Wishful Thinking of A Stupid Girl.

I had a short sit down with a workmate yesterday, feeling all hungry and depressed because of what we all concluded to be because of the oppression we had experienced up until this point in our lives as young inters barely making a thing. Well, some of us more than others on the oppression thing, some of us being me, I thought I was worse off for sure, but I may never know for I don’t really want any sort of relationship, even a good one, with this workmate.

Now let me help you understand my position. Recently got kicked out of places that I called home, not that I’m complaining, it’s just the nature of life, mostly my life, where things like that happen and no one is really shocked. Well, except people who are new to me.

Anyway, life’s been real for a minute, and for me that’s okay because all my life I’ve been struggling for things, relationships, jobs, families that were not going to work and I know it now. So I got this new thing where I say, it be like that sometimes, and I let it go.

In between psychiatrist charges in his Nairobi where smokies are not even 20 bob anymore, who has that money. If they did and they gave it to me I still wouldn’t pay for a shrink, there some kicks I saw in backyard that I know would elevate my career just by the way I would walk in them, I mean who can deny the confidence of a strong beautiful, intelligent, overpraised as a child, black woman? 

My step mom is a judge, I want to put it outside there so that you see that at home they aren’t doing to badly, if I didn’t, would I even be a luo, let alone Kenyan? My dad, congratulations to him, just opened a law firm. He recently told me that I needed a psychiatrist. Something about petty issues that I shouldn’t be holding on to anymore, and in any case, who has time {new law firm}. Something about I’m making my parents scared to talk to me. I don’t get it, they’ve been talking my whole life, wonder what’s scaring them now. Sorry I didn’t mean to come off as bitter.

Basically I’m so used to things not working out that I just live apologizing. That went sideways, I’m again, sorry I didn’t mean to put you in this weird mood I’ve created, you know me, I’m a funny girl who writes happy stories, most of the time… sometimes, listen, I write! So onto happier matters, I’ve finally decided to continue writing my erotica, that book bound that I felt was too much for me at the time, I think I bit too much, I’m ready now, pumped with ideas. Definitely going to turn some of you on, yes you, I am still speaking to you bro.

Anyway, my workmate. We are having lunch, a free lunch that the big man gives us, that my girlfriend is very envious of. Well, I am grateful too because in between 300 bob for lunch in 30 days that translates to 9k which is actually above my salary, sorry, stipend is the word they used when they inducted me. That’s before diner and transport. I haven’t mentioned rent have I? I’m just trying to understand how other people are doing it, damn adulting has to be really difficult, judging from all the adults that are hypertensive. Notice how that number is significantly smaller for kids, I will not mention anything else. {The kids want to eliminate us, I’m starting a support group for anyone like minded, lets meet at the corner at 3am it is not safe out here, children everywhere.}

I’ll also have you know while I type this I am going from happy to confused to funny, that could be because I am watching a hilarious series and typing so everyone thinks I’m doing serious manufacturing stuff that is very important and is the very foundation of this company, in fact I might throw in a cringe at the screen to remind them that without me this company may actually not make it throught the day let alone the fiscal year. You have to try you know. 

Binadamu ni kujiamini bro. For the third time, the intern!

He says to me,

kwani ukiingia huko hutaiba?”

We are talking about the government and how there are some corrupt individuals and that they donate like 10 mil to their church. I’m thinking well that explains the number of choppers and jets that the men of cloth have been procuring. I mean, who doesn’t want a jet though? I could use some air. What are the chances that I will ever get one, I have to tell you, they are very slim, didn’t I tell you about the lunch thing and how I definitely will not be able to afford it, that’s just lunch.

At least I have my brain which I find to be very interesting. Some might go so far as to call me intelligent, others find me dumb, whichever, at least I have my degree right? Because all people that graduate in this country get jobs, {insert ugly laughter.} All the same I’m not academically challenged so that’s one on my court, oh I also know how to use excel, this happened yesterday when I got an assignment and I almost died. Well thank God for google, I should also probably thank the founders too and a pretty girl that lit my path. You must also be wondering why I am clearly computer deficient but that is none of your business love.

Point is, I would love to live in a good place, like walk to work, bike back at 8pm and jump into my bed with shoes on like in Australia or something. I’d love more than ten people to be able to afford a jet, I mean people that I know. I’m so tired of the regular broke story. Unemployment and the sixty years it takes for people to finally pay off loans and mortgages. I really cannot stand that narrative any longer. Why then would this regular denguar thinking that if were in office I’d steal. I also don’t understand this thirst for money just for you. When I think of how badly I want my entire crew in Jamaica or Trinidad and Tobago, maybe even just Zanzibar, don’t you worry about my destination, once again, none of your business. I will definitely not do the ‘God when?’, because by the day the situation gets worse. In between the graft and the lies and just good old fashion oppression, for lack of a better word, when would the jet come. The opportunities that we thought we had, gone. I was so hopeful.

When will we have the actual good things out if life. I mean except the alcohol we drain in the clubs and all the illegal sheesha. How long before we have pretty trains and clean streets. Before we can have financial security as a unit? Man I’m tired of feeling this hopelessness. I’m tired of more bad news and more women reps that I may have stood up for only for them to be yet another lightskin daft that jumps on any train to “increase our salaries” anga employer wants to give me a raise in twitter. I am the employer I voted you in, I definitely don’t have the capacity to give a rich man a raise. Maybe I am actually in need of a shrink. Recently someone was adviced by statehouse that they might be depressed. Wonder what caused that, he was trying to break into some drunk’s house and it was a whole issue. Blown out of proportion if you ask me, but I realize that you are not. 

I just wish my girlfriend and I could hold hands and take a nice long trip out of this place but that is not even something the government can talk about, lest we make them uncomfortable. Honestly my biggest fear is getting jailed or hurt I wouldn’t be the first would I? 

The beauty of life though, is that it be like that. I’ve been in very low moments but I came out of it glowing, as I am glowing these days happy and sated all day long. I’m thinking straight and I know there is a way out of the pit because while sometimes I think its the wishfull thinking of a little girl, a stupid girl that needs mental help, according to some, but then my rational mind tells me we can. Gaddafi was a little boy and what he did for he’s country was huge, he might have taken power for significantly longer than he was supposed to, some might even call him a dictator, but once again it be like that. This is Africa. I just want to know for how long we will be in the pit. Which of us should take responsibility and stop it, ama we continue sitting and wishful thinking that we’ll marry a rich white dude to take you to Ireland? Wake up, you’ll piss yourself nanii.

Lets agree, lets make a pact, that we aren’t giving these people more chances. I’m not talking revolt, I don’t think I can fight for shit. One slap and I will lie down flat with my hands behind my head. I’m talking change. We have capacity, all 40 mil of us, some of us are smart others not so much, there is room for improvement lads. Don’t be seated somewhere thinking of how you’ll become an MP in an already dying country and immediately start looting. Something about ‘mtoto wangu lazima aendeshe rover.’ Sit your raggedy ass back down no one wants you as a leader, you lack basic speaking skills, I am speaking like this at 20 something, you will not manage to convince me. Focus on filing those financial records and think of actual ways out of the pit, because I warn you, I’ll be coming for you. I will have the capacity and I will take you down because all these guys had to do was think of ways to lie to us and they have been for thousands of days. 

There is good news though. The good news is that I will be there when my peers are in parliament, and as a self glorified overthinker I want to find a way to break the African curse. We have to move to the next level. I see white people hack into doors and cars, here we are waiting for a small parliamentarian to carry an osofia full of money into a land cruiser to hide it in he’s pillows ati its safe. That is a stupid plan, is what it is.

Lets think outside of poor, old, sad and dark Africa

Via Aduda



‘Do I have something to say? Yes I do. But where to start is where am not so sure.’

Roboman from Netflix’s Velvet Buzzsaw

Thoughts that I have whenever I try to picture myself in a therapist session. Its funny how I want to heal myself without having to let someone in. The walls that have been built can put the great wall of China into shame.

She tried her childhood, teenage years, early adulthood, her mid ‘ what in the world is going on’ years but they always miss something. Something that she cant remember. She doesnt know when it happened,but it happened. She can feel it, taste it, hounds over her like a halo, but she couldn’t name it.

She read psychology to try and find it out but she couldn’t. Only thing that came out is that she learned about people, their behaviour, their patterns, their characters. She learned them so good, so good that she knew what to say or what to be. But she slipped every now and then, but she always got up. And from there is where her walls started being erected. The world was her dancefloor, she knew it yet she couldn’t stand up and do the cha-cha.

But now she is at the corner, no escape, no excuses, no stories. “Is this the breaking point? Is this what they say make it or make it?” Everywhere she turned, eyes were on her, of loved ones, acquaintances and strangers. Some hands were stretching with hope on their faces. Hope, of which she was. And it was time for her to stand, as wobbly as she could, and do the cha-cha.

Via NayNay

Will I Never Just be Enough


He leaned in to kiss her gently and said, “Darling you’re so beautiful. You’re so special. If only we weren’t so different.”

He gripped her in his fierce embrace and emerged from his delirious pleasure whispering, “You’re too good for me love.”

He sat next to her, held her hand in his, drank in her soul and told her, “you drive me mad sweetheart. But I’m sorry I want someone more like me”

They came and went. Each one so different. Each one seeing a different part of her. Each one falling just a little bit in love with her. With her pure aura. With her gentle heart. With her wild spirit. Each one drowned in her sea of magic. Each one took her with them.

But then they all swam ashore and left her suffocating under her ocean of mad passion and desire. Each fled when they realized that slowly they were sinking into the depths of her love. Each fled because they were afraid that if they let themselves drift deeper, they would forget to come up to breathe. Each of them fled because they couldn’t allow themselves to be prisoners in her cage.

And so they left her, a mermaid with a crown, a queen in her realm, to slowly turn into a monster. They left her with her mad grief, to save herself from the waves she created.

But, poor girl, she has no idea how to swim. She took off her crown to make herself lighter, but the weight of her pain bore her down. She took off her shells and gleaming pearls, but that only made her soul darker. She tried to scream out for help but her voice was caught in the raging tide.

So alone and tired, she lay among rocks and waited for death. Here she lies, her heart beating ever slower. Here she lies, her light slowly going out. Here she lies, he aura flickering off. And in her heart the melody replays…” I was too good for the bad boy. I was too wicked for the church guy. I was too good for the bad boy… I was too wicked for the good guy… I was too good… I was too wicked…”

“Will I never just be enough?”

Via Clover.

What if we forget it all?

Wearing my slippers at the balcony and staring into the horizon…I wonder whether it’s true that everyone is in control of their destiny. I sip on vodka in the glass and gulp slowly…feeling it slowly stream down my throat.

What if we will never see each other again?

What if we forget to meet at Chicken Inn or KFC or our favorite cafe in the heart of the street?

If we forget the future we can still make it up to ourselves. We can get creative and build it with our hands, you know, like use clay, or carve a statue out of wood like we used to do in Art and Craft.

But what if we forget the past? What if our memories become ashes and the next time we see each other we don’t feel anything at all?

I do not want to feel nothing for you. I can’t even imagine you as a stranger. I can’t imagine walking by you indifferently; not holding hands as we’re used to.

I do not want to think that we will eventually ignore each other because there’s nothing worst than ignorance. What if all those precious memories we created go down like a house consumed by fire?

What will remain of us is just ash and melancholy. I do not want our love to become apathy. We were us. We were special, so alive together.

I’d become lifeless without you.

Okay I know what you’re thinking and yes, I have three hundred and fifty fears, but oblivion is my deepest one. Nothing like forgetting us attacks my lungs so unforgivingly.

I do not want to forget our moments of escape in paradise.

I do not want to forget all the pictures we took together. I delete some from my gallery but they keep on regenerating, why?

We had a reason to be so perfect at such an inconvenient time. And I do not want to let it go as I envisaged the best coming out of it. I am not ready to disregard my intensity of our short, vivid instants.

I am afraid to forget your sweet mellow voice and that you will forget mine.

I am afraid to forget the fervor I saw in your eyes when we met.

I am afraid to forget your sense of humor and hearty laughters.

I am afraid to forget our love.

I am afraid to forget the pace of our love, your smooth hands caressing me, goofy faces, wagging your tongue at me at a distant when we in public, and the quick glances we used to exchange only after a few hours after not seeing each other.

I am afraid to forget the late night and early morning conversations over the phone.

I am afraid to forget the cosy and comforting feeling of sleeping and waking up with your warm tender body wrapped in mine.

I am afraid to forget how intimate we can get.

I am afraid to forget that I said I’d be loyal and only belong to you.

I am afraid to forget all the songs we played and listened together and the fights of who was playing the next one.

I am afraid to forget all our first times.

I am afraid of how dolorous our goodbye has been.

I am afraid to forget how liquor tasted so better when we had it together.

I am afraid to lose myself as I lose memories.

I do not want to forget how the intensity of our love made me feel alive again.

I want to remember. I want to be able to recall those instances that made me fall in love even when we were gone.

Even when the pain is too much to bear, I want to feel you one more time.

But again, maybe I’m lost in my world alone, dreaming.

Tha Dreamchaser.

Via Fidash

Out of Luck

“Am getting married “

The words felt like a hot knife slicing through butter. Trains of thoughts and hurricane of emotions collided, making her hyperventilate for a minute or so. As quickly as it came, she got back to her normal self.

“What do you mean getting married? When did you adult real quick to reach there?”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a year now?” He replied.

“Well call me caterpillar who is refusing to change into a butterfly! Dude, have we been not talking for the past year? ”

“I mean at first I wasnt sure till last month”

“Who is the girl” I asked him with my heart still racing.

“I don’t know yet, am going to go the traditional way”

“What in the wizards of Wakanda are you talking about? ”

“You? The most liberal person I know? You? ” “Loool. I know. Its just……. ”

Everything he wrote,tore her apart. She loved that man. Like genuine love. First person who made her start believing in soul mates. He got her, and she got him. Riding on the same wavelength. Perfection, ying yang. That #relationshipgoals kinda love. Even the break up was…. Easy, caring, no tears end. And the friendship after that, blossomed. Stronger. Intense. “You’re now family” friendship. Been there for each other every major life occasions, despite the distance.

It was so good that they could share secrets of themselves to each other. Secrets the world never knew existed.

Subconsciously she missed him engulfing

her with words that always made her feel amazingly good. But now, they found a way to show each other endearment without being cliche. And now he was getting married. And she knew that was the end of them. It was bound to happen eventually no matter who got a spouse earlier. Coz no partner would have been comfortable with their friendship. She knew one day it will end,but not this soon.

As days went by, she tried brushing it off. The more she tried burying it under work and social life, the more she lashed out to people around her. The self realization that she was punishing herself for the inevitable, gave her the the final push to letting go. True love never dies, and just because you love each other doesn’t mean you are bound to be together.

Via Nay Nay

“We Really Should Get You a Man”

He said I’m too nice I need a boyfriend. He said this with his lips on
my neck. He said this as his lips found mine and he drowned me in
passion and desire. He whispered this as I found myself so comfortable
in his hold, so content with his body pressed against mine. For a
second I thought I must have heard him wrong. For a second I thought
there is no way this man could be drinking in my soul while asking me
to find another. Later, when I lay in his arms, sweaty and breathing
deeply, I found myself wondering how messed up this is.

He kissed my forehead and held me close. He made me giggle and tickled
me- in all the spots he knows send me into playful fits. He let me
listen to his beating heart. And even quieted down into beautiful
silence just how he knows I like it sometimes. He let me play with his
neck and sit with my legs entwined around him. He listened to me
ramble on and on how I do when I’m giddy with hormones. He let me lie
on his shoulder in exhausted calm. And all this time I couldn’t
understand how he could be so blind.

He walked me home with my little palm in his. He kissed me as we
passed by a cackle of gossiping women by the market. He laughed when I
said I was high on ecstasy. He held my hand tighter when I asked him
to. But the fool still couldn’t see.

I took forever just to get on a bus… adorably moaning that I didn’t
wanna leave. So he stood there with me for what felt like hours. Just
talking. Laughing. Feeling each other. Finally when I couldn’t stay
any longer, he helped me get onto my ride home. As I hugged him and
gave it a gentle squeeze,  he kissed my cheek and said it again…
“Darling, you’re so incredibly sweet. We really should get you a man.”

Via Clover

The Unbecoming – I Miss You.

There are times when I miss you terribly. Your familiar laugh. Your familiar voice. The feel of your arms.
There are times when I just want to talk to you. When I want to tell you all about my day. How my stomach hurt so bad from I don’t know what. How I have these plans to buy an apartment but I barely have any money. How I have laughed and laughed about my horrible weekend and how it made a great blog.
There are days when all I miss is company. That warm, cosy place where I felt like home. Not just any other person or friend. You. You right next to me on the pillow. You walking beside me by the roadside. You just teasing. Laughing. Playing.
So fool that I am, I looked for you. I heard your voice and it broke me. Instead of flaring up all the anger I felt against you, I just wanted to hold on. I just wanted you to keep talking. About anything. About any damn subject. I hoped that you would feel my desperation on the other end of the line. That you would just say, “baby I miss you terribly. I’m coming home.”
But of course you didn’t. And a second later… silence. The line is already dead. And now I’m holding onto the phone, begging myself not to call you back. Begging myself not to succumb to this weakness. Because you don’t care. You don’t care enough.
All I’m left with is this beautiful song in my head, that I can’t shake off. This melody that I can’t share with you like I used to.
“Darling just put your soft lips on my lips… we will just kiss like real people do. Darling just put your sweet lips on my lips… we will just kiss like real people do…”
A ballad that is so wonderful it has me twirling by myself with my eyes closed. Drifting back to the days when the melodies played for two young things just locked in each other’s arms, swaying silently. Blissfully. I smile because it’s like you’re here… for those few minutes, it’s like we’re back to the way it all was.
But as the last chords gently float in the air, I feel you slipping through my fingers. I open my eyes at last, and I am all alone.
And I don’t know whether to be at peace or in pieces.
Via Clover

My beloved


Each day I have found myself thinking of you. I have felt my heart call out to you. I have wanted you and needed you. I have smiled with tears in my eyes. I have laughed and choked on a sob. I have loved you with every feeling of hate..

I have felt this desperate longing for you. I have thought of you when I woke up and as I slept. I have seen your face in my dreams. I have felt your arms around me in my fantasies. I have heard your voice calling out to me in the silence.

And I have realised that there’s nothing I can do about the fact that I love you. Nothing except just to let that love flow. Love is the most precious thing. It is the very essence of our being. It is God in His perfect form. it is the Universe in completion. And it is this flowing through me.

Love is beautiful. Yet it can also be agony. Love is heaven. But it can also be hell. For you I have tasted both heaven and hell. Both paradise and purgatory. I have had my entire world destroyed and rebuilt and destroyed again.

I have been filled and emptied at the same time. I have been left desperate and content. I have soared into the sky and plummeted into the abyss.

And at the heart of all this remains my love for you.

Not a love that can be measured or weighed. Not a love that is with reason or logic. Not a love that is with condition. The kind of love that allowed a Father to let His Son be crowned with shame and spite.The kind of love that shed blood for weak, lost souls. Perhaps not a love from such a perfect being, but a perfect love as a broken soul could give.

I have long tried to deny you this love. In the argument that you do not deserve it. Neither do you reciprocate it. Therefore how could you deserve it. So I have tried to kill it in anger and pain and bitterness.

But it is not mine to give or withhold. It is not a force I can control. It is not a power that is even within my bounds. It just is.

All I can do is let it flow. All I can do is release it upon the Earth.

Perhaps if you see it not, perhaps if you know it not, perhaps if you want it not, I will learn to live with it. Perhaps I will learn to rejoice in it’s transforming nature over every other being, even if not the one I desire. Perhaps I can believe that the sun is just a bit more golden, that the sky is just an inkier blue, that the grass and the trees are that much greener, because I allowed the purest part of me to live and be free.

Via Clover.



He knew her routine by heart. She’ll hit the snooze button five times while running her fingers on his back, shoulders and on his arms, drawing images that only she could see. She would plant tiny kisses on his neck then roll on top of him while getting out of the bed. This always made him grunt pretending that she is heavy yet she was half of what he weighed. She would chuckle. A minute later he would hear the hot water kettle come to life, her brushing her teeth, water pouring from the pot to a cup while stirring with ready to drink coffee.

There would be silence for about 7 minutes, and he knew she was on her phone checking out her social media pages. This would entail with giggles and chuckles, sometimes swearing and he knew whatever it was, he would find it on his phone, for she always forwarded them to him. Sometimes she got lost in the virtual world that’s why she had set a timer on how much time she would spend on her phone.

Ting! The timer would go off, and she will run to the bathroom, take a shower, apologize to him as she floods the bedroom by switching on the lights so that she can get dressed. He could hear her moisturizing herself, mumble as she searched for what to wear. Once dressed she’ll close the lights and head to the kitchen where the aroma of food would fill the whole house. Breakfast would be cooked, kitchen cleaned and then she would leave for work. She always stated that breakfast is the most important meal that she never has. She would reach the door and remember she hadn’t bidden him goodbye, rush back, gave him a kiss and run.

This was her, every morning on the weekday, for the last 8 months since they moved in together. But not today, something was not right. She woke up before the alarm went off. She didn’t touch him. No kettle was lit. The only sound he heard was water cascading through her body. She didn’t open the bedroom lights. Everything was being done in hush-hush and hurry. No breakfast was made. He couldn’t take it anymore and sat on the bed and asked her if everything was OK.

“Yes, why?”

“Because you’re acting….different”

“Am I? Maybe it’s because am a little stressed. Don’t worry baby. I am OK.”

“Are you sure? Am here you know.”

“I know Hun. Give me a kiss and go back to sleep. It’s too early for you.”

As she leaned forward for a kiss, he pulled her on his lap. He could feel she was tense as he hugged her. She quickly got off his grip and walked out. He never felt anything like this. His heart was palpitating so hard on his chest, a thousand questions crossed hard on his mind, none of them with answers. He checked his phone to see if maybe she left him something in there, nothing. No messages, no memes, no gifs, no links to articles she always sent him. A hard knot twisted on his tummy and he was sure something wasn’t right.

“Hey, Hun. Is everything OK? with you? with us?” He texted her.

He expected a text back because she was a fast at replying his messages. Five minutes passed, each minute to him felt like a century. No reply back. “Fuck It, let me call her” he murmured to himself as he dialed her number.

“Mteja was nambari uliopiga, hapatikani kwa sasa. Sorry, the no..”

He didn’t let the automated message for an out of reach person to end. He jolted, ran to the bathroom, took a quick shower, dressed and ran out of the house, heading to her place of work. He kept calling her over and over, but she was not available. He knew her phone was fully charged for she always hordes the charger next to the bed. He tried to calm himself down, but it was like adding gasoline to the fire. He cursed like a sailor at the slow traffic, drove like a maniac whenever the truck moved. By the time he reached her office, he was in a foul mood, sweat shining on his forehead and hands shaking. He didn’t greet the doorman, took two stairs at a time, all the way up to the fifth floor, where her office was, instead of using the elevator.

“Hi, Cindy. Where is Layla?”

Cindy was the receptionist that he helped pick when Layla started the company.

“Good-morning sir. She hasn’t been to the office for two weeks. We thought you two had gone for a vacation together!”

His heart stopped for a second. He felt dizzy. Everything was twirling around him.

“Sir, are you OK? Come have a seat. I’ll get you some water. you don’t look well” Cindy said while helping him to sit on her chair.

She quickly ran to get water as she passed by Florence’s office. She popped her head on her door and said,

“Quick, Lewis is here, and he doesn’t look too good.”

Florence was Layla partner. They started this business together after years of friendship. Puzzled, she quickly followed Cindy. She found him in a state of daze, staring at nothingness.

“Lewis, are you OK? Lewis….hey” she snapped her fingers on his face trying to pull him back from the realm he had sunk in.

“Lewis…talk to me.”

He snapped back to reality, and when he saw Florence, he felt some sort of relief. Flo was Layla’s best friend, so he knew he would get answers.

“Where is Layla? What does Cindy mean she hasn’t been here for the past two weeks? What is going on?” he pressed.

“But I thought you went with her. She took a month off from Work. Last time I spoke to her, which was yesterday, she said that you two were planning to go for a vacation. What’s going on? Am confused”

“A month off work? But she has been coming to work daily! ” he said with exasperation Florence took her phone and dialed Layla.

“Don’t bother, she is mteja.”

“I don’t know what to say, Lewis. Am as confused as you are.”

He got his phone out and started texting her on her Twitter page but to his shock, He couldn’t find her account. He tried Instagram and Facebook, but her social media accounts were no longer available.

“What the actual fuck is going on!” He shouted as he showed Florence and Cindy what he had discovered.

Both ladies mouth were agape by the revelations. Layla was a well known social media persona and all over sudden, none of her pages were available on any social media platforms. He immediately called Layla’s brother and as he had presumed, he didn’t know where she was nor anyone in Her family. As he hung up the call, he consciously and devastatingly realized, Layla is gone and gone for good.

Via Nay Nay

Writing is all that is left – Part 2

2 a.m in the morning. I just got into bed after a hilarious one or so something hours of Zoolander (Dear God that movie is stupid!). I tossed and turned for a few minutes before accepting that I’m just not sleepy… yet. Then I remembered that the thing I craved most of all about getting a new laptop is the chance to do something constructive, or just active, with my insomnia. And, well, we all know that writing is my go-to. So here I am.

I don’t exactly have a topic I want to embark on tonight. To be quite frank I have no idea where I’m going with this. But God it feels so good to write!! It feels like… like I’m in another world if I’m honest. One where all my dreams are not only possible but are actually real.

Actually here.
In this world, I’m traveling to coast by plane. Not because I feel entitled and can’t ride a bus or anything, but only because I haven’t been on a flight yet. I get on that small gadget the Wright Brothers invented, and the beauty of this all is the excitement, the exhilaration of doing something new. At this moment, I totally understand what my buddy Richard Branson meant when he said, “Don’t ever lose the excitement of discovering something new.”
In this world, I’m sitting by the beach. The sun is not nearly as blisteringly hot as it would be in reality. The palm trees are more aloof than could ever be. There are laughter and shrieks all around, and I’m watching it all, smiling quietly as I write all about it. The little kids are running into the ocean and then scampering back ashore as the waves roll in. The lovers are walking hand in hand, probably on their honeymoon. The beach boys are shouting out all sorts of services they offer for a tuppence. It’s a typical day at the beach. I love every minute of it.

I get back there in the dark of night. This time, all is quiet, all souls are deep in slumber. All but the ocean, whose spirit is alive and ferocious. The only thing I hear is the crashing waves as they hit shore. Tide after tide after tide. I have to tell you, few things in this world bring out inner peace. The heart of the ocean is one of them.
In this world, I’m back home. Only, I don’t live with my parents. I have my own little apartment. It has a balcony with a beautiful view of the sunset. It has a small kitchenette where I make cinnamon pancakes when I’ve got cravings. There are paintings all over the walls- some made by me, some by actual artists (hehe, not that I doubt my skills) My loo has a tiny stack of magazines and novels (100% comfort as you do your business if you ask me) My friends won’t quit teasing me about it every time they come over) On the balcony, there are little pots of flowers. I don’t know them by name, but they make me so happy every time I sit with my coffee just gazing out. Among the flowers are a few herbs that Winnie said were good for me. Their scent, Lord their deep, earthy smell just gets me. That little garden makes me so proud. Maybe I should do a bit of spinach here while I’m at it.

In this world, I wake up each morning full of energy. Before I get out of bed, I remember my mantra; “Do not grow slack in zeal, be fervent in Spirit, serve the Lord.” And that is what I am dedicated to. Each day I purpose to follow excellence because I know that success will chase my pants down. At this moment (the real moment), I don’t see that distinction is being a teacher. I don’t know that it’s a mentor. I don’t know that it’s an artist, a counselor, an agribusiness consultant. I don’t see that it’s all of these things, or that it’s none of them. What I do know is that whatever the combination, I am definitely kicking ass. When I get into my oh-so-cozy bed each night, I smile knowing that I have lived my mantra, and now I can rest.
In this world, the thing I see almost most clearly of all, is a moment such as this one. Whether in a coffee shop, trying a new variance of latte, or in a bus, on my way to Tafaria (I’m definitely going there soon) Whether in my office, on a lazy afternoon, or in my house, listening to Tanya Stephens. I’m seated as comfortably as I can get, I have this beautiful machine on my lap, this goofy smile on my face, and I’m typing. I amuse myself with little jokes I’m inserting. Sometimes I cry because the story is too emotional. On some days I even forget my laptop. So now I’m at Java, waiting for a friend, busy with a pen and notebook. I don’t know that I exist without writing, even the dumbest of things. I don’t know that I ever was not connected to this great lurrrrrve of mine. But the thing I see most of all, even without knowing how, is that my words shall impact people. And someday soon I’ll be the one getting interviewed (whoop whoop!)
So, back to 2a.m. Back to reality. My tush is a bit sore from sitting up. My eyes are starting to get a bit heavy. But my heart is doing a little dance in excitement. This is the first piece on this laptop. Hopefully the start of many. Hopefully the beginning of a legacy. Because these dreams, they remain nothing but… dreams. And who wants to forever swoon at fantasies when they could actually turn them into the real deal?

Via Maggie Mungai

Read Part 1 of Writing is all that is left.