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!

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!

~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!

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.

Little steps.

Image: courtesy

I love it when it rains. You know the ‘quiet‘ rain that comes after a storm? The one with raindrops that are slow and soothing, like silent whispers from a loved one. The one that lulls you into a sleep so deep that it makes you dream of bungee jumping on blue sky’s, rainbows and dessert. The one that makes you burrow into your blanket and sigh out in utter bliss. That’s my favorite kind of rain. Its definitely not the ‘loud‘ one accompanied by thunder and lightning, that makes me cower inside my blanket (in fear that the roof will get whisked into another dimension) and clench my ass cheeks tightly every two seconds, due to how terrifying a thunder and lightning combo is.

Thunder and lightning is my kryptonite… A shirtless Zade meadows too!

There are so many things I wish I knew how to do, like say; riding a bike, sleeping with one eye open, doing back flips and fighting. I’m demented enough to admit that i’m jealous of bitches that can throw a punch. Listen, if you ever see me attempt to fight anybody, please hold me back because I can’t fight for shit. No amount of wishing has imbued me with enough stamina to throw a K.O. Why didn’t they teach us that in school? How to throw a punch 101, I’d never have missed a class. See, some days, you turn the other cheek just like daddy Jesus says. Other times though, a fully charged uppercut will work just fine.

Praise Jesus!

That being said, there are certain people I wish I could handle with a few- but painful– WWE worthy moves. I don’t know about you, but asking an unemployed person if they’re really applying for jobs, should earn you at least a kick in the nuts. Well, what do you think unemployed people do every waking moment Charles? Sit around a room filled with milk and honey, vacationing in bliss while dreading the day they ever land a job? Are you mad! Trust me, applying for jobs has never been the problem. The problem is applying for jobs with no experience, no godfather, no connections and only the blood of Jesus as back up.

There is a certain indignity that comes with being well educated but financially constricted… And by that I mean, jobless. I am woman enough to admit that Sometimes the shame from outside –and mostly from within– gets to me. Its hard to battle feeling like a failure every waking moment, when Every failed job application serves to cement my place as the family disappointment. Its a full time job at this point. Listen, the best graduation present you can ever receive, is a freaking job! Or a fully paid trip to the Bahamas!

This is not how I envisioned my life would go after school. The whole finish school-get a good sensible job-get married-have 2.5 kids-then wait to die pipeline is not for me. At least not now. I am a dreamer at heart. I want an adventure. I want my existence to be as magical and inspiring as the northern lights. And in the end, I want just enough to vacation whenever I want, spoil my parents ridiculously, buy myself a house surrounded by nature, with large windows, a library, enough rooms to get lost into, lush green fields, a little farm, two dogs… Is that too much to ask for?

Ugh!

Anyway, I think I missed the whole ‘uni experience’. I blame my debilitating fear of rejection and failure. My anxiety in uni was so severe, Sometimes I’d wake up and the thought of stepping outside my room and seeing people was so scary, I’d jump right back into my blankets and say fuck it to my education. Its a wonder I graduated at all really. Then again, it really isn’t. I’m quite book smart but I fail abysmally at people smart.

The four walls of my room were both a blessing and a curse. A gilded cage of my own making. That’s what anxiety feels like. So yeah, the university experience was a mirage. There was no partying, no hangouts, no clubbing, no traveling even though our school was near the Maasai Mara… Seriously, the farthest I travelled while at school, was the VC’s office to beg for an extension to pay my fees. Extra-curricular activities were a foreign concept to me. The most exercise I got, was when I had to wander around the lecture halls looking for my class.

It comes as no surprise that I had no modicum of a social life. I attended my classes and made the trek to my place and hid out in my room. On the off days, if I tried hard enough and dug up every morsel of social skills deep in my bones, I could handle the whole hanging out thing for a while. I rarely bothered though. Its really exhausting being a social butterfly!

I had a lot of expectations before I went to campus. I actually believed that I would meet the love of my life there. Huh? Have I met myself? Me who has never even held hands romantically? The school romance was definitely not in my cards, I can tell you that. Imagine the most painful thing that has ever happened to you… That would be me trying to flirt. Hear me out, Considering the fact that I like my men tall, dark and handsome, brooding, morally grey, look like they can break me in half, funny, intellectually gifted and (for the most important part)fictional, its no wonder flirting never goes well.

I tried it once and holy flying gargoyles, that was the most painful five minutes of my life. I wondered whether my continued, cricket inducing silence, was more painful than jumping out of the window of our 2nd floor hostel. I’d probably have survived with a concussion, a twisted ankle and maybe a broken neck but my dignity would still be intact. Right?

You know what’s even scarier? The thought that one day, I will meet the love of my life and we’ll have our destination wedding -obviously– and the priest will loudly proclaim to all and sundry that, “you may now kiss the bride” right in front of my family. Sir the most you’ll get from me in front of my parents is a high five. A hug if I’m feeling overtly emotional and have taken anxiety medication with trained personnel on standby. But in private, I expect to be ran through a wall. Respectfully!

Please, ignore that if you’re not the love of my life.

So yeah, I am hopeless. Maybe that’s why I’m a hopeless romantic. Lord knows I’ve got the hopeless part down to a t. At this point, any potential love interest will probably have to break into my house and perform signs and wonders to prove that he’s really in love with me, then produce past papers from his previous relationships for further studies. There’s a reason I spend most of my time on books. Maybe the reason why I like Romance books so much, is because they are the closest I’ll ever come to experiencing true love. I’m fucked, aren’t I?

That was rhetorical you shit!

And do you even realize how versatile romance is? Oh how I love a good slow burn. I’m talking prolonged and yearning eye contact, subtle touches that are innocent but lewd enough to keep you wanting more and enough sexual tension to power an electric train. The Regency era trope, an enthralling world of smelling salts, corsets, pearls , propriety, carriages, balls and a whole load of misogyny. Why were people so pretentious back then anyways? Or the mafia trope with the psychotic maniac, who burns things for fun but its okay because he bring you breakfast every morning, buys you flowers and calls you endearing names in languages that you can’t understand.

I love me a bilingual villain!

In hindsight, I have sheltered myself from the world for so damn long, now that I have to face it outside the confines of the structure that I hid behind, I’m fucking terrified. I constantly have to remind myself that I’ll be okay. I’m young, black, a little unstable and have my whole life ahead of me. Fuck, who knows, I might just change the world one day. Anxiety or not.

Life is a process. A journey. Its a little rough and scary sometimes but the beauty of it all is that there is always an opportunity to learn. Never stop learning, beloved. I’m learning to enjoy the present. I’m learning to celebrate every little win. I’m learning to not be so hard on my Self. I’m learning to not be afraid. I’m learning to accord myself grace. I’m learning to be happy. I’m learning to appreciate the person I am, because nobody knows what it takes to be me. Above all, I’m learning how to be patient… With life and myself.

If you’re like me and this finds you, I hope you never forget that its okay to not be a paragon of perfection. Its okay to not fit in. Its okay to be you. As for me, for as long as the sun still shines gloriously and the moon and stars whisper promises of quests and adventures to my soul, I will never give up on my self. Besides, I dreamt that I was in an airplane a few days ago, so maybe that just means that I’m ready to take off… Or not. I was a literature major and I tend to find symbolism even in the most mundane of things.

A little delusion and lots of optimism to spice things up.

Lastly, the most important thing I’ve realized is that, to learn I must be willing to unlearn

PS: we live and we learn.

To be free of me.

There is a certain restaurant at a town near my grandmas place. In and out, is what its called. My sister and I went there a few days ago, simply for the fries. I don’t know what type of juju they put in their frying oil, or if they hire an angel to chop the potatoes, but their fries taste heavenly. I would give them a Michelin star if I could! The fact that they aren’t even stingy with the amount of fries they serve is an extra bonus.

Its spiritual, I tell you!

To be honest though, every time I go there I’m convinced that they are in the money laundering business. The way they fill up a plate -in this economy– is a little suspicious. Will that stop me though? No. I want to be rich enough to afford fries whenever I want, Jesus! As far as dreams go, that seems pretty valid. Its right up there with my dream of finally being rich enough to pay off my student loans.

You know what, I blame junk food for my failed modeling dream. Its definitely not because I walk like I’m being hunted for sport. Nope! Okay, I’ve never harbored any ideas that I’ll be the next Naomi Campbell but, if I exercised –at all-, ate a lot less junk, tried walking like a normal person and leant how to smile with my eyes, I’d stand a chance? Ha! I wish.

Then again, I’ve always been a dreamer. Delusional yes, but still a dreamer!

I tried walking in heels once and almost lost my life. Walking ‘fluidly‘ in heels is a requirement, right? Safe to say you won’t be seeing me in any Victoria secret campaigns any time soon… Or ever to be honest. Speaking of, campaign photos are great, mesmerizing even. Have you seen zendayas’? Absolutely breathtaking.

For me though, what I would really cut off my left titty for, is to see myself through the eyes of a painter. Sometimes, photos can be so basic… so mundane… So boring. Well, at least the ones I take of myself. I want someone to draw me. I want an artist to duplicate my raw, unfiltered likeness. I want someone to capture the hidden emotions in my eyes, every wrinkle on my skin, every laugh line and pore. I want them to capture the curve of my lips, the shine of my forehead , the fullness of my cheeks, the dark complexion of my skin. I want it all in portrait.

Draw me like one of your French girls, jack!

Let’s talk about feelings. Yeah, I know. Eww! Disgusting right? If you’re like me, then you’d rather throw your emotions inside a tight little box, lock it tightly and then throw it into the deepest, darkest recess part of your brain, right next to your childhood trauma. A therapist may go as far as to dub you ‘emotionally unavailable’. On here, I like to call it ‘compartmentalizing!’

Our tag line is, “why deal with your feelings now, when you can deal with them…never!”

So, feelings. Life has been giving me a kick in the proverbial nuts for a while now. My fulltime job as a job seeker has left me with a gourmet meal of food for thought. This period has been one of the hardest moments of my life. Trying to navigate family and personal expectations, as well as figuring out career options, is something I was not prepared for. To be frank, I am terrified. I wake up in a panic whenever It hits me that I have absolutely no fucking clue as to what I’m doing.

If you check the drainage system, you’ll find my mental health drifting about.

I am a loner. I find it easier to handle being on my own. Sometimes though, I wish I was a little bit more…out there. You know? Maybe then i’d have people to unburden all my woes to. People to talk to. Hang out with. Laugh with. Cry with. The problem is, I have been on survival mode my entire life and I don’t feel like I exist in the same wavelength as most people I meet. We just aren’t wired the same way. Its frustrating sometimes.

I love being alone but I’m tired of feeling lonely. Loneliness is so complex, most times its not even company I seek. Its that feeling of ‘home‘ that I yearn for. Sometimes when I write, I can almost taste it. Still, loneliness tends to strip off little pieces of yourself, bit by bit. I’m lonely even in crowded places. I am lonely when I’m alone. I am lonely even when I’m happy. Its a loneliness that is so deep, I can feel it in my bones sometimes. A loneliness so deep, its like being stuck on a small boat in the middle of the ocean with only my thoughts for company.

Like pi.

Still, I’m no expert but I think that solitude is important. You get a chance to take a step back and observe life. You get an opportunity to evaluate and explore who you are as a person. It gives you a new perspective on everything, really. Of course the consequential self awareness is a double aged sword. I am extremely vigilant. I am always on the look out for signs of danger, traps. I don’t know how to live in the moment.

Fight or flight, they say!

I am 23 years old and I think I have caused irreparable damage by isolating myself. I have next to zero, worthwhile friendships/relationships to talk of. Connecting with people is so hard. It feels like picking up a book in a language you’ve never heard of, then sitting through a reading class for said language. Excruciating! I stay alone because, I don’t want to burden myself with transient friendships and meaningless connections that don’t feed my soul.

The thing is, I am also a bad friend. My ehm, reservations have made me closed off and sometimes I forget that not everyone is like that. Like I said, we are wired differently. My coping mechanism is to ghost everyone and deal with my shit on my own. Maybe its the social anxiety or maybe I am just a lone ranger. I lose and fail to form potential friendships with great people because I go silent or run away.

I believe they call that self sabotage.

I hate that I do that. I hate that they give up on me so easily. I hate that they’re not patient with me. I hate that I don’t know how to be a good friend. I hate feeling like a place holder, a maybe. Never the first choice. And maybe its my fault but I still feel forgotten. I feel like I was put in the darkest corner of a dark room and left to rot. I stand on the sidelines and watch everyone else take part in a race and win. Over and over. I watch them laugh, I watch them cry. I watch them live, from my never changing, dark corner in the sidelines. I can’t wait for my turn to cross the finish line. To get the medal. To cry for joy. To win. To be first.

I am hit with the truth that no one really knows me…And probably, no one ever will. I keep the bare bones of who I truly am closely to myself. I wish I knew how to be vulnerable. I want to crack my heart open and let the world listen to the rhythm of my heart. I want to talk non stop about the synchronicity of my thoughts. I want to bare open the fabric of my soul. I want to be free from me.

Lastly, I know that I’m good. Special even. Yet I still worry about what people think about me, how I look, what I say, what I write. All of these stupid little insecurities that eat you up from the inside and make you doubt yourself. These things that you think diminish your self worth. FYI, they don’t. Why then do we let things that don’t matter hurt us? I am so much greater than all things I perceive as flaws. As weakness.

I am talented, skilled and beautiful. I am all of that and more. When I love the way I love, when I write the way I write, when I laugh the Way I laugh, when I walk the Way I walk, when I enjoy being me it lights up my soul. Now why would I ever dim that light for anyone.

To be free of me, is to be me.

PS: once again, eww!

Perceive me…not!

I saw this on tiktok. A house in the middle of a jungle, with a freaking swimming pool. I would just love to be rich enough to say ‘fuck civilization’ and go live with lions and rattle snakes. One with nature and all that…

A place like that would do wonders for my mental health. The air probably smells like dew, sunshine and Jesus. I mean, I cant swim, but I would catapult my ass into that swimming pool. If i’m lucky, I might even run into Tarzan…. But like the adult version, so you don’t go to jail for being a creep. I like my men fictional and toxic for a reason.

Imagine just laying there watching the stars, listening to crickets and breathing in all that fresh air. My lungs can’t relate. That’s all thanks to my neighbor by the way. See, they smoke weed on the regular and the smoke somehow always finds its way inside my house. Does this make me a passive weed smoker? Is that dangerous?

I won’t lie, sometimes when I’m stressed the passive high is appreciated. Still, if I keep coughing through the night my neighbors are going to call the covid police on me. My lungs need to catch a break. They need to smell anything else rather than my neighbor weed, dust and the stench of anxiety that follows me everywhere.

I will take anything from a nice ocean breeze to a nice frosted Chocolate cake. To me, cake smells like the cure for depression. It does wonders for my taste buds but my thighs lord…. I’m looking at a possible textbook case of death by de-thigh-dration. Man I’m so witty!

Anyway, I’m done with my exams! Let’s take a moment of silence for all the answers I massacred. I thought I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up and finished school, but I’m not so sure anymore. Growing up is so not cool. This shit needs a replay button, a fast forward button and a delete button. Adulting is such a scum. You step out your door for two seconds and you’re already in debt. That’s why I stay my ass in bed.

I don’t want to be perceived anymore. Existing is merely a construct that I don’t want to partake in. I’m angsty as fuck. My life right now is like watching two people in love; fulfilling and disgusting at the same time. Like, you’re happy for them but you still want to punch their happy faces.

I have a theory. I think I would make a pretty good girlfriend. I have yet to test out that hypothesis but I have a feeling..

I know none of that made sense but hey….I’m the weird girl for a reason.

PS: hi?

Therapy Tips from a (un)qualified therapist.

Image: courtesy.

I really don’t understand how places like this exist, yet I had the audacity to be born in a dry as fuck village where nothing exciting ever happens. I feel cheated! I need to speak to the manager! I don’t know who is in charge of my destiny or my voodoo doll but please, its high time I learn how to build a snowman. I need to experience winter, Lord.

In case you were wondering, that Was me manifesting. Praise Jesus.

Anyway listen, its 2021 and we All Need Therapy. Honestly, if the last two years haven’t screwed you up six times to Sunday, you’re Gods favorite. The rest of us are barely hanging on to this rollercoaster of cluster fucks called life. There are days I wake up expecting to hear the sound of the rapture, because we are clearly living through the end times.

I might be projecting, but hear me out. Sometimes, you look at someone and the only thing you can think of is, “sir, ma’am, you need help!.” For example, people who wake up before 6 am to run. All in the name of exercise… And lastborn’s too. Also, girls that claim that their love will change a man. Sis! A! Man!!. Girl, you should be more concerned that your boyfriend has a boyfriend. And don’t get me started on the gate men that search and frisk you like you have ‘suicide bomber’ tattooed on your forehead. Like sir, this is a school. Do you think I would show up here before 8 am just for the heck of it. If it were up to me, I would be lounging off a sandy beach somewhere, watching shirtless men play with water – basically being a total pervert.

My moral compass might be a little crooked.

The thing is, there are people who really, desperately NEED therapy… According to my humble(not) opinion:

1: Me. As a chronic over thinker, I spent most of my time psycho analyzing every aspect of my existence. In fact, I have taken it upon myself to hire my own personal therapist, aka Me. Yes, I am my own therapist. When I’m in my therapist bubble, I call a meeting with myself and therapist me asks,”Esther, how did that make you feel” or “What the hell possessed you to do that, you stupid little bitch?”. Honestly, at this rate I need to start paying myself by the hour. Also, the way I consume street food like I have credible health insurance, can’t be normal.

2: College Students. Most of us are broke, depressed and one exam away from saying ‘deuces’ to education, selling a kidney on the black market (because who needs two anyway), and booking a flight to the Maldives. And if that seems a little too detailed then … YES. I have been studying since 2004, and I’m still going on. The student in me checked out years ago. Then again, most of us (me) don’t have rich uncles to take our papers to when we finish. We might as well suffer through it. And by suffer I mean, student loans, exams, unbalanced diets, failed relationships, missing marks, poverty, fuliza, okoa jahazi, zero class attendance etc.

3: Married Couples. Some of them take the ‘till death do us apart’ portion of their vows a little too seriously. Then again, forever seems like such a long time to stay with someone and not think of ways to suffocate them in their sleep. I mean, if you’re going to snore like a fucking bear, then have the decency to shove your head under a pillow, so that you don’t inconvenience your partner. Marriage is ‘for better, for worse’ so in the event you find yourself watching episodes of ‘a thousand ways to die’ and imagining your better half in them… That’s your ‘for worse‘, seek help!.Talk to someone before you go to jail. Not me though. I don’t do heart to heart conversations, so the love of my life will have to remain content with handwritten letters or receive visions from my ancestors.

4: Math/Science enthusiasts. Apart from therapy, they also need an exorcist. I fail to see what’s interesting about quadratic formulas and organic compounds. I spend too much time staring at the clock during math and science lessons, I ended up missing all the ‘interesting‘ bits. Not that I’m complaining. Any day that goes by where I don’t have to calculate the Mass or find the surface area, is a day to praise the lord.

5: Politicians. Kenyan politicians are a different breed. These ones need the blood of Jesus, and a five year mandatory rehabilitation camp, on ‘how to avoid stealing public funds’. Apart from behaving like minions of Satan, the next one is always worse than the last. They need help.

PS: how did this post make you feel?!!

‘Public parking lot’.

This will sound crazy but I really, really just want to cry……….like full blown, snot coming out my nose, my stomach fucking hurts kinda crying.

The thing is, I know why I want to cry I just don’t understand why I always want to cry. Its literally so hard to keep carrying this huge ball of anxiety that weighs down on my chest every single day.

Physically, I present this perfectly happy person who’s completely in touch with their zen or whatever and has everything under control. I want people to perceive me as such.

Emotionally though, I am a mess. I am always a breath away from a Britney spears moment.

Anyway, depressing thoughts aside, LAST NIGHT WE GOT THE SHOCK OF OUR LIVES.……….see, like most homes In my village, ours doesn’t have a gate. People here rely on spiritual methods of protection. There is a reason why the robbery levels In my village are pretty much non existent. Chances are that a thief will go to steal from someone in my village,immediately get confused and start wandering all around the homestead until the owner comes to “free” them……it has happened before.

We share the same compound with my aunt and grandmother. The problem is, our compound is right next to the main road. This would normally be great if I was traveling –not that I ever go anywhere – because i don’t have to go far to catch a matatu.

However, last night someone decided to turn our compound into a ‘public parking lot’. It was around 8.30pm when we heard a car pull up. It was a weekend so we assumed it was an aunt of mine who usually visits my grandmother.

A few minutes later, my cousin called scared out of her boots because there was a car parked In our compound and the owner wasn’t on sight.

Now, I watch a lot of crime documentaries, so my first thought Was “we are gonna die”. I legit thought we were going to be part of the statistics. I could hear the headlines; “criminals pounce on an unsuspecting village family and massacre the bajeezus put of them”.

I can be a little extra sometimes.

My grandmother almost had a heart attack and my aunt had locked herself in her house. So I decided to be brave, take one for the team and went to check out the car. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?….it blows up on my face?….thank you, they’d be doing me a favor.

We are a bunch of paranoid women. I know.

After realizing criminals weren’t going to pop out of the darkness and kill us, the car wasn’t to blow off or magically transform into a flesh eating zombie, we all gathered outside next to the car. You know what’s worse than a group of paranoid women?………scared paranoid women.

Phone calls were made to our immediate neighbors and we have connections with the force so we called for back up…………and by connections i mean my cousin who is the village chief.

We later figured out the car belonged to one of our neighbors son.

PS: Don’t pack your shit where it has no business being parked.