change

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“If everything you think you know
Makes your life unbearable
Would you change?
Would you change?
If you’d broken every rule and vow
And hard times come to bring you down
Would you change?
Would you change?”

Change, Tracy Chapman

some days more than others, you need to ask yourself hard questions. you need to realise that you might not like the answers but still have the grace to sit through the conversation with yourself. it’s how we progress. sometimes we are at war only with ourselves. we want things that don’t us. we are with people we don’t want to be with. we are doing things we don’t want to do. we are amplifying things we are not sure we believe in.

and sometimes, it’s simply because we don’t like the uncertainty of change. we are not brave enough to do the things we know deep down are what’s right for us. we don’t want to be any different from the person we were yesterday. it’s too uncomfortable. it upsets. but baby, it’s got to be done. it’s got to be done.

“Are you so upright you can’t be bent?
If it comes to blows,
are you so sure you won’t be crawling?
If not for the good, why risk falling?
Why risk falling?”

-Change, Tracy Chapman

do you like the person you have become? it’s okay, you are getting there. you are getting there. but what’s got to be done has to be done. if it will make you sleep at night with no regrets, it might be be brutal but, it has to be done.

do you like the person you have become?

 

Over a Cup of Kawa

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If we were having coffee(which would be very necessary now that it’s quite cold), I’d ask how your week has been. Boy! I have had one long week but it’s over and we are stronger, right? I even breathed some “holy air” like Ruth put it(translation: might have been a really gorgeous human being or something like that.) I also ran into some ghosts and I didn’t even turn the other way. It’s like “Oh, this too?” in a very bored voice as though telling life, “You’ve fired your best shots and these are just rubber bullets.”

That reminds me, the other day (the other day, contextually speaking, could mean anything from last month to yesteryear but it sounds like something sophisticated people use. “The other day I was in Venice…” “The other day I received a call from the Presidents’ office…” “The other day I was reading Esther’s blog…” See? So I’m going to use it too.) What were we saying? Oh yes, the other day I found out that Scott unraveled after his novel, The Great Gatsby, made it big. Apparently, he was trying so hard to write something just as good or even better and it was not coming along as expected so he drowned In alcohol and wrote screenplays for a living. It was funny and sad at the same time. Funny because he, apparently, bought the remaining copies of the book. Wait, what was my point? Oh yes, best shots being fired and being left with rubber bullets. Is there a point in the point? Don’t ask (but I strongly recommend you ruminate on that if you like to write).

The other day, a very strange child was left in my care. It’s a universally known fact I’m not THAT good with kids but lately, I try. I’m even almost through with learning to teach Sunday school (and by almost I don’t mean two or three months. That said, we shall not discuss how long ‘almost’ stands for). Apart from the fact that I missed my first visitation day as a big sister(Poor child was heartbroken. Okay, maybe not but I made up for it anyway.) I have been on my best behavior with kids so when I say the child was strange, I do not exaggerate. He’s about five and he neither talks nor laughs. I lie, but only just a bit. He knows common courtesy, “Thank you”, “Good morning”…but that’s just about it. He has full conversations only with himself and watches SpongeBob with a straight face. You just cannot trust people who don’t find SpongeBob funny. That’s my point, hope you’re enjoying your coffee.

Anha! of strange people, I watched this TED talk where I was more intrigued by the architecture of the lady’s outfit than what she was saying. It looked like it belonged on the Star Wars set but who I’m I to judge?  The talk was about being yourself but I don’t remember much, if anything for that matter. I got the point though, from her outfit that is.

I probably like you. I’m chatty around people I like. Or maybe I’m on a sugar high who knows? It appears that at this point, I’d bite my tongue and ask you about your strange encounters lately. I’d then wish you a beautiful week and remind you to be yourself in a world that has a template of who you should be. And like Dorbell says;

As you go through life, Falk, there will be no shortage of people who will tell you how to live. They’ll have all the answers for you, what you should do, what you shouldn’t do. Don’t argue with them. You know, say “Yes, that’s a brilliant, brilliant idea,” and then do what you want.

Wake Up | NF

For Days Like These

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For days like these, when your memory fails to cover the wounds that haven’t healed, because the doctor said some don’t need Band Aid. They need to be left alone, untouched, uncovered…they need to ‘breathe‘ he said. And so you had to ditch your favorite jeans because sometimes, the things you love the most dredge up painful memories. If only you had not been walking too fast, if only the thoughts had quieted just for a moment, maybe you should have stopped to let them settle…but hell, you didn’t.

And on days like these, when you accidentally ram into something while having the same thoughts that caused you to trip, it’s hard to ignore the wounds that haven’t healed isn’t it? You sit aside and give yourself a moment to breathe. You should always remember to breathe when the pain makes you hold your breath a little longer than you should. Breathe baby, breathe. It’s easier to let it out while you breathe. It’s harder today because you were healing, you know you were but you’re back five steps. Maybe it bleeds afresh, but most times it just stares back at you while it pains so bad. The worst part with this is that you can’t explain it, only you can feel the throbbing underneath your fragile skin…the blood rushing trying to repair your brokenness. Your skin feels clammy and warm, gathering parts of you that are alive to ease your pain.

And on days like these, when the only one that gets you is you; there is not much of an escape. You can’t hold the pen because you cradle your knees to your chest. It’s too painful to do anything else other than allow yourself to celebrate your pain. Your wounds haven’t healed, but you are alive. The pain has not killed you yet. Maybe it will one day, who knows what they’ll die of? But you are alive.

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On days like these, when your memory fails to cover up wounds that haven’t healed, remind yourself; you are alive. Breathe baby, breathe. You are an odd mix of roughneck and delicate soul and today, your delicate soul proportions strip you of all rough and leave you heaving, cursing survival. Allow yourself to breathe on days like these….

note-to-self

Waves | Mr. Probz

Of coffee with a Tea Lover

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If we were having coffee, I’d be very proud of myself. How on God’s healthy earth did I convince you? Yes, I remember you saying you value your health and caffeine devalues it. I understand where you come from with this. I wish I could convince you otherwise but then that would take a lot of time. I think. You do not seem the kind of person that can be easily swayed with good arguments so I would just cut that out. We would most definitely be having tea.

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If we were having tea, I’d ask you how you like it. I figure you like tea and from you I learnt there are flavors to it. I find that…exotic. I’d ask you about the flavors. Is there like strawberry, chocolate, vanilla tea? Or some more exotic terms? Or does hibiscus tea, green tea and the lot of them count for flavors? I don’t know, there’s a way you talk about the flavored tea that makes me think I have no clue about it. Actually, there’s a way you talk about most things that make me think that way. I think it’s a thing around well read people. The depth with which they talk about even the simplest of things invalidates the opinions of people around them. They could be wrong by the way, but you have to equally well read to know.

I’d hope you like the tea I make you. I like it really spiced and strong. You’d have to forget about your flavors for now. Do you prefer cinnamon to ginger? Or is it the other way round? I find that what you prefer says a lot about you. I mean I know those listicles on the internet about what having yellow as your best color says about you are mostly junk but think about it. Cinnamon. Ginger. So different. They most definitely say something but I’d wait till you leave to do my research on that. Of course, this is under the assumption that every self respecting tea lover loves Tea Masala. It’s the ultimate tea spice. But if you don’t, I’d find it really strange. No, I’d not tell you that. I do not like to judge people, even though sometimes it happens and facial expressions are not my best alibis. I’d hope they do not give me away. If they do though, I’d hope you make a joke out of it. It scares me when some things are taken personally. Like what do I do now? It’s really tricky.

I honestly cannot take tea without something to go with it, and I like sugar. You know, muffins and cookies and anything really sweet. But then you seem to be a health freak(I hope freak does not offend you) so I’d settle for banana cake. I know, still sugar but I have this crazy idea that banana cake is healthy. It tastes healthy :).

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See how healthy that looks???

I make you sound so complex, don’t I? Well, we would talk about that over coffee. Dang. Tea. I would ask why you need the second pair of eyes. I know, I know. To enhance your vision but what brings the need for enhancement? I’d hope you don’t ask me the same question. Mine is a lot more complicated to explain. Okay, it isn’t but I just don’t like answering it and most times when I do, I lie. You know, because telling someone you’re short-sighted or long-sighted is a lot easier than explaining amblyopia.

I’d tell you that you are a great writer. How cliche is that? But I’d hope you know I mean it, in the sense of I actually want to read a book authored by you one day. Genuinely. Of course I would not tell you that, I would ask what your plans for your writing are. How does it feel to have kept a blog all these years? Sometimes I wonder how long my own blog will last. Will I keep it for 5, 2 , 7 or 14 years? Or will I get bored one day and decide to tear it down? What if I die before I delete it, will anyone visit it 5 years after my death? And on and on…but those are voices in my head, I’d want to know how it has been for you. The experience, that is. The other day I was in your 2009 archives, you seem to take life a little more seriously lately. Is that what happens when you grow up? Stupid question. Of course it is.

I’d tell you about Yrsa Daley-Ward’s book. Bone. Do you know her? I’d talk to you about books. Well, I read your reviews but I’d want to hear what you have to say about them. I find that there’s usually a better ‘spoken’ review than a written one. Writing is mostly organized & well-thought out, unlike speech where it’s whatever comes to your head. I fear people who have organized and well-thought out opinions(the ones that sound like a school essay? Yeah those ones) might have criminal minds. Don’t ask me why.

If we were having tea, I would ask you a ton of questions. I never run out of questions.


My first of the #weekendcoffeeshare.

 

 

 

 

 

 

OPEN LETTER TO AN ENGINEER

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Three days ago, journeying to Uhuru land was not in my plans but well, I’m the queen of all spontaneity. But my journey is not the story, it’s this self entitled moron I met at the border(No, I’m not taking that back till you know why I have the guts to insult him.)

So, at the Malaba border trying to clear for departure. I will not talk about how rude the immigration officers can be because they are probably over worked. Let’s cut them some slack. Except, this incident was brought about by a Kenyan woman officer who was shouting at everyone! Good Lord!

Anyway, there is a group of teachers on their way to Bungoma* for a one day conference so this lady clears all of them first. Then enters the moron(Of course I did not think of him as such before the incident. I mean, he is all tall and rocking that denim). He goes to the lady to clear. The lady, of course, talks as if to a stadium saying she cleared the lot of them and he should get out of her sight. It turns out he is also going to Bungoma for a one day thing but is not part of the teachers. He turns to walk away but not before asserting that he is not one of them. That’s not my problem though. My problem is this statement he makes in his assertion.

“I am an engineer. They are teachers.”

Very condescendingly I must add, much to the amusement of the onlookers. Nobody was at all bothered or moved by this remark. I was in my shock alone. Life moved on for everyone but I’m here still turning that moment over in my head and the different ways I could have put some brain into this engineer’s head. Does that happen to you? When you think of all the best comebacks 5 years later? Anyway here’s my cool headed response(I’ll just keep it on my blog in case he happens to be wise enough to read it, I’ll forgive him. But I guess he doesn’t deal with writers much either.)

So Mr.Engineer, you were probably born with that title of yours that earns you a check ey? How could I, the one who did not do four years at uni, think for one second that you even needed someone to teach you the alphabet? Silly me, of course you’re a genius. You did all this complex Mathematics, the world deserves to know! I mean, those lecturers remained at the uni. You? You’re building roads and constructing…ah, I forget. My unqualified opinion on your job description. I’ll end it there. All I know is those teachers got nothing on you. The pay check spells it out ever so clearly, doesn’t it? You just go ahead and build us those beautiful roads, after all, that must be what building a nation entails. Those poor people! They have to take care of pesky little things that might even be your children but well, you have big responsibilities that involve signing contracts and important documents. What do they know about the burden of a responsibility, huh? All they sign are useless assignments and those laughable disciplinary cards.

Ah, Mr.Engineer did I call you a moron? I repent in dust and ashes, it must be those useless poems I read taking their toll. You sir, surely know that you are anything other than that. I was just overstating the importance of these good for nothing teachers. In fact I forgot to laugh when those people laughed at your little joke, now is a perfect time to tell you how funny you are. We need people who think like you, you know. Do I hear someone calling out your arrogance? Ah, those judgemental people who don’t know how to take a light hearted joke! They must be of some lesser profession too. Let’s leave them to their bitterness. Carry on with your air of self importance. Not everyone who has a university degree got a title along with it. Carry on. In the meantime, I’ll go sleep. The lack of it may be the cause of this address.

*Bungoma town is a 30-minute drive from Malaba.

March!!!!

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Dear Reader,

I cannot begin to tell you how long February has been. God! It felt like a year but then who I’m I kidding? Every month is literally like that 🙂 but not March. I have been excited for March from, I think, 5th Feb. Do not worry you’ll be sharing in my excitement soon. After a moment(s) of self reflection, going back and forth in internal monologues, the first day of March will be the day I hit the track. They call it working out? Yeah, I think so. *Sigh. That’s not exciting in the least but here’s what makes up for it:

I’m having coffee with talented writers(wait all writers are talented I take that back) on my blog and we are discussing *wait for it….*

*Drumroll*

FEMINISM! ❤ 🙂

Yes, yes. I’m hosting their uncensored views and opinions. I won’t lie, some you’ll want to kill, others you won’t help but agree, some you’ll just shrug and move on but the point; I have collected them all! The chauvinist, the radicals, the one who couldn’t care less, the civil one, the one desperately trying to understand…these are spoilers even. I have sadly failed to come up with a cool hashtag but hell who cares? Okay, I do but I’ve decided not to :). 8 days of Feminism starting tomorrow. Engage in the dialogue, just don’t set my comments’ section on fire. Please. The authorities deliver teargas faster than those fire people(so I hear).

March is going to be LIT! I’m so excited. Oh and if I chicken out of this work out business, I’ll be sure to let you know(but pray for me not to, okay?)

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And because I’m super excited, I’ve decided to do a hand written note 🙂

Yes, so everyday for the next 8 days; feminism talk over coffee or tea or lemonade. Whatever. I hope you are as excited as I am and ready to have a new beginning with your goals in March. Oh and please do come out of the shadows and drop in your comments, if not ever, just for the 8 days. Let’s celebrate, understand, decry or dampen this thing called Feminism together.

Treat yourself like a royal, you are one 🙂

❤ XOXO ❤ ,

That Writer Chic

 

To the Mentor that chose M.E

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I never asked but he always told me his story, in bits and pieces.

I never searched but he sought me out, and made to sure to keep me.

I never really saw it, but he said there was something about me. He was so sure I’d make it, it scared me.

He cheered me on, even when I didn’t see reason for it. He believed long before I was sure of what I was trying to achieve.

I always asked myself what it was he saw…I never got the answer, he never really said it.

I was grateful every single day I woke up to the knowledge that he even considered me worth his time. Well I savored it, and waited for the day he’d realize who he thought me to be and who I actually was were quite a distance apart. It never came.

I never got to tell him though, that when he dismissed my worship of his ingenuity I realized I could be just like him.

I never got to tell him that when he spoke to me like an equal, even though I was miles behind, I found my guiding light. I lost my confusion. I found my purpose.

I never got to tell him that the times he sent me the inspirational quotes (once a week without fail) they always found me on the edge of giving up, on looking down on everything I could be. I always found my courage. I always found my voice.

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They are all filed away somewhere 🙂

I never got to tell him that the day he sought me out, and told me I’d be the master of my art is the day I started to take my life a little more seriously. It’s the day I decided I wouldn’t disappoint myself. I had to. I just had to…

I never got to tell him that his free spirit made me find mine too. I didn’t want to impress anymore. I just wanted to create.

I never got to tell him that saving me a signed copy of his book (long before it was published) inspired me enough to have a more ‘sensible’ bucket list…

I never got to tell him that his opinion always intrigued me. Always so peculiar. So frank. Yet so truthful. He never really tried to sound like a know-it-all, even though I knew that he did.

I never got to tell him that sometimes when he described me, my eyes opened in those fleeting moments to who I am. Call it self discovery. That I got to know about Tracy Chapman…and sometimes she’s all the inspiration I needed.

I never got to say thank you enough…but whatever it is that made you believe, I see it now. I just thought I’d revisit that moment in my life, when I was 18 and you found me. I’d probably be anywhere but writing this. I chose the name of Writer Chic, he stamped it. I owned it.

And if I see you now, I’ll deny writing this… 🙂

>>Thank you for enduring my rants during #UgBlogWeek. Taking a break till 28th. Be back for the Monthly book Review. In the meantime, treat yourself like a royal. You are one. XOXO. The Writer Chic<<