Sigh. It’s mid Jan. How did that happen? You struggle to get out of bed today, as always. You remember sleeping without answering all the texts on your phone. One was about an engagement on Facebook. Facebook will never leave you alone, will it? Despite you not logging in for two months. The other was a good night from another friend. You wanted to reply but couldn’t. Not that you had something else to do except read that book that has you glued to its pages and lying in bed in all sorts of awkward positions.
Ever felt so at peace with yourself and with the world that you wonder what’s changed? You begin to gain weight, weight that has been elusive ever since you were aware of yourself. You still have your acne but it doesn’t bother you much. You begin to portray more girly traits, complete with a changing wardrobe since the jeans you are used to and growing too tight anyway. You begin to catch up with your girls and slowly get rid of pointless talk in your life. You tweet less, scroll down your Facebook news feed twice a week, only have Telegram and Hangouts as messaging apps and chat a total of five people in these two and watch the news in passing, because you have probably seen an alert online about the same pieces throughout the day. Every once in a while, someone will ask when you are getting married, but that’s once in a blue moon.
He will text or call you just to tell you the most trivial of things, just to ensure he kept you up to date or made you laugh. He will keep calling even when you don’t pick at first because you’re stuck in a meeting. If you are stuck somewhere, say, filling NHIF forms and don’t know those weird numbers, he’ll read them out off head – both his ID number and my mum’s, and any other random number you might want.
She will ask about my day, even when I don’t want to tell her about it, which is almost always all the time. She will linger, even when I snap at her. She will be so sweet that I will eventually tell her. And when I actually have a bad day and willingly tell her, she will ensure I am okay. She will call the next day when I get to work to follow up, even if I was with her a few minutes ago in the house.
I’m in bed. I have tried to sleep. I have really tried. It’s 00:54. I am tired. My legs feel worn out. I was trying to ice-skate. My cousin’s idea. I got into bed at 9 sth. Took on Taken 3. Liked it. Cried a little. Embarked on using a bit of my night bundle then decided to sleep. Wapi?
The cock is croaking now. No, we don’t call it croaking. Somehow I thought they go together. It’s crowing. I might be going crazy. Or maybe it’s all the thinking I should be processing that I’ve decided to forget about that is haunting me. I honestly don’t know what’s up. M-Pesa is apparently undergoing maintenance, so I can’t top up and text. I can’t watch something else. What am I? A couch potato? No. So I’ll do the only thing remaining. I’ll tell us all a story. It goes like this:
So I’ve been writing short posts, shorter than you were used to before we began the new year. A lot has changed between now and then. For one, I stopped talking about men all the time. This is a good thing, right? But apparently not for this joint. Secondly, everything about my days changed and I had to adapt with shorter blog posts. I did not realize I was doing this until a mini-coup was initiated with my last post.
Guest post by Anonymous
There are many mistakes that you could make as a woman regarding love and relationships. We may choose to blame it on ‘broken hearts, YOLO, or on the a-a-a-alcohol’, but a mistake is a mistake. The good thing with making them, if you are smart, you will learn and avoid them like the plague. However, if you refuse to learn, it will become an unpleasant cycle that will taunt you and you will turn into a miserable old lady no one really likes.
Here is my story:
You know how people tell you they don’t want something but they do? Like how men think that a no from a lady means yes? Well, I was not going to do this. Mostly because he explicitly said I should not write about him. But I know deep inside, he expects I will write about it sooner or later.
Guys lie all the time.
Maybe I am wrong, maybe I am right.
Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s false.
Right and true, wrong and false,
I could be either, or.
It’s been seven months since my heart was broken into a thousand little pieces. Seven months since I added too much salt to the food because my mind was somewhere else replaying conversations, trying to figure out what I did wrong. My dad did not even think about it as he went on his jokes about how he should have cooked the food himself. He always cracks this joke about me having, perhaps, gone and cooked the food in Lake Magadi.
You know how a man seems interested in you and makes conversation then he cannot keep it up when you are already getting interested too? I hate that. I really do. I don’t get why someone would get my interest running then jump off the vehicle and leave it running down the hill. It sucks. It’s unfair. If you know you are going to do that to me, you’d rather just watch me from a distance. Watch me waiting for the next driver. Don’t just jump in because I look like I am desperate enough to let any driver on.
Lucy had had enough at this juncture. She quit WhatsApp and threw it in the pit of oblivion. She stopped acting out of desperation. After all, she was young and free, right? No more Drew, no more George or Sam.
Last week we marked the International Youth Day, and the theme this year was mental health. Mental health also happens to be one of the issues I really care about (the other being children welfare). The day was marked in a week that, locally, we all (or at least those of us who read the story) had an opinion on Ms. Victoria Muchiri’s suicide, being one of the most commented articles on the Daily Nation. In case you did not read the story, Ms. Muchiri, a 22 year old student at Ohio State University got into the track of an approaching train and made no attempt to escape from being struck. She died on the spot in a grisly scene.
She was minding her own business. The last thing on her mind that Friday was a man. In fact, she just wanted to get to her bedsitter and lock herself in and just wallow in the bliss of aloneness. No one would get in the way of her plans. In fact, she had just bought herself the entire season three of Once Upon a Time, just to binge-watch. The producers of that show must be a couple of geniuses to have thought of bringing fairy tales into a palatable format for grownup girls who were still waiting for Prince Charming. That is all she needed. To watch that palpable chemistry between Hook and Emma and wish she was in Emma’s place. She still had that bad boy syndrome going on. But she kept it under wraps for her own good; and any bad boy out there.
By Kariuki Dave
Now that Father’s Day is here, we are all obligated to honour that special old man in our lives whose efforts are least appreciated by the society we have today. Father’s Day is one of the little known international days. That is not my concern for now though. I am more concerned about those of us who were brought up by single mothers. Who do we salute on this day? You see, I belong to this group of people who, for one reason or another, didn’t get to grow up in a household with a father figure. Some of us had fathers who were just there to be seen, not to be heard nor felt, but we are here anyway like the rest and we do have a story to tell about those who took up the challenge and played the father’s role in our upbringing. My grandmother (God bless her soul) happens to be that person to me.