I always knew i would see him again. We had that sort of connection that words cannot describe. It was instant,it was beautiful and there was absolutely no pressure to be anything we were not. It did not matter if we met after months or a year. it almost felt like we never ended our…
I love being able to express myself in writing.
It feels more accurate somehow than speaking words. Talking for me can sometimes feel like playing tennis with a colander; I mean, it’s possible, I can do it, but it’s not ideal. The ball goes over the net, but just about. It goes where I want it to go… more or less. I can’t be sure it’ll hit it’s mark, but I can hope. Later, I’ll go home and think about how I could have done it some other, better way.
Writing is different.
Writing is a tennis racket. When I’m writing, I have the time to think about what I’m trying to say, and then mentally flip through millions of words looking for the one that slots into my sentence like that Tetris block you’ve been waiting five minutes for; the one that gives you a combo and wipes the…
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That is how long I have been out of this site. So long that I forgot how to use it. I posted and then deleted and now that train of thought is already on on the SGR to Mombasa and I don’t know what to do because it was a very nice thought train I had there. Yes , I am Kenyan and we just got this kick ass train, I hear, from the news and internet that I intend to use before end of year.
I wrote about my hair and how it’s wild naturalness drives me wild in a not pretty way. About how I can not understand how I want to be beautifully untamed yet the proud untamed mane on my head bothers me so. The other post had a better flow of words but that’s what I get for neglecting my baby for so long.
So now I’ll write about why I’ve been away for so long and try to get some bits and pieces of my previous post from my head. Then I will remember not to delete it.
I moved towns. I got a job and started adulting. I have no idea why I ever wanted to be an adult as a kid. If I could go back I would tell little me. ” hush child, do not ever want to stop being tiny. Cry all you want and ask for all you want. Throw tantrums and refuse to go to bed. Be a little annoying kid because once you grow up, you can’t be these things.” That’s what I’d say to the little one.
Being an adult is good. You move on to the next phase of your life as dictated by you or society. Whichever you choose to follow. But you also leave that kid behind which is sad because that kid is the reason you spent half your life smiling. If you are lucky and that kid had a happy childhood then she’s going to help you get through a lot of tough times as an adult. She is going to teach you how to laugh and be happy even when you would rather not because kids don’t stay sad for too long.
Anyway, so I’m still trying to get used to the routine. Finding my footing at work, getting used to matatus that don’t quite get to your destination. Just because they can get away with it. Learning new skills including and not confined to taking care of my hair. Well, and that’s just about it. I feel like this is an apology for being away too long and that the app will not punish me again. Yes, I’m a little superstitious but that’s just me. I’ll do this more often now that I think I have a rhythm going.
Have a lovely week everyone and I’m in the market for tips on how to manage mid length transitioning hair.
Today I was humbled by the realization that I have absolutely no idea what to do with my hair in the absence of heat and chemicals and braiding. Forget you tube or blogs for naturalistas. I have watched tutorials on how to do a twist out and wash n go and many terms that I get jumbled up in my head. The real test is when I’m standing before the mirror and I realize that a task that takes me 5 minutes will now take me and unforeseen amount of time. Time that I do not have.
I love my hair. It grows at an alarming rate and manages to fill my head in ways that only hair can. Haha. I just haven’t learnt to accept my hair and let it out instead of trying to cover it . I once attempted to go natural but without the diligence and Money to sustain the lifestyle I found myself going back to my stylist to get it relaxed. Once she washed away the relaxer and my wild fuzz was straight and sleek I found myself sighing in relief. Later, I was angry at myself for giving into my mind’s whims.
Fast forward to now, my hair is in a state of half growth and half relaxed and I’m faced with the same dilemma. It took me 15 minutes more to get ready for church today. All because my head refused to be tamed. Which is ironic because I refuse to be tamed myself yet I want to tame a part of me. I digress. When I finally got my hair sleeked up and up in a bun I have never felt such sense of accomplishment.
I made it to church on time and looking around just one pew before mine was a lady with a glorious head of hair. She had not tied it up or sideways or tried to make it behave like I did to mine. I started to question my view on beautiful hair. Or kempt hair. Whichever you choose to call it. Growing up, straight hair or hair in cornrows or braids was considered neat. Undo the cornrows and choose to walk that way and everyone will say you are crazy. Kookoo crazy. Not just anyone. My mum would give me grief for even thinking about it.
The reality is natural hair is wild. Its untamed. Its everything I believe life should be and yet I still want to sleek mine down by using a concortion of products. Then say that I finally have mastered my hair. And I only came to that realization today when I felt that my wild hair would be used to form a perception on who/ what I am. In an instance I found myself questioning so much and that is a very scary thing.
I am taking this week to wear my hair in various states of its wildness with abandon. Let’s see if it kills me or makes me stronger.
I’m watching this movie about a guy who is slowly falling in love with his best friend. The girl is dating and completely oblivious of what’s happening. She’s totally taken by this other guy even when this guy has been hellbent on controlling every single thing she does. He wants her to lose weight, eat salads, have two drinks instead of three or four you get the drill. The best friend sees this of course but won’t do anything so as not to antagonize their friendship.
I have always wanted me a male best friend although watching this has cemented the notion that perhaps this is a pipe dream. Growing up as a kid I had a male best friend. We played together, got up to mischief together, did what kids do together and it was fun. But kids’ friendships aren’t complicated. Beyond playing ‘ mommy and daddy,’ kids are happy go lucky and life does not complicate things. So such friendships are possible. My partner in crime had to part ways when we moved houses and that was the last of the male- female friendship I ever experienced.
Now, as a young adult, I find it rather hard to maintain a close platonic relationship with a guy. Especially if we get to hang out and do stuff together all the time. Somehow things get murky and they tread dangerous territories that neither of us can handle. I will be honest and say that I’ve been the instigator on a number of occasions. I no longer encourage platonic relationships unless I’m sure I can absolutely handle it. Which is rarely.
I think part of me craves having what I had as a kid and part is curious about what such a friendship really holds now that I’m all grown up. I would also like to have a different opinion from what girlfriends bring to the table and I do have a bunch of feisty, smart girlfriends. Its definitely something I’d like to explore until I get married hopefully and then my husband becomes my best friend. Or isn’t that how it works?
Anyway, I like to read and write and experience a bunch of things in life. If you are looking for a female best friend who’s a bit stubborn but really cool and fun and you stumbled upon this article, send me an email. Location doesn’t matter. Not with the internet. You on the other hand can be whatever you want to be..Funny will get you to the top of the list though.
I got at the polling station at around 7.It was a station in our constituency but a different ward from mine.I had never been there before. We were supposed to start at 7 but couldn’t because we were last to be dropped by our transportation. We hadn’t slept the whole night getting the material ready for the nominations. We were sleepy, tired , in need of a shower and some nice breakfast but already late for work.
My colleague and I got to work real fast. Our clerks made it early and had already set the room up. We still had to catch some new clerks up with the process, acquaint ourselves with various stakeholders and get started. There was already a line of people waiting when we got there. There was no time to have a break. Our day had begun.
When you are working such a job people expect you to have all the answers. The truth is you rarely do but have to act like it. Its the difference between peace and total chaos. You realize that there’s only a thin line between the said peace and chaos. My best bit of all during the entire day was having old men and women who couldn’t read, write or see well ask for my assistance. When they were through and you had ticked whoever they desired their gratitude was so genuine it made the fatigue worth it. The realization of the levels of illiteracy was a crushing one to say the least. I’m talking middle age village women who had no chance to attend a classroom and could therefore not carry out the exercise unattended.
I spent around 14 hours in that polling station. I learnt Probably much more than my 23 years combined. A lesson in humility, patience, team work, tolerance and toughness. The agents loved our team. Which is saying something since they are ready to burn you the minute things go south. I wish there had been more organization though. Maybe the exercise would have been less exhausting but we all need to get out of our comfort zones, get challenged and see life through other people’s eyes.
I and many others did not sleep for two nights straight. We did not have proper meals for that period of time but now I know people have it worse. They don’t get paid to do it, they don’t wish it, its just their reality. Mine was short lived and I eventually went home. I had a shower, had a meal and slept in a cosy bed. I would not want to be in a polling station often. Its not the kind of job that’s healthy for you. But it is the kind of job every citizen should take up once in their life. If only to experience exactly what happens and to be less quick to judge and point fingers.
i have been very very bad. I promised myself to write more regularly and here I am. A month down and nothing. I have been opening my app and staring blankly at this page then in half shrug closing it and pretending its not that empty. Every time I’ve done that I swear it sort of looks at me with that funny scrowly face that just reads disapproval. So here I am , ready to take my punishment. Okay, no, I’m not turning this into an adult blog..at least not yet.
I am a friends fun. I have watched the entire season of friends, rewatched it and still watch it every once in a while. Mostly when I have nothing else to watch but I never get tired of the humor. If you are a fan like I am, then you are aware of this phrase and the context in which it was used. If you aren’t, I’ll break it down for you. That’s my job at least for as long as I’m dedicating a whole post to it and because sometimes I need to add some anecdotes to my writing to beef it up.
This is when Chandler needed a tailor and Joey gladly suggested his trusted family tailor. Afterwards he went on to try and remember when he got his first suit and kept guessing..” I was 19 no, 16 no 19 no..I know,19..”then he asks, ” which year was 1990?” At which point Chandler thankfully puts him out of his misery by telling him this phrase, ” you have to stop the q- tip when there’s resistance.” I do not want to say Joey was a rather stupid character so I’ll just say that he took some time to catch on things..Even the most obvious ones like his age at a particular year.
This is not an excuse, for my lack of writing or lack of creativity or plain old laziness but I really do agree with Chandler on this one. Sometimes the Q- tip is just being pushed too hard and if you don’t stop where you feel resistance in my case, there will be plenty of very water melony posts here. So I was giving the Q- tip a rest and waiting for some time when pushing too hard or far won’t result in a Joey moment.
When it comes to the q tip effect , and i’ll refer to it that way from now on, well, sometimes not forcing issues- also something we used to say a long time ago- is usually the best thing. Whether its a new romantic liaison that you so badly want to work, or a new thing you’ve picked up that you insist on doing even when you know you are terrible at it or whether its that dress you got that’s a size smaller but you are losing weight and refuse to buy the one that fits you perfectly. It would be nice if you just removed the q tip and give it a rest. At least for a while.
My face and I have had the longest relationship ever and are still to find the sweet spot. Right now as I write this, we are like that discordant couple that always makes people uncomfortable during gatherings. Always bickering or hush hushing during parties like they carried their house problems with them. That couple that everyone thinks should call it quits and save themselves but mostly everyone else the drama..or just stay home. The only difference is I’m stuck with this face for an unforeseen amount of time.
Ten or so days a month, my face decides to transform into a war zone. Every morning during this time has me staring at casualties in the form of ugly fat or small but annoyingly painful pimples. When I go to the mirror it’s always the decision on whether to pinch them or follow the more sensible advice of having them dry out and save me from the black spots afterwards. We all know which choice I pick. So my woes never quite end. It’s always trying to get rid of the uglies or dealing with a face full of black spots. Because sometimes I get over excited and decide to kill them all. In my head my face started it all, not me.
Maybe I am being too hard on my face. In all honesty, I’m angry at my face because that’s the first feature people see. In reality, my oily skin and its over productive glands are the real culprits here. Having oily skin for a girl or for anyone but mostly a girl is like trying to pet a lion in a zoo. You feel like its a good idea but really its not. They say oily faces age well but I don’t want to be 40,looking like a 20 year old because my glands are still very active.
I have been to the doctor who said to keep away from stress and not put anything on my face. Maybe I should have told him that I am not stressed but these daily conversations with my face are in fact what is stressing me. I have to talk to my face so she behaves. I do so especially before events when I would really want my face to be good because, putting a bunch of products to get that effect will leave me with very lengthy, depressing talks with my face for the next one month. He prescribed some antibiotics and something to make my face less oily and she behaved. At least I think she did, for a while until she said..’uum..nope, I’ve been too good, the goodness will kill me.’
Sometimes I wake up and instinctively touch myself to see if there is a new addition to my little army. Some would say I am lucky. At least its not that bad. I don’t want to be lucky, I want my face to go back to as it was a year or so ago. I don’t want to be standing in a boutique minding my business, only to have an unsolicited offer for a facial or whatever treatment that entails slathering my face with a bunch of products to see if you can get it looking ‘happy.’ When you deal with acne or any other variation of skin problems then people automatically assume you just don’t know how to scrub your face well. The worst thing is, you are so vulnerable you actually believe them even if deep down you know you have tried all the tricks in the book.
I am still angry at my skin/ face.. Really. I’m angry at my face and whatever part of me that is responsible for this sporadic breakouts. My hormones even. But I learnt long ago that my face is also a bit human. She has her bad days as we all do and on those days instead of scolding her ,maybe I should listen to her. Ask her what she needs and if a warm wash will soothe her. Then I should tell her to give me warnings before she goes haywire so I schedule my days around that. When you hit puberty and the pimples appear, its not a big deal because you know it will be over soon. When you are an adult and face this again, then you know its time to get creative , understanding and very patient. It’s going to be a long journey.
Finally this day is over. Men’s phones can start buzzing again having been switched off and callers relegated to the annoying message, ‘ the person you are calling is not available, please try again later.’ Men realized that this is the most foolproof way of not having ladies you have not talked to in like forever start appearing like ghosts. Mostly with stories about how they moved to your town and you should catch coffee ‘soon.’
I do not know what this spells for ladies who are not particular about the going ons of the day. Maybe I’m just in denial and I would like a huge display of flowers, chocolate some red wine and everything else that we ladies are supposed to like. Maybe I would actually enjoy the attention lavished upon me by a gentleman whose actions are as a result of being coerced by all the commercialising going around.
I don’t mean to say that I don’t like being pampered once in a while. No, don’t get me wrong. What I am opposed to is picking one day and going all out then forgetting about every other day. That’s why I believe we have birthdays and I’m not even fond of those ones. But at least on that day God decided to add another one of you into the world. That’s a reason to celebrate if you really must have the spotlight on me.
Valentines however, always feels for men, I must imagine, like they are being held up to have their worth inspected. Or like they are on the butcher’s table waiting to see if they get picked to be packed up for the next meal. Once the butcher passes you with their knife, you live another day or at least your relationship will.
That being said, I don’t think it’s a particularly bad day for those who actually have a loving relationship and don’t have to exhaust all their energies pretending to be in one. So strut about in town in your red outfits hand in hand with no care in the world. You two deserve it for putting up with each other for that long. Oh, while you are at it, did you notice how everyone else is in red? I know you wanted to get noticed but next year you should probably consider pink.. Or pink and fuschia.I have no idea which is more feminine there but you will surely get noticed in that. Now, those two are having a good time. Much better than the man who had to carry a bunch of flowers across town because bae will have it no other way. It does not matter if we have no idea who this bae is but surely see the man with flowers.
I’m done ranting now but I would really like to know what the fuss is all about. Unless its a giant diamond ring you’ve hidden in that huge bunch of flowers, then i miss the point. And if it is a giant diamond ring, then we really do have cause to celebrate. Don’t we?
No, I’m not mean or materialistic, but I really feel it for the men who have to carry flowers because their love isn’t real enough if they don’t do it on this day. It does not matter if they did it every other day of the year. If that is a celebration of love, then I want none of that love. Seriously though, it’s a happy time to have your phones up again. Next year, it would be nice to see women carrying the bouquets and wearing the worried expression on their faces.
Human interactions are messy and awkward.I get awkward almost all the times. Especially for an extroverted introvert. I still don’t know how to bridge that line between friendly not so aloof and bored like I’d rather be elsewhere.
When we are small our parents..or most parents tell us to smile and be nice. Greet people with a wide grin like you mean it. Don’t fidget. Don’t sulk or bite your fingers. And yes, do share the toys. Oh, and stop being bossy while playing with the other kids. As we grow up though, our true forms morph and since you can no longer be admonished for being quiet for too long we are left to survive. Polish up our social skills or whatever. Just get along with the rest of humanity.
As an extroverted introvert which simply means that yes, sometimes I will want to be out there. I may even be the life of the party but at the end of it all I will want to be curled up in bed reading or just staring into space. Recharging. Because, you see, small talk wears me. Which is what we do most of the time when we meet an old acquaintance. So I sort of have a rehearsed script that I can go over and over in my head and with each new person. Because society dictates it most of the time. Being friendly and warm is what is considered ideal even when silence doesn’t necessarily mean animosity. Maybe I just want to sit at the corner because I need to keep running out and I don’t want to have a flurry of legs in my wake as I walk out. Or maybe the plants there are very spectacular and I need a backdrop for a selfie. Not. I probably want to avoid the least amount of conversation that almost starts with an enthusiastic hello, then some routine questions and ends in a series of grunts. Always feels unfinished ..like we should pick it up later. But when.
Over the years I have been described as quiet, reserved, too serious sometimes proud will snake its way in there. All this because I refuse to talk unless I have something serious to say or I’m answering a question that no one else could. I have also been described as lacking enthusiasm. How more enthused can I be than actually showing up for this party?, Maybe I could make up for my lack of enthusiasm by dressing largely or less.
It gets awkward when a random person or even not so random but not overly close person unburdens their problems on me. Depending on the side of the spectrum I’m on that day ,I could be helpful and at least provide a listening ear and some remarks so they don’t feel like they are talking alone but often it makes me feel uncomfortable. ‘Should I simply say ,sorry you feel that way, or your boss is a terrible person or maybe they just need silence. ‘Somehow I can’t get past this monologue before they are done and gone. See, I don’t understand how you just shared that bit of information about yourself, shrugged it off and are walking happily into the sunset.
Which brings me to the few interactions I actually make. I have very few close friends because I am not going to share every tidbit to just everyone. Except the internet of course, I’ll be reminded of this very many years to come.I digress. My friends. At any one time I will only have a handful of people I can call real friends. Too many and i just don’t know how to divide my extroverted nature among them. I have lost many friends over the years. Good ones even ,because I couldn’t reach out and say, ‘ hey, i miss you, it’s been so long let’s do something soon.’ So we just drift apart. Friendships , just like everything else need loads of nurturing. My energy levels wane on this one.
I have been confused many times for being shy. Although, yes, I’m not particularly fond of being handed the mic to say something in front of a crowd of people, I’ll do it if I have to. The point is, I’m not afraid of putting myself out there every once in a while. Just don’t push me. I’ll analyse every situation beforehand and decide whether its jumpworthy or not. If it is, I need no prodding. If its not, maybe next time.
In retrospect, in the few years I have walked on this earth I’ve realized human beings simply want you to be who they think you are. Well, that’s a nice cheat sheet right there. If you like to be put in the proverbial box then you are in the right planet. I , however, would like to be left alone to stay next to the gigantic plant for as long as i feel like it.