankrupting myself. That’s not too much to ask, is it? Dear miracle worker, receive this open letter from me and my stomach!

My stomach and I are a team. A force of nature, if you will…And we have some eternal wisdom to confer on thy. Pay attention! I don’t know who needs to hear this- me definitely – but I hope that you know that you don’t need to ‘perform‘. Most of us, I’ve realised, are not taught how to exist but how to survive. It is human nature after all. We are taught that camouflaging our true self’s and curating versions of ourselves that are palatable, is how to live. I don’t know, but the moment you start figuring out who you are beneath the noise and clutter, is the day you begin to truly live. Or have a mental breakdown.

Or dive head first into a state of psychosis but we are staying positive. Viva!

To truly exist is live for yourself. And I don’t mean that in a self-centered-fuck-you-and- your-dog kind of way. I mean embracing yourself fully. Flaws, imperfections et al. Knowing you for you. How can you as an individual, contribute to the collective when you have nothing to offer to you? It sounds very nihilistic but hear me out, okay?

You have no need to put on that costume. Why are you struggling to put on ballet shoes when you don’t even know ballet? Your toes are meant for standing on peoples necks (non life threateningly). You are not a dancer! A performer! We both know that the best you can do is a shimmy here and there. A little twist to spice things up if you’re feeling energetic. Sometimes you can spare two fingers in the air like you just don’t care… bazokizo style. Anything other than that and emergency services might need to be called in. All I’m saying is, as long as you live to please, they will put for you Amapiano then call you rhythmless and talentless when you don’t live up to their expectations.

The only thing you should be dancing to is the rhythm of your soul.

My dear, can you whistle? No? Then sit down! Peoples opinions are not your responsibility. Release your soul from the burdens of projected, unrealistic expectations. For example, in my head I know all the dance moves. A certified Waistline warrior. Kwa ground, my bones are stiffer than a priests neck at a brothel. Now imagine me trying to go toe to toe with a pro just to prove something. Why would I do that to myself? You get me! Its so embarrassing…like having a crush.

Ever had one of those? How did that end for you? I for one, have never pulled a crush… Well, I have never pulled anyone, period! To be fair, it probably has something to do with the fact that I dress like I reside on the whogivesashit end of the spectrum. Or the fact that I can hold a grudge like a good, ex catholic school girl. Eternally! How dare you not feel the sublimal vibrations I’m sending through discreet, two second glances and increased heart palpitations when I see you . Also, When I look at someone, they either assume I want them Or I’m afraid of them.

Both are terrifying options, I fear.

A Psychological truth is that crushes should remain unattainable. That’s how the powers that be deemed it fit. The minute a crush veers off into reciprocation territory, an imbalance occurs in nature and the world starts to tilt. A crush is meant to be one sided! All of you heathens that are dating their crushes, y’all are the reason climate change will finish us all. I hope you’re contend with causing the destruction of mankind.

I sound bitter? Oh, eat shit Margaret!

You know what else feels unattainable! My dream of owning a car in this economy. I see the car of my dreams in my dreams… And before you ask, no, I can’t drive. Friend, most days I can barely walk straight. That won’t stop me from manifesting though. Didn’t I say I want a big, expensive, shiny car, with a sunroof? I know nothing about cars FYI, but Watch this space! Who wants a small car, anyways? Gari inakaa ni kama unaeza inua juu uekelee kwa bega Kama mkuki, Hiyo ni gari kweli?

Kiulizo tu!

You know, If I ever win the lottery, I won’t tell anyone but there will be signs. At one point, divine favour will locate me. Besides, I’m a really hardworking girl (said no hardworking girl ever) so really, its only a matter or time. Amen! Listen, I want to spoil my family rotten. Ha! God, if not for me, then do it for them. if I make it out, we all make it out. I want the only thing stressing my dad, to be how far the remote is from his chair. I want my moms main concern to be what color/pattern of curtains to purchase.

Listen, even in the next ten lifetimes, when poverty hears my name, it will scatter! Scamper! Skip! Skedaddle! Scurry!

I’m buying a Camera. Immediately! Just so I can take pictures of nature. I want to take pretty pictures of the sky at night, Lord! Also, as someone who has grown up in a rural area, I’ve always been interested in how communities like mine develop, the social issues affecting people in such areas: poverty, poor education, mental health… There exist such a big disconnect.

Baby steps!

Here’s a reminder; As we pray for the things we want, we should also pray for God to prepare our hearts to receive while we wait… So we don’t waste or squander the blessings. The waiting period is not easy. Its a test of our patience. Our integrity. Dignity. I always like to remind myself that its a season and not a lifetime. Even though it feels like the latter.

I write a lot. To God. To myself. I just write. My dreams, feeelings. To me, putting everything on paper is like having a conversation with my soul. I want to know myself deeply, and so I write. I want to know God deeply, and so I write. The language of the soul.

I want to tell myself my story as I experience it. As I live it. As a reminder to myself that I am stronger than the overwhelming present emotion/situation. To affirm to myself that ‘I am’. You know? I don’t know if it makes sense but really, ‘I am‘ is the best was I can put it. In this moment, I am. In this situation, I am. I forget sometimes and again, that’s why I write.

I forget to be present. I crave and yearn for an escape. The easy fix. I think this is where most of us lose direction. The muddled, middle ground between what we are and want we want/could be. We all have our own ways of… Dealing. When you feel stuck in you own body or stuck in life in general, its so easy to jump into the deep abyss, just to get five seconds of reprieve…rest.

Let this be a reminder to you and to me that its just a season. They come and go… Like your boyfriend. Ha! Seasons of pain/rejection are inevitable in life to be honest. And they will put you through hell, break every bone just for fun, come back again and repeat. Still, remember, I am. Its important to not get lost in that whirlwind.

Listen, life will squeeze bitter lemons into your eyes and not give you enough time to figure out how to make lemonade. If you can’t dodge, just lay on the ground and keep rolling. Figuratively of course. They might call the cray cray police on your ass! Just never stop. Even if you have to crawl on your knees. Hold on to every piece of you that just wants to curl and whither, hold tightly and move. All I’m saying is, life will have you by the thong, but you my friend, can handle a little wedgie. Get up and move!

Seasons of drought are not meant to break us but to make us. Think a phoenix. A rebirth. A breaking of the old self and breathing life to the new self. Its like a constant reconstruction of the I am. A renewal. And if you believe in God, a testimony. Walk in faith. Be kind to yourself. Be brave. Be courageous enought to fight for yourself. You are and you can.

PS: Channel your inner barrack for that last one!

Little thoughts.

Image:courtesy

Sometimes, when I close my eyes and envision myself driving a car, a door is opened up within the depths of my soul and a smidgen of strength in my reservoir of ‘things to fight for’ is released. I’m just putting this out there, but I deserve to own a car. A big, pretty, shiny, expensive one. With a sun roof, thank you very much!

Lord, is it too much to ask for a range rover? Or a G wagon? I want to take a long drive to the beach, lay on the sand and listen to the waves. Ugh! In this economy I’d probably be better off asking for a pencil to write down my dreams with. I think I can afford that. How much do those type of cars cost anyway? An arm, a leg and a kidney, you say! Plus two middle fingers thrown in? Well, at least dreaming is free.

My delusions cost 0.00 centavos!

Shrek happens to be one of my favorite animations of all time. No kidding, I’ll be 90 years old, toothless and senile, shouting “slay the dragon, rescue the princess” around the nursing home. My entire childhood, I tell you! Oh, Shrek, the ogre that you are! A walking green flag. Literally!

Its such a beautiful romcom. Isn’t it just oh, so romantic that he was willing –okay forced– to slay the dragon for Fiona? Hey, if he is not willing to face mortal peril and fire breathing dragons for you, then does he really love you? I’m not talking to you Stacy. We both know your boyfriend wouldn’t spit on you, if you were on fire.

Listen, if you switch off your cognitive dissonance for a few, and ignore the fact that the parents left their unconscious daughter, in a dilapidated castle of doom in the middle of nowhere, guarded by a dragon with possible anger management issues, you’ll be swooning form start to finish. I’m sorry, was the spare bedroom occupied. Or the freaking attic if the vibe they were going for was rustic chic!

Also, donkey and the dragon. What the hell was that! How does… Okay, can someone with a PhD in animal husbandry, a degree in animal crossing, a minor in religious studies and an obsession for crackers, explain in detail how those babies came to be. Was it a potion? For my sanity I choose to believe that it was that. Nothing else makes sense. Not that I’ve given it a dime of thought, in case you were wondering.

Uhm…

You know what else doesn’t make sense to me? Jonah. You know him? The guy from the bible? If my husband came home after a prolonged absence, no calls or messages, looked me straight in the eye and said, “love, I got swallowed by a whale” I…. Sir, of all things! And was he awake in there, just ,vibing with the whales innards. Reciting verses. His muscles must have been stiff as hell. I’m guessing he had to pee, right? So….

Lord!

I’m at the part of my story, where I can’t figure out whether God is trying to give me content for my best seller, or the devil is trying to take me out. As the woman of faith I try to be, I choose to believe its the former. Listen, he exists beyond the comprehension of our human minds for a reason. I mean, look at Jonah. Who would have thought! Can that happen to me too? Since I can’t afford a car, travel by whale seems the next plausible thing for an overachiever. Obviously!

Besides, with these suitcase sized bags I’m lugging under my eyes, airport security would definitely confuse me for a potential contraband smuggler. I am a flight risk people.

Question; Do you believe in God? Or a higher power? Also, do you read the bible? The stories in there are so wild. From Eve causing the fall of man (or was it the snake for its treachery. Or her husband for not standing on business. There’s a lot of blame to go around), to Abraham almost ending his only son, the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, lot and his daughters and then you get to revelation and its … Yeah!

Sometimes, I wonder about Mary, the mother of Jesus. She was just a girl like me. A young one. I wonder Just how psychologically taxing the experience was for her. Imagine going about your day, minding your business, then suddenly an Angel appears and informs you that, virgin that you are, are about to not only be pregnant, but pregnant with the savior of man kind. She is better than me, I would have passed out. Or ran away screaming. Or both.

Can you imagine how stressed she was, having to explain to Joseph that she was in fact, pregnant through the power of the holy ghost. The fear of being with child outside of wedlock during such a time period… And mans was not having it. Unaruka aje mimba ya yesu, lakini? How would she have even commenced explaining that the only wood she knows is the one at her boyfriends shop!

Mary was a true woman of faith y’all!

I find the fact that Jesus experienced life like us so profound. He did Normal things like you and I. He bathed. He cooked. He walked to places. He loved. He cried. He hurt. He lived. And he was a pretty cool dude!

I just know he gave the best hugs.

I attended an all girls, Catholic, boarding high school. This is me releasing that trauma. We had to attend compulsory mass every Thursday evening, regardless of what denomination you subscribed to. Not even the Muslims were spared. I’m not a catholic so I didn’t really get it. There we just to many rituals for me to keep up. Not to mention, our patron would lead mass with a cane. He literally used to beat people up for the littlest of things. Whispering? Caned. Moving too slow? Caned. Dozing?caned..

Imagine coming from a double chemistry lesson, with the sun frying up your two remaining braincells, only to sit through mass for the next hour, yet the only thing you can think of, is the rice and meat stew that will be served for supper. Let me tell you, we endured. And its not like the food was any great. God no. Our chefs would have sent Gordon Ramsey into an early grave with their cooking skills but to us, Rice and stew was an elixir. It was a five star hotel delicacy. The main course. It didn’t matter that the rice would be chewy and harder than my ability to get a passing grade. Or that the meat stew in question would probably be a salted, watery broth, one barely visible piece of meat and a load of weevils to tie everything together.

The morning porridge was the worst. Still, you should have seen me going back for seconds. I needed that translucent, tasteless hot water to power up my brain and grant me strength for the rest of the day. To this day, I blame all the excess weight that has refused to dislodge from my waist, on those second trips. If only I’d refrained from a second cup of uji, I’d be a crop top warrior right now. The devil Is a liar!

We used to wake up at four, take the coldest shower known to man, and be in class by 4:30. In the freaking morning! Ah, jesus! And if the bell for class rang and you weren’t out of the dorm by then or you overslept, the prefects would lock us in and the matron would come to beat us up. At 4.30 in the morning! Have you ever been caned that Early? Its demonic, I tell you. Mornings were chaotic as fuck. It was common to see a girl jumping from a window, covered in nothing but a leso and soap, holding on to her uniform and hightailing it to class. Did I mention that we suffered?

I spend most of my time in preps (morning and evening) trying to stay awake. What was the point. And why were our teachers so messy? Hiding in dark places and sneaking up on us like thieves to catch the unsuspecting napper red handed. We once got punished to sleep on the field the entire day. It was fun.

Our teachers were… Special. The principal was a classy babes alright. She used to show up to parades in expensive little skirts, hair long, straightened and blowing into the wind and high heels clacking. She looked more suited for hostile take overs than overseeing angsty teenage girls. The language teachers were the gossipers. Woe unto you if they all new you by name. We had a teacher who would throw rocks at us when he was on duty. He had suffered a strock and so he couldn’t run, but his aim was true. You’d be lazing about and suddenly a wheezing sound would permeate the air, and a mild concussion would follow.

Think David with the sling.

Oh, and our games teacher used to ran after us in heels. Have you ever seen an angry, middle aged woman in her signature “mess with me, I fuck you up” heels, running? Its terrifying.

So yeah…

I don’t know how we went from shrek to whatever this is but… I want to finish by saying this; We experience God everyday. In the people we meet. In nature. In ourselves. In songs… He is everywhere. So..

Faith.

Home Alone.

I have an emotional attachment to the sky.

Well, to be honest I’d form an emotional attachment to a rock if it inspired my tortured, old, artistic soul. Is that a flaw or a super power? Don’t answer! One of my favorite things to do, is looking up at the sky, and visualizing the shapes created by the clouds. That qualifies as a hobby right? Sky gazing? I bet its right up there with hiking. Or bull riding. I mean, its creative (I think), engaging(the voice in my head is highly opinionated on such riveting matters), fun(its like trashy live TV. I swear I once saw pigs riding a bike), and squinting my eyes, straining my neck up for hours is the only exercise I’ll ever need.

And before you ask. No, I don’t do drugs. And yes, you’re right. I have no friends!.

Every time I look up, its a reminder that nature is truly its own Picasso. Have you ever taken a moment to appreciate just how beautiful our natural world is? Its…. Its Euphonious. Becoming one with mother nature is Soul ascending. Its like listening to the most angelic melody and levitating to heaven. No seriously, go outside right now, lay on the grass and listen to the wind. Too bad if you live in a concrete jungle though. Listen, we all deserve to live in a house with a nice, little backyard, for moments like this.

Oh, capitalism you little bitc….

Do you ever wonder what fruits would be the best to live in? Oh, you’re sane, you say? Well, I have. Shocker, right? And I’ll have you know that after extensive research(over thinking) sessions, I have come to the conclusion that coconuts are the best. Hear me out; price, longevity, security. The big 3. Coconuts are cheap and so you wouldn’t have to offer up your first born and a kidney, as a sacrifice to the mortgage gods. And once you buy it, it will be viable years from then. You know what can survive a tsunami? A coconut. Flesh eating zombies? A coconut. And lastly, I’d like to see a thief to try to break into my coconut home!

Umm… Yeah!

So I definitely won’t be winning any architecture awards in this lifetime… Neither will I ever save enough to afford my dream house, in this economy. Dear lord! If we can’t buy, then can we at least get enough just to rent? Between the worldwide economic recessions, angry landlords, unemployment, depression, wars, food shortage, cheating boyfriends and terrible podcasts, we are all getting screwed. Urgh!!

I already know the kind of house I want to live in. In my head, I’ve already moved in and paid off everything. No angry landlords for this lady. No sir! Listen, I dream of a tub big enough for two elephants to tango in. Hot water and bubbles. Expensive body washes and lotion that smell like an angels breath, a flick of a finger away. An assortment of white, fluffy towels and robes in my direct line of vision. A glass of a wine I can barely pronounce or a steamy book in hand. I’m thinking, Tessa bailey, sierra Simone. A view so breathtaking it looks printed straight out of Pinterest. Lastly, the soothing voice of Hozier, lulling me into calmness and serenity in a way no one else can, by reminding me that I deserve nothing less than utmost devotion.

What a man!

I dream of lush green gardens. I see myself walking around barefoot, grounding myself in nature. Soaking the effervescence of the sun on my skin. I want to find out if any of my ancestors farming skills passed on to me. I dream of bike rides in slow winding roads around my home. I dream of silence. I dream of laughter. I dream of faceless people that I can’t possibly wait to meet. I dream of love. I dream of home.

But alas! The house of my dreams will probably remain in my dreams, until I’m 100 years old and have finally saved enough.

Since affordable housing is out of the question, how much is it to travel the world. Is it any cheaper? Help, I’m trying to put all my ducks in a row before I hit 100. You know, priorities and all that. For starters, how much does a ticket to, mhm, let say, santorini cost, and do they accept tears of desperation as a form of currency! Okay fine, I’ll throw in an extra ten shillings, final offer! No? I tried. Planes are scary anyways. And I’ve heard the mosquitoes there are no joke. I have sensitive skin, okay! And have you seen how long those lines are to get a passport?

Its whatever! I have 100 years to plan anyway!

What is home anyway?. Is it a place. A person. A feeling. What if home is within us. What if we are all we ever have to experience. The only home we will ever truly need is within us.

In the moment, I’m rotting in my own aimlessness. I am basking in my own self imposed solitude. Truly, that is how I cope with the unregulated, unmitigated, unsanctioned and unauthorized screwing the universe is bestowing upon thy! Tis a solemn time, I tell thee. Tis a solemn time, brethren. The thing with silence, is that it creates too large a space to think. Who am I. what am I doing. Where am I headed. Am I doing enough. Am I enough. Its hard not to get lost in that loop. Isn’t it ironical that we can lose ourselves while trying to find ourselves?

My silence was not borne out of arrogance, but of fear and necessity. And even though I am content with silence, I must confess, solitude is overwhelming.

….

A while back, I watched a documentary on Aljazeera. (off topic but I love their documentaries. They have such am intriguing and thought provoking way of telling stories). This particular one, was about this newly wed couple living in gaza. That was way back before the genocide started.

Like all newly wed’s are, they were so excited about starting life together, and so hopeful for the future. The documentary explored their lives in Gaza, while highlighting the socio-economic and political challenges that people in Gaza face. Poverty, unemployment, life under segregation.. For me, I think that was the very first time I Really saw Gaza.

At one point, the couple were looking for a house to move into. As we know, the housing situation in Gaza is absolutely terrible. Its crowded, land is unavailable, and even if it were, where is the money? And guess who controls everything?…Anyway, they eventually got a space on top of another bulding and they were making plans to build. I remember them discussing where the rooms would be. How the house would look like.

That was their first step to forever. A home.

Every time I read about the horror that is unfolding in Gaza, I think about that couple. I wonder if they are okay… did they finish building their house…did they start a family.. Did they have to abandon their home because of the war….Are they safe right now. Those are simple questions for us, but when you really contextualize it? How are we letting this happen? The fact they might be a single chapter in a black book of unfinished dreams is just so daunting. And it makes me so darn angry because they deserve a happy ever after, dammit! Everyone does.

Well, except everyone not calling for a ceasefire.

The world is in such a precarious state right now, my problems seem so vain sometimes. When I think about Congo, Sudan, Gaza and all these other places where people are going though hell everyday, I’m baffled at how inconsequential we’ve made human life. These places are not just spots on a map. Or a headline piece. When I think of Gaza now, its nostalgia. Its unfinished dreams. Its marriages cut short. Its children that will never grow. Its the blatant disregard of humanity. Its the cleansing. Its the extermination. When I think of Gaza, I think of all the happy ever after, that will never be.

I don’t have much to offer In this time, except for my words. And I hope that if this ever finds you, child of Gaza, you’ll know that even from the other side of the world, we stand with you. One day, when God wills it, the sun will rise again, and from the river to the sea, the streets will be a cacophony of joyous sounds once again. Playgrounds will be full of laughter. The days and nights will be long and peaceful and boring. Children will run outside without fear and go to sleep unafraid of the dark. One day, child of Gaza ,home will feel like peace. Home will be peace.

To finding home.

Rock bottom(less).

The person that dubbed it, ‘rock bottom‘ was obviously delusional or certifiable. Or both. Definitely both.

Welcome to my ted talk!

If there is anything I have learned in my, how do I put this delicately…erm, spiral into the depths of hell or post graduate, circa unemployed journey, is that there is no such thing as rock bottom. Those two little words are deceiving. See, they imply that at one point, after being hit by a semi, careening off a particular edge, stumbling into boulders the size of Texas on the way down, breaking everything from your tailbone to eyelashes, (figuratively of course) that eventually, your feet will settle on solid ground and voila! Look who’s standing!

Not me!

Movies make rock bottom look so cool… So transitory. Our hero gets 2 to 5 business days of trudging through rockbottomville,- barely enough time to check out the scenery- before they’re getting their shit back together in pretty little montages that are just so… Full of shit. Listen love, once you get on that train wreck, its a never ending highway to hell. What they don’t tell you, is that rock bottom is not the final destination. See, rock bottom has a basement. Said basement has underground parking with at least fifty levels. Below that, is a budding real estate, with affordable mortgage rates going as low as an eternity of crippling depression, and a serving of insomnia, for people to stay at comfortably, beacuse they’re never leaving.

Its been three years… My portfolio is… Yes!

Oh, dear lord. What a time it has been. I have discovered so much about myself in this period. Like say; I know just how many days I can go without sleep before I begin to see doubles, I know how its possible to get PTSD and war flashbacks from seeing dirty dishes, and I know that I am definitely not a nonchalant person. I am in fact very chalant. One thing about me, is that I will be giving a fuck.

I will always have an extra fuck to give, brethren.

Personally, I like to think that I am kind, Brave, beautiful and funny, if not a little sad. On a good day, I pride myself in being the epicenter of spirit and hope. Sometimes though, when I remember someone that hurt me, I cant help but wish that they’d get hit by a bus, as retribution. Or a tuktuk. Now that would be embarrassing. I might forget what they did –because my memory retention rivals that of a 100 year old crone– but every once in a while, I’ll remember what you said /did and every chalant morsel inside of me while rise up as one, throw up the nastiest middle finger, and in unison proclaim, “go to hell you vicious, reincarnation of Satan”.

Yeah, I need to work on my insults.

So here is your takeaway; Rock bottom is in fact, bottomless. Its like playing candy crush. There is always another level to unlock. The constant backpedaling is an added bonus. To be honest, I think the most important thing you can do for yourself if you’re here, is to not lose sight of the light at the end of the tunnel. Keep looking up no matter how exhausting it is, or even if your neck gets a cramp. Do not lose sight of that light. It might seem easier to just let yourself free fall into the abyss. To stop pedaling. Please, don’t! It will take a lot of strength, and tears… But don’t stop.

Don’t stop trying. Don’t stop looking up. Don’t stop living.

And on that note, I just saw that someone I went to school with got married. Like an honest to God, yes I do wedding. Jesus christ! Its really beautiful to see people living. Its also a stark reminder that not everybody is…you know… I want to say struggling, but it just sound so depressing even to me. Maybe that’s why its so surprising to see people my age getting hitched. And having babies. What!

When did we get old enough for all of that?How are y’all getting married, when I’m still trying to learn how to hold hands without hyperventilating. Marriage just seems like such a big deal, you know. That’s like serious business right there. Will I ever get married, you ask? Ha! In an abstract, alternate universe, yes. In reality, it will probably take divine intervention. Jesus, teach me how to flirt. Is that blasphemy?

Would you marry the person you’re with right now? Now girl, we both know that the only thing that boyfriend of yours brings to the table, is a fragile masculinity, two functioning brain cells and a pair of balls, right? He makes you so dry, a cactus would thrive on your arid va… Uhm, yeah!

…..

As an east African woman myself, let me tell you this, before you hit up one of us, just know that we desire two things; to be adored and adorned. Its literally that simple. I’m talking constant words of affirmation and showers of shiny expensive ornaments. We are partial to gold… Or pearls. Okay half of that is wishful thinking on my part, but my future(imaginary) husband might come across this one day, so really I’m just writing a cheat code to my heart, ya know!

Eritrean women? Goddesses. Ethiopian habeshas? Aaaaghhh!!! Sudanese? I would sell a limb for my melanin to look that good. Somali babes? I want a hijabi to teach me how to do my eyebrows. I’m sat! Tanzanian girls? Mashallah! and Kenyan girls? Uhm, have you met me. Listen I might not always believe it, but trust me when I say, drop- dead-come-back-screaming-gorgeous!

Honestly, the fact that I can look in the mirror and see anything but utter perfection is just Gods way of keeping me humble. He new he had to balance things out somehow. I mean, He was well rested when he crafted my smile. Every time I let out one of these bad boys, gasps are heard. Awe, is the theme. My smile knocks people off their feet…okay, so maybe he was drunk and uncoordinated but still!

And my eyes..? Staring into them is like beholding a dark starlight sky and getting lost in the endless beauty that is. Its the memories of lives past and futures yearned for. Its an enchantment so deep, to be released from its clutches is unfathomable. Its like hearing and angel sigh… Okay nvm. Anyway, at least thats what I’ve been told. Maybe not in such, err, poetic terms … I might have embellished it a little (a lot).. But I believe that when someone says, “you have such pretty eyes,” they mean that my eyes are like the fathomless ocean and they would willingly drown in it. As they should.

That sounds painful.

You know, the day I finally master the art of maintaining eye contact, I’m afraid I will leave a lot of devastation in my wake. That’s me, slaying mankind, one eye contact per millisecond. 2024 the year of our lord, might just be the year I test out their full potential. I mean the Victorian women did it, why can’t I? A slight, shy glance here and there, fluffing of lashes like I’m having muscles spasms, and innocent, yet highly suggestive smiles and duke so and so would be tripping on his pantaloons at the mere thought of getting and ankle sighting. God, things must have been so hard back then. If I had to walk around all day in a dress the size of a tent, barely able to breath because of those demonic corsets, suffer under the guise of propriety, spend every waking moment being groomed for subservience, I would volunteer myself for the guillotine.

I looked in the mirror today and I thought, damn I look good! Maybe its because I haven’t felt so in a while. Today there is definitely a pep to my step. Sometimes, I actually have to remind myself that I do look good, even when I think I don’t. I might not be Bella hadid photogenic (Really, I can’t pose to save my life. Every part of my body seems to wander in every other direction) but face to face…I’m still not Bella hadid. Still, and hear me out here… From afar I might look like I need to be institutionalized, (which might be true) but upon closer inspection, like I said, drop dead gorgeous!

Take that, front camera. You lying, piece of sh..!

The only thing standing between me and total gorgeousness, is money. By the time I finish buying an eye pencil, those serums for clear skin that cost an astronomical amount, that clear mask thingy, and whatever else, I’d have spend enough for a small, ten bedroom house, with an Olympic sized pool, a tennis court, a lake and access to a direct portal to heaven. Its a billion dollar industry after all.

If us girls auctioned every make up item we owned, I bet we’d have enough to buy our own country somewhere. I’ve heard Pluto is nice this time of year. Don’t you just want to leave? I strongly believe that money can buy my happiness. At the very least, that means a better skin care routine. I also strongly believe that money and the privilege it accords, can breed depravity and wickedness.

Case in point, Epstein island. You’ve seen that list, yes? America, are all your presidents evil. You know, historically, they used to hang pedos on castle walls and let the crows do the rest. Maybe that would be a thing we might want to revisit? In my village they turn them into goats… Allegedly.

The chances of me sprouting wings, is more probable than most of the people on that list ever seen the four corners of a prison cell. Especially since the long hand of the law suddenly becomes handicapped where certain individual are concerned.

Sigh!

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Photo: courtesy. Oh, hello there! What you’re looking at – unfortunately for me– is the perfect representation of what 2023 was like. Just imagine a pyromaniac on the other side, with a match and a blinding desire to finish me.

Since life decided to give me the proverbial Middle finger (fervently, might I add), I have decided to just buckle up, and let it have its way with me unencumbered. Let’s go universe! Take the reigns on this roller coaster and either get me through this shit, or ran me off a cliff. Dear lord, every weapon fashioned against your child is prospering. How did I end up on the strongest soldiers list?

Its a few hours to new years. Am I supposed to be excited? Nervous? Listen, if the last few years are anything to go by, then I should probably be running for the hills. I wonder, does the polar express run through this parts. I have a nightdress and insomnia, that should about cover it, no! Isn’t that how all great adventures start anyway?

Probably not!

I wish we all got to go on silly, little adventures at least once in a while. I’m not saying I want to go on a safari and get lost in the African jungle, then get adopted by monkeys who for some reason, know sign language and Taekwondo. I really don’t. And the wedgies and chaffing from all that swinging on trees would not be a good look for me. What if all I want for the new years, is to go on silly, life altering, liberating, cosmically charged adventures like our girl, Y/N. If you don’t know who that is, then it just means that you have a social life and are mentally stable and frankly, I have no clue what you’re even doing here.

This is not a safe space for you, freaking alien!

If you know her though… Hello, best friend. Did you go to therapy today? See, Y/N is a little bit of an enigma. Sometimes she is beautiful in a way that is cruel and debilitating. Sometimes, her beauty is inner- or err, you at least have to squint really hard to make out just how breathtaking she is beneath the humongous magnifying spectacles on her face, the unruly, curly(oh its always curly) mop of hair and the terrible fashion sense. Sometimes she is shy and quiet. Others, she is loud and embodies the type of confidence that a mere mortal like you and me can never muster. She is regal and yet down to earth. A lover. A fighter.

She is everything you are and aren’t!

Y/N is actually quite likable… If you ignore the fact that she is also sometimes a teenager with… Issues, who falls for a thousand years old Fae, macho man, but its okay because she is an old soul. Also, she never farts, never pees, her periods are nonexistent and in a span of two business days, she is always out there saving the world from something or someone that looks like the physical embodiment of the seventh circle of hell. Oh, what a wonder she is.

May the spirit of Y/N- or at least some of it- locate us in this new year.

I have a burning question for you. Yes you! Its a very fundamental and self defining question. It can make or break you. In fact, lesser men have gone screaming for the hills when confronted with its truth. Its meaning. Its irreverence! The question, Is this; did you grow up in a fart shaming home or was it fart shame free. Is the spirit of Y/N within you!

Go on, I want to hear all about your stinking experiences.

Did you know, that according to science, farting increases your life span by at least two years? Don’t google that! You can deduce a lot about a person by how they fart, where they fart and how they act after the fart. Now that’s a lot of farts. Anyway Its called the psychology of the bunda! I did not (I totally did) make that up! See, there are people who will release anywhere and anyhow without care. To them, whether its the quietest shhhhh or the loudest Brrrrrrrr noise pollution ever let out, they don’t give a fuck. A funeral, church, on the bus. Its all a formality. No protocol will ever come before their ass. Literally!

A farter? Fartee? who is unapologetic.

Honestly, I’m convinced people like that have at least gotten away with one murder, and that’s why nothing phases them anymore. The quiet assassins have to survey the vicinity before they release in a manner that will not alert anyone within hearing distance. What kind of farter are you, beloved.

As a society, when was it decided that farting was distasteful or something to be ashamed of. You know what’s distasteful Sam? Your face! We should never be ashamed of our bodies doing what they’re supposed so be doing. Its an uncontrollable chemical reaction. We all fart in our sleep and nobody bats an eyelid. So why are you acting affronted when I let one out in the daylight. Farting is normal. Your husband cheating on you with your grandma is not. You get?

Look, I don’t know who needs to hear this, but it’s okay to let go sometimes. Here’s a thought, how about you unclench those muscles, take a deep breath, lay back and release, In the name of Jesus! Seriously, do it. Its good for your mental health. Science, remember? Or maybe don’t if you’re suffering from a severe case of diarrhea. In that case, keep those muscles locked tighter than a misers purse or we’ll be having a different type of clean up in aisle booty.

So yeah, I am pro fart. Its a thing!

Besides, farts are literally the fastest way to humanify a person. I bet your favorite celebrity casually let’s out the nastiest, toe curling bombs when they think no one is within smelling distance. Am I projecting? Probably. Listen, if you’re in my circle of friends – I mean its more of an imaginary dotted line but whatever- you can fart in front of me and I won’t judge. Go on stink. I might need CPR, and the stench will probably be bad enough to induce temporary memory loss but hey… Release, I say!

And so from today, I charge thee. Go forth and imbue the world with your Essence, without fear or shame. Go and do great, smelly things in the name of your ancestor’s. They are proud of you.

Are my ancestors proud of me though? Erm.. They probably look at me and wonder how the hell I’ve survived all this long . I am a mess. Pretty sure I give the angel assigned to me migraines. Can they get migraines! Anyway, thing is, I have no sense of self preservation whatsoever. My survival skills rival that of a cockroach. Nonexistent, is what they are. Every time I step outside, I am at the mercy of Jesus, my nail biting habit and the cruel world. I am simply (a)n en(danger)ed (to myself)species.

If there ever occurred a zombie apocalypse, terminator-esque, end of the world type of situation, I would simply die. That’s it. I’m sorry, where exactly am I supposed to drag up the will to fight for survival against flesh eating zombies, when I can barely cross the road without hyperventilating. A willing sacrifice, I am! I will never understand people In movies. You’re the last five people remaining in the entire world( in movie logic that just means Wisconsin) there’s no food, water or anything within a thousand miles for sustenance, and you can’t even fart in peace because you’re being hunted. Yet you want to live?

Maybe if I had tried out a hand in the girl scout business, i’d have learned a thing or two about survival. Maybe then I’d have a clue of what to do in case a scorpion bit my sorry ass. That’s right. I got bitten by a big, raging, ugly scorpion and holy motha…that shit hurt! Obviously, I’m not heeheeing from the other side with Michael but fuck, I thought I was about to. Everything I know about scorpions is pretty much from animal documentaries and that one movie. And ‘everything‘ is literally just, “if you see one just run bitch, run!”

Well, I didn’t run… Because I didn’t see it. I swear I didn’t. How the hell did I miss something so huge and menacing, with a stinger that was so sharp and painful I peed myself a little. The little shit! A scorpion almost took out a Scorpio. Isn’t it poetic!

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. So let me take you back. Picture this in technicolor; Because I’m apparently (Without my signed consent) an adult who has to do adult duties, I have to wake up really early. Its cold, early and basically around that time where I’m contemplating if its possible to file for bankruptcy, or send up prayers that Whomever I marry, will be a morning person because I and the kids will need breakfast, and it won’t be coming from me.

So there I am, disoriented and susceptible to scorpion attacks on a random Friday. I bent down to pick up something and suddenly, my thumb was on fire. The fear I felt when I saw that, that thing scuttling for Safety after unleashing its sharp end on me was,…y’all, I thought I was about to die. And since I’m me, I panicked so hard I forgot to call for help. I waited… And waited.

I am not Y/N. I do not slay monsters on one hand while baking cookies with the other. I panic and freeze. You know, fear in general is an emotion I know all too well. I wear fear like one wears their favorite coat during the cold season. It compliments every outfit. It highlights every little thing. If you look close enough, you can see it in the way I sometimes walk shoulders hunched, curled into myself, wishing I could disappear into thin air. To be one with the mist. If you look close enough, you can see it in the way my eyes shift just ever so, never lingering. Always glossy, a mirror of the pain hidden within. If you look close enough you can see it in the air that circumvents my being and sets me apart In my lonesome.

Fear is my bff. She knows me better than anyone ever has. Maybe, better than anyone ever will. Of all things, I do appreciate her loyalty, untoward as it might be. Our relationship though, is tumultuous at best. Since she is all I’ve ever known, I sometimes wonder, in those hidden moments when our friendship becomes a tad too heavy for me to beae, I wonder who would I be without her. Would I be like Y/N. A lover. A fighter. A friend. Happy. If I had never met her, would I walk into places head held high. If I had never met her, would my eyes linger. Would they be aflame with the light of life. Oh, if I had never met her…

I think… I think I hold on to fear because its comfortable. It provides the illusion of control. Seriously, life does not have to be this dramatic. There doesn’t have to be a pressure to perform. To fit in. What if I was never meant to fit in. This is a journey of my mind and me. A journey of facing my imperfections. Self acceptance. Self Forgiveness. Self Compassion.

I don’t know what the new year holds for me. Nevertheless, I’m choosing to just start. Start even if I’m scared of failure. Even when I’m In doubt. This year, I’m digging deep for that inner strength. This year, I’m choosing to be less afraid.

My advice, to you and to me, is to figure out where you’ll derive your inner strength from amongst the three Gs; God, gandhi or ganja.

Happy new year!

PS: The scorpion was no match for my RPG slipper 4000!

~A life like this~

I sometimes wonder, where do animals go to when they die? Is there such a thing as dog heaven? I hope there is. What exists in the after for animals? Do they just decay and wither away into nothingness or is there more? Wait, do animals have souls? Maybe I’m over thinking it!…..

Our dog passed away a few years ago and I just know that if there is such a thing as dog heaven, he is there. Man, I miss him. I like to believe that he is somewhere up there having the time of his life. Or down there, depending on which direction dog heaven is. They really need to come up with a google maps update to solve this conundrum! Point me in the right direction.

Woof!woof!

So yeah, my pet is in heaven. I know he is… Okay, I hope he is. Pets deserve to go to heaven. And for your information, there are people that I feel deserve to go to heaven straight too. Like, if I was in charge of the entrance exam to heaven, they’d get immediate A’s. Just like that! So, First, its the ballerinas. The way they twirl, contort, stand en pointe and pirouette, is nothing short of magical. I tried standing on my toes one time and I could almost hear the vibrations of my ancestors, coursing through my bones in abject terror. Besides, if you’re as flexible as a ballerina, you can probably just squeeze yourself through the pearly gates, right?

Honestly, being able to stand/dance on your toes is such a flex! God really knew what he was doing when he blessed me with two huge left feet whose muscles cease functioning when I’m in distress…Or attempt any strenuous, anxiety inducing activity like dancing or walking. You would never hear the end of it.

Second, is artistic swimmers. They are so mesmerizing! To have the power to hold your breath underwater that long, while performing sequences that are so breathtakingly graceful is… Its miraculous! The longest I can hold my breath – thanks to over exposure to panic attacks – is probably 5 seconds under the waterfall of my shower before I start seeing visions of my ghostly form. I can’t even fathom how people manage to hold their breath under water.

And third, plastic surgeons. Its not even about fashion or cosmetics. They literally give people a new chance at life. Besides, anyone who can pluck out hairs from your ass and give you a better hairline deserves to at least shake hands with Samson up there.

Plastic surgeon’s, saving lives one receding hairline at a time, since 1820!

So yeah, I’d be great at a procurement type of job for up there… Or down there. It all depend on where I end up really. Logistically speaking. I like to think that I am a good person; I always try to be kind and thoughtful, I say thank you, I don’t litter and most importantly, I don’t follow the shade room. An act of humanity right there. That’s probably not enough to even out the scale. Who am I kidding, one look at my E-reader history and it will tip back into eternal damnation territory.

Listen, I had a wattpad phase in my teen years and it taught me a lot of things about myself.

So I might never get any heavenly position due to my erm, blemished resume, but what I am currently, is a barely qualified cashier, with terrible anxiety and atrocious Mathematica skills. I might just be already in hell. You know, people do ridiculous and risque things in pursuit of an adrenaline rush. They jump off planes, ride rabid bulls for fun, commit crime, like their crushes photos from five years ago…On the other hand, all I have to do, is try to add prices without a calculator. I have limited fingers!

Also, making eye contact with a total stranger on the street is enough adrenaline rush.

You know what would happen if I attempted any of the things adrenaline junkies do for fun? A heart attack. I would Die, Steve! How am I so sure of that, you ask? Well, just because I haven’t done something, it doesn’t mean I don’t have an accurate understanding of how it would feel. I mean, I’m more delusion over rationale kinda girl but still, some things just aren’t it. I’ve never gone to a gynecologist but I know for a fact that it would suck. To have someone staring at my business in close proximity, with weapons of anarchy and a magnifying lens…total shriek!

I know its their job but…its my business, you know?

Also, falling in love. Yeah, I’m no expert on the matter but I’m convinced that if I can get over my trust issues ( I call it self defence) and eventually do fall in love, that shit will probably scare me so damn much, the Shock waves will induce cardiac arrest and I’ll kick it. Every crush I’ve ever had until now does not count. My self respect was out of commission back then. Still, I might be anti love some days but most days, I am a hopeless romantic. My expectations actually do suck sometimes. I don’t want to meet my soulmate on tinder or whatever app. No! Its supposed to be a once in a life time, stars aligning, gradual, yearning stares, stolen glances across rooms type of situation.

See, told ya I was delusional!

False advertising in relationships is a thing. Remember when shang From mulan found out that his little twink didn’t in fact have a sword he could play with? There is a correlation in there somewhere.. I think! I would lower my expectations but I don’t want to be like some of y’all. How are you dating but you’re single. And why are you staying up at night like a village witch, so that you can compose “I’m coming to you as a woman” texts. I swear the only thing lower than some of y’all relationship standards, was my self esteem when I was a teen. Dark times! Honestly, namshukuru mungu kila siku because, what the hell was that!.

Kuteseka kaende kaende style.

Now bestie, take a good look at your man Are you proud of that? We both know you only gave him your number in the first place because he looked like the type to burst your head open if you refused, don’t we?. Didn’t he skedaddle the fuck out after you showed him your five personalities, let him spin cartwheels on your unmentionables and provided him with an HD view of your ass crack! Its a fact that every girl has met at least one male who gave off the vibes that saying no to them, would trigger some unhealed, animalistic part of their brain and she’d end up lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

But what do I know, anyway!

Sometimes, I watch videos of people pushing themselves to the max and I am amazed. I wish I had the balls to jump of a plane and perform gymnastics on air. I wish I could ride a bicycle downhill without fear of snapping my neck. I wish I could jump across buildings without a parachute, just hallelujah and vibes! God blessed me with immense curiosity but made me a creature of habit. You want me to leave the safety of all I’ve ever known to go and toe the line between insanity and a one way ticket to Jesusville?

Okay, there’ll probably never be a day I’ll wake up and go, “oh, golly! Today feels like a good day to go skydiving!”. And you know what, I’m cool with that. Now, what sucks is the fact that I’ll never be kidnapped by a high fae… Its so sad that I will never read all books… Live all the lives I want. Maybe I want to change the world. Maybe I want to stay at home, knead bread, browse gossip columns and shop all day with my husbands money and give birth to thirteen children. Maybe I want to go to war, be in the front lines. Maybe I want to command boardrooms in stilettos sharp enough to kill. Maybe all I really want is to live in the middle of nowhere, with limited human contact and adopt a lot of animals, sleep on the forest floor and be absorbed by nature.

Maybe, just maybe I want it all. Sadly, the human experience is horribly limited and its such a shame that we have never evolved to be more than… Whatever this is. Is it even possible for us to ever be more though? Because as things stand right now, with the working class struggles across the globe, money driven societies, power angry leaders, control thirsty governments, individualism etc we set ourselves back from ever actualizing as a race. I don’t even know what that would actually look like.

All I know is that we can do so much more. We can be so much more. Look, I come form a generation that is fueled by poverty, anxiety medication and suicidal idealation. That and our collective humanity might just change the world. I am learning to deconstruct myself. To not be blind anymore. Nurturing a willingness to stay informed and educated.

You know, Privilege is invisible to those who have it. That’s why most people don’t even care about the slaughtering of Palestinian people in Gaza. The modern day slavery happening in Congo. The killings in Sudan. We are privileged enough to be safe. Privileged enough to change the channel when the news shows bodies lying on the streets. Privileged enough to know what stability feels like. Privileged enough to breath. Privileged enough to have a home. Privileged enough to have access to information.

Friend, see what happens to the world when you vote for power hungry, Judas Iscariot types with an obsessive need to over compensate by flaunting their power every ten business days? Friend, see why wars are created for profit? Friend, see why stability means bad business? Friend, see why most people would be okay with oppression as long as they benefitted from it? How’s your favorite celebrity doing.

Ugh!

How can you support a genocide or commission one for that matter when you literally look like an old fart. If an old 100 year old wizard on her death bed, who smelled like rust and armpit sweat, who was also guilty of the massacre of a hundred babies and puppies, farted before she kicked it and went down to Lucifer, then a maniac scientist with questionable credentials and bad breath took that essence and decided to Frankenstein a human with it, it would look like you! Pick a struggle beloved.

I sound like an angry black woman but alas! I am in fact easily angered, 100% percent back and unfortunately woman.

~Duality of man~

Image:courtesy One day, when I grow up, I want to live in a house with a view just like that!

I don’t like the age I’m turning this year. I swear, it feels so serious for someone who doesn’t’ t even have insurance. Reality and I are not in good terms at the moment. Over the years, I’ve adopted a “cry and detach with a sprinkle of delusion” strategy, and I can proudly say that, that is the only reason I’ve not ran myself through a wall….Yet!Like, I love my life but also, fuck my life, you know? Is that what they call, “duality of man.” For the life of me, I can’t decide whether I want to smoke one of those velo things, get a lobotomy or have a nice, little tête a tête with my demons.

Hello, nice to meet you!

Like any other gen z, all I have is my no- experience-probably-won’t-even-look-at-it-twice CV, unanswered applications, and the overwhelming dread of dooming myself to corporate servitude for the rest of my life. Oh, and a (mild) tiktok addiction. In other words, I am thriving like a thrive has never been thrived before! Amen.

If all else fails, I’ll wholeheartedly embrace the ways of my people and start my career as a farmer. Who cares that there’s no land… Or rain…or any farming abilities that might have been mysteriously transferred into my DNA. I can do it. I can do anything! Or I can start shaking my nyash for the gram. I mean, I have no sense of rhythm whatsoever but it seems easy enough. All I have to do is shake convulsed(ly) and try to not give myself a concussion. Easy, no?

I bet I can influence… Stuff. You know, all things considered my face is giving. That’s if you ignore the fact that my usual morning routine for the last three years, has been lack of sleep, fatigue and tears of distress. Use this serum for clear beautiful skin! The acidity helps with the acne and the bags under my eyes would need a security lock at a Chanel store.

I’m winning at life!

The good news is that amidst all this chaos, I think I’ve finally figured out what my life’s purpose is… And no, its not to shake my nyash for the gram! And not to be an absurdist or anything but, inherently life makes no sense. That’s why at one point, we have to grapple with the “whats the point of it all” question. Now, do you lean into the void or do you try and find meaning/purpose.

I believe that we are here to master ourselves. Our inner being. To embody and discover who we are because who we are, is all that is. I believe that without that innate knowledge, we will never be more than vessels. I am on a journey of self discovery and maybe along the way, my soul will shine the path for others just like me.

Umhh…okay, moving on!

This is totally non of your business but, my hustle in uni was online writing. I’m Pretty sure I did exams for rich, trust fund students in ivy schools… And I was good at it too! I think its legal and if its not, well let’s blame colonization! I really can’t afford a lawyer. Also, your honor if I may approach the bitc- sorry, bench, statue of limitations!

Anyway, I’m convinced I can be anything. An artist, a philanthropist, pilot, engineer, a bank robber. I want to do everything. In another life, I must have been an academic. I mean, I don’t necessarily like being in school but I like learning. The goal is to be disgustingly overeducated because, lord knows Malala did not get shot in the face, just so I could be content with one, measly arts degree!

I like to think that I am a wacky individual with multiple passions, but maybe I just have ADHD!

Okay, maybe being a bank robber is waayyy off my vision board. I do not possess the stamina, stealth, badassery or the general desire to spent the rest of my life in a cell with a minuscule window, a barely functioning toilet and a burly cell mate who eagerly waits for the day I drop my soap! I might have watched a little too much TV. The point is, I am a wuss! A giant pussy if you will. Give me a gun and I’d probably shoot myself on the ass with it. My only contribution to the family –apart from being a disappointment obviously – is the fact that I am a total wimp.

And just an FYI, if anyone ever tries to quote me on that, your honor I plead the fifth! That is propaganda! Absolute lies! Total conjecture! How dare you try to besmirch my honor. I do all that on my own, thank you very much! I am a good lady of impeccable breeding and undeniable home training!

Haven’t we all made questionable career choices at one point??

I wonder if I missed my calling in life. I bet I could have made a great cook. Then again, according to my mom, my cooking skills are atrocious enough to send any man lucky enough to call me his wife, running for the hills! That is slander of the highest order. She doesn’t know that any attempt she makes to prime me for marriage, imbues me with the unquenchable thirst to fail at that particular task, simply out of spite! My husband will come with his cooking skills pre installed, thank you very much. Also, any man that can’t handle a little bit of salt in his food for my sake, is not worthy of being called my husband.

Amen!

Besides, ma’am, are you sure you’ll get an in-law considering the fact that my way of flirting is maintaining eye contact for o.5 seconds, then pretending they don’t exist? Not to mention, what all these heathens of nowadays wanna do is know your favorite color,high five private parts, and rawdog your personal space whenever they want. I swear there is a euphemism there somewhere.

My fictional boyfriends would never!

My fear of making the wrong career choices, is right up there with my fear of being seen… And the cost of living but that’s besides the point. Especially now that I’m in my unemployed and miserable era, every time a stranger makes eye contact for more than the socially acceptable 5 seconds, I have to swallow down panic. It literally feels like I’m in the seventh circle of hell. Repeat after me class, let’s work on our perception!

Still, What I think of me is my business. What you think of me is non of my business. In fact, what you think of me is between you and your mother!. At the end of the day, opinions are only valid when you give them merit. Well, except for example, if we’re talking about pedophiles and those creepy Hollywood types then we should all be in agreement. I have strong opinions on the matter. We can judge, shame, cancel, petition to use them for target practise and even make voodoo dolls! In America they give them talk shows and Netflix documentaries, but in my village they use their heads for ritual sacrifice..

Allegedly!

Humanity is flawed… But not irredeemable!Still, its important to know how far is too far. I think about what makes people good or bad a lot. Is it religion, is it a case of nature vs nurture. Are you really just a bitch because that’s who you really are, was it predestined or was it because your mother didn’t hug you enough as a child. I don’t have a lot of things figured out and neither am I the most emotionally stable person but what I do know is this; We all have good in us and we all house evil. Ying and yang.

Morality is such an interesting concept.

How do you know a good person? How do you know a bad person? Is it through what they say, what they do, how they act? See, good people can do bad things too(like when priests keep little boys locked in their basements, preying in the name of Jesus) and bad people can do good things as well(like when that corrupt politician donates stolen public funds to charities that help to fight cancer) .

Now, I really doubt that I tick all the morally upright boxes. Can anyone really? I’m literally the most judgmental non judgemental person I know. And I love gossip, especially when it doesn’t concern me. Its a dirty job but someone has to do it. Also, am I Judgey or am I just divinely blessed with high pattern recognition and everything I think ends up coming true. I’m not saying I’m always right but… I’m always right.

I sound like a narcissist! I rebuke that!

I don’t want to live a perfect life. I want to make mistakes. I want to learn from my mistakes. I want to grow and adapt and evolve and create and live a life that is chaotic and beautiful.

Just saying!

The Woman that I am.

Image:courtesy Running barefoot in a place like this would make my life feel so whimsical!

I have been thinking, why do genie’s only give you three wishes? Is there a lore behind this phenomenon? Doesn’t three just seem like such an odd number? Literally! Why not four or you know, a hundred wishes. I’d love to get a hundred wishes. Wait, why can’t I wish for more wishes anyway? This stuff doesn’t even make sense.

Ugh!

I won’t even lie, I just know that I would fumble those three wishes. Fumble baadd! There are so many things to wish for; Supply of free Oreo’s for life, world peace, money, a house in the French countryside, to go back in time for a front row, VIP seat at a Michael Jackson concert, a cure for cancer, superpowers… The list is endless. I definitely have my priorities straight.

What about you, what would you wish for?

You know, sometimes I look at the mirror and have no clue what the fuck is happening. It feels like I’m staring at a black hole. Its actually quite similar to trying to understand abstract art. Anyway, when that body dismorphia hits, I’m attacked with the fact that the only way a thousand ships would be launched in my honor, would be to put me down for being such an eyesore to humanity.

Sometimes though, it feels like I’m looking at myself through a lovers eyes. Like I’m meeting an old friend. I see everything good. You know that Taylor swift song? Yeah, I’m definitely enchanted to meet me. Man, I miss those days! Look I am a pretty girl, I just don’t always believe it! In this perpetual war with the self, I wonder who will emerge victorious… Me or…me!

Does ‘The Art of War‘ have a chapter on that?

Sometimes, if my self perception were an animal, it would be a chameleon. I am a terrible communicator, constantly doubt my potential, and have an existential crisis every Five business days. Hi, my name is ‘a work in progress! Still, I might have a few issues here and there but God bestowed upon me a pretty face and a curious spirit, but with a terrible memory.

Besides, Curiosity might have killed the cat but we all know those bitches have seven life’s right? Let me ask, Have you ever seen turtles fornicating? I haven’t, but shit am I curious. I’ve always just assumed that they spawn out of thin air. Oh, how wrong I was. The technicalities of such are above my comprehension because, there is simply no way… No way!

Okay, maybe I do need a new brain. Surely, it can’t be this same one that I’ll use to work on the future that’s supposedly in my hands. I’m just a girl… A clumsy one at that! That thought right there makes me want to hurl myself through a wall but alas, my name is not Casper! My future might be rapidly cascading into a pit of oblivion, but I have at least three things worth living for: The Shrek movies, frequent naps and potatoes!

You know, after me, God really snapped when he made potatoes. You can fry ’em, boil ’em, steam ’em… They are so versatile. And they have more range than your favorite actor! Anyone who thinks otherwise needs an exorcism. You know what its giving Bethany? Its giving tabia za ibilisi. Get right with Jesus! These are probably the same demons who say, “just book the flight”. Oh well…okay Camille! And how exactly am I supposed to pay for that, mhm? With my tears?

If you’re like that, then watch your mouth before you turn into a pillar of salt!

Moving on…

Oh, to be woman! Born to please man, yet suffer the self. A moment of silence. for the bull, the shit, and the crap!

Let’s just pretend that, that was deep and profound and I just gave you the the most thought provoking poem you’ve ever read, okay? You’re welcome by the way. You know, art is such a beautiful form of expression. Art is everywhere. Its with us and within us. Look at me for instance, I am a literal work of art. Listen, if I had existed in Da Vinci’s time, I would have been the Mona Lisa. No, Shakespeare would have written tear inducing, literal pieces about me. Scratch that, my face could launch a thousand ships.

Too much? Okay.

Gosh, its so hard being a woman. The entire concept of womanhood is such a complex experience. Imagine this; We suffer menstrual pain for millennia yet nobody has managed to find a cure. The older I get the worse it becomes. I take it as my uterus trying to remind me of the ticking time bomb that is my biological clock. Like, if you don’t hurry up and put me to use, I will shrivel up and doom you to an eternity of childlessness. Honestly the stem girls need to take one for the team and invent something. Or maybe we should leave it to the fan fiction girlies. Seriously, tell them that they’ll never read a dramione fanfic unless they find the cure for period pains and we’ll have that pill by 11:49pm.

For the longest time, my idea of womanhood was shaped by the experiences of the women in my life. Their struggles, sacrifices and pain defined what was a real woman for me. We really were brought up romanticizing suffering! Every once in a while, my grandmother and mother indulge us a little bit into their lore and I’m in awe at the women that they are. The fact that they never got a childhood during their childhood, and the things they went through, survived and overcame just for a better life… Awe!

In my journey of self actualization, I’ve realized that I don’t want to inherit the silence of those that came before me. I’ve realized that in more ways than one, they had to( and still do) deny their experiences, swallow the pain and suppress their emotions. They had to fit into a bubble. A suffocating bubble!

As someone who has always dreamed a little too big, I’ve always battled with the notions of what society modeled for me, and my believe that there is more than one way to exist as a woman. This period has really blessed me with a lot of shifting perspectives and a part of me will forever be grateful for the darkness. I’ve uncovered the parts that I hide from myself. And in stead of erasing my history, I’ve decided to face it head on. My fears, my pain, my shortcomings, my story!

Embrace the darkness because that’s where we learn… Or get institutionalized!!

I don’t know if its just here in the village, but some of these patterns are quite prevalent and I’ve watched how adversely they affect girls and women. Be it early marriage, domestic violence, early pregnancies, poverty, or even not being as good in the traditional forms of educations. Sometimes, even unconsciously, we find ourselves shoved head first into those aforementioned bubbles.

Regardless, I strongly believe that our circumstances do not define us. As women, its important for us to acknowledge that hardship is not part of our identity. Its okay to want more. Its okay to dream. Its okay to be strong. Its okay to to be vulnerable. Its okay to be silly. Its okay to be overwhelmed by life. Its Okay to be confident. Its okay to be happy. Its okay to be hopeful. Its okay to be everything.

Dear woman, Its okay to not fit into society’s image of perfection.

I miss when I was not this aware of life. Then again, has there ever been a moment when I wasn’t? Maybe its that undiagnosed ‘tism‘ part of my brain that’s always been so overtly sensitive to what others can tune out. Its not easy to rewire your own brain.

It feels impossible but I’m only 23, I can live in the moment. I’m only 23, Life doesn’t have to feel so terrible. I’m only 23, I can be happy. I’m only 23, things will get better. I’m only 23 and the only way forward is delusion. Yeah I’m fucked!

Anxiety: worrier warriors!

Image: courtesy. At heart I am a worrier, and most times its always about the little, inconsequential things that don’t even matter. I constantly stress about what was, what is and what will be. I wish I could turn that worrier bit into a warrior but lord knows I’m as fragile as a block of cheese set on fire. I am a worrier warrior, if you will.

I was so not prepared for everything adulting. Nobody told me that adult things like filling taxes, paying bills, searching for jobs and simply existing in this economy would be so stressful. I’m literally just a girl. That’s my only contribution to society at this point.

I can’t even control this shit!

I hate it when my brain decides to ‘not shut up’ about something. Have you ever stayed up at night, with only your drowning thoughts, crickets and night runners for company? You haven’t? Oh to be sane! That incessant buzzzzing of random thoughts makes me want to go outside, ran a couple laps and shout the biggest shout that has ever been shouted. The problem is that I can’t run for shit and, if I just started screaming outside on a random day for no particular reason, my village people would think that they’ve succeeded!

God forbid!

I over think a lot. This means that I tend to over worry about things that haven’t even happened yet. My anxiety is so embarrassing sometimes. Why do I stress about things that I have no business stressing over like this? Listen girlie, you need to chill! Its not that serious. If my anxiety was a person, I would hold her hand, look deep into her eyes and in the most soothing voice I can muster, tell her that she is jumping the gun… by a fucking long shot!

I find myself anxious over the most random/mundane/weirdest of things. I worry about whether I’ll be a hard launch or soft launch kinda girl. I know, I know. This is really inconsequential because when a son of Adam tries to hit me with the “I like you” line, I’m tempted to call the cops because, why are you threatening my life, sir?. That doesn’t stop me though. I wonder, will I be a in-your-face-this-is-my-man kinda girl or will I be like one of those aesthetic girlies who post ‘pieces‘ of their person…An arm today, half of his face tomorrow. A silhouette of his butt if I’m feeling a little freaky.

Not that anybody cares, but still.

Also, I genuinely worry about my destination wedding. I wonder, will my husband know how to cook. Please Lord let him know how to cook… Imagine, he loves to cook and I love to eat. That feels like the perfect premise for a perfect marriage to me! I also wonder, who will I invite…will we have a secret handshake…will I have to dance in front of everyone; What if I break my neck because my two left legs refuse to cooperate!

These are genuine fears people!

And when the priest says “you may now kiss the bride” will I lean in from the right side or left side. And what if there’s miscommunication and we both go in at the same time and we knock our heads then end up in the emergency room being treated for a concussion! Ask me “where’s the groom” though. How do I even plan to afford a destination wedding when even if nothing was for sell, I still couldn’t afford nothing. Not to mention that The only way I’ll probably ever experience romance is through books and film.

Still, to be delulu is the solulu!

You know something else I’m really anxious about? My first day at work on Monday. I can’t stop worrying about what I’m gonna wear, if I’ll make any friends or whether I’ll eventually ran into Joe from finance who is a little sleazy, has beady wandering eyes and thinks women belong in the kitchen. Now I have beef with Joe from finance, who’s thinking capacity is that of half man, half he goat. Ewu!

How will I survive the corporate world. Do I even want to be in the corporate world? Wait, how do you call someone a crusty cunt but…professionally. The irony is that I don’t even have a job. It feels like I have been sending my applications into the void. Oh, and Joe from finance doesn’t exist. Worrier warriors unite! You know what, fuck Joe from finance!

Ugh!

Just so you know, I envision a lot of travels in my future. The fact that I don’t even have a passport does not matter. What keeps me up sometimes though, are the thoughts of my first flight. I have jitters just from thinking about it. What if I wake up late and miss my flight. What if I pack too much luggage. What if I get on the wrong plane and end up somewhere deep in the amazon jungle, fighting treasure hunters and being rescued by indigenous people.

Good lord!

Anxiety can sometimes suck the life out of you. I can’t live in the moment because my brain will never let me. I live life in a constant state of worry. It can be a terrible existence sometimes. I still don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t know if I’ll ever know how to deal with it. It beats you down to the point where you begin to question your self worth. For a while back there I let my anxious thoughts lead me to a really, really dark place.

Everyday it felt (and still feels) like I’m fighting for my life, especially with the uncertainty of this new chapter. Most times I wonder if my dreams will be enough. If I am enough. My saving grace –or doom if you want to be a negative nancy– is that I am a very stubborn individual, especially when it comes to my dreams. I refuse to settle for anything less than the things I’ve conceived in my mind. I don’t want to follow any set conventional paths to please anyone or simply because its what I’m supposed to do. This journey is mine. I owe it to myself to give myself the best life ever.

A healed life.

Dealing with anxious thoughts, I’ve realized, will require me to employ a certain level of peace from within. Bitch!! My mind is very chaotic. I like to think that I’m living life on the edge… Like those adrenaline junkies who jump off planes. Only, I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown! Still, I’m learning to find beauty in the chaos. Its hard but I’m learning.

For those of us who struggle with anxious thoughts, here’s something I read somewhere; “Do not go gentle into that good night… Rage, rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Acknowledge your feelings. Feel your feelings. Release your feelings. Its okay to feel. Its okay to be.

The best thing I have done for myself so far, at least mentally, is changing my perception of myself. Teaching myself to believe that I’m beautiful, worthy and enough. Teaching myself the beauty of embracing my flaws.

And if you made it here, remember to find beauty in your chaos!

…or you know, go for therapy!

PS: You(I) are(am) worthy of your(my) dreams.