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.

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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

Bound

I give the most gentle of knocks that I can master, the adrenaline is pumping in my veins I am terrified I know I have crossed a line this time.

‘I don’t have to do this anymore, I am stronger than this,’ I keep chanting.

I don’t get a response as I knew I would not so with the last shred of balls that I have I open the heavy mahogany door and immediately the smell, the glorious smell of his presence hits me. I walk in, with a slight sway in the hip, just the way I know he likes it. He does not acknowledge me and I realise I may be in even deeper shit than I thought.

‘Sit down and be quiet.’

I take the furthest seat and fold my legs then straighten my back because who the hell does he think he is, today is the day I walk away, I am done, I will am leaving the chains. I have to keep chanting to myself I have to keep telling myself that I am bigger than him, I own him, he’s nothing without me.

‘I understand, I will be careful to consider this in future’

He hangs up looks at me then right past me then back to the telephone picks it up. It barely rings before it connects he listens for a minute and says

‘You know what to do.’

He stands to his full height back to me and gently picks up the scotch fills a glass, puts in some ice cubes and strides towards me. My breath catches at the sheer masculinity that is this man and wonder how I got myself here.

‘Why?’

I know what he’s asking but I do not know what to say. He is looking at me like he expects a response and I stare, partly because I am awed by him and partly because I am about to take him down.

He sees my cocky face and realises I am not as terrified as he thinks I am, he comes closer and I give him a full blown smile,

‘Goddamnit Ava, what did you do, bloody heavens you told the press didn’t you, you have wanted to fuck this up right from the onset,’

I like the way he speaks.

‘Get out,’

Well, this is what I wanted isn’t it, to get rid of this, to let the burden go. I know I will not get any sleep tonight. I get up surprised that my legs work and move past him headed for the door then I realise belatedly that there is no letting this man go, I was made for this, I am forever going to be bound and as this dawns on me, I change my destination and go to the west side of the office and get down on my knees bow my head and arch my back. I know my place and it isn’t away from him.

‘Good girl.’

Most times I ask myself how I got here, how I got to be so powerful, the sheer respect that I get from the populace is impressive. I guess I was always just ambitious. While some might say it looks ugly on me, I did not get this far looking pretty. That may be the reason why I may never get married, or get kids, just wasn’t meant for me. I have no regrets thus far, all is going perfectly well.

I  notice that my mind wanders too much, he has left me here for hours in the past running his empire, being the boss that he is, while I waited my chance in patience. I thought most of my father that died while I was six, God rest his soul. Even more often was my mother, the most selfless being to ever exist in my world, took many of my beatings for me, died a soldier if you ask me. I stayed with Luca for the better part of my childhood, took the beatings of course after mama died, my grace period did end, but I applaud Luca he did his best for me, see, I turned out just fine.

When I was seventeen I moved to the big city that Luca had worked so long in, with his entire savings with me, I had earned it, I built myself up, brick by brick lets not forget Lucas’ unwilling small investment in me, [I may or may not have borrowed the money the night before I ran away, depends on who’s asking.] I built a comfortable life and the best part was never getting to tend to an abusive alcoholic.  I had a good life I was content but you never really know what you’re missing till you try that unknown. when I found my complexity, I was at first astounded then as is everything in my life, i embraced him, he grew on me, just like a cancer, those terminal ones that you can never get rid of, it ends with death. I hated to think of what may have caused my little disability but heck out of sight, out of mind.

I can hear a buzzing, I know the rhythm of that buzz and immediately all thoughts vanish and I remember that I am in the four hundred square feet expanse of the office I have come to know so well. He has redecorated here and there but its the same old thing that I may or may not have cum in repeatedly. My heart beat accelerates as I watch him walk towards my phone and switch it off then turn towards me an angry flare striking his face. He lifts his hand to his tie and loosens it not completly removing then as an after thought takes it off and strides towards me, takes my hands and binds my wrrists behind me. He’s being lenient, I am grateful. I do not move, shallow breaths and hooded eyes.

‘I asked you, I asked you so many times, you rejected me, Ava I want you to remember that you left me,

YOU BROKE MY HEART!

You have no right to come back and ruin my life with her now, is the arrangement not working? I have done my best Ava I have stayed away, I have let you build your life, I have watched  you take credit for me, I have paid them all off, you did not want a life with me, bad for business, wasn’t I? Now why am I getting calls from press about an affair?’

I can feel my tears coming up, I can feel the emptiness creeping up, my past faults that I was comfortable with tearing me apart. I should not have continues seeing him, I should have taken the high road, should have ended things early eough, the web had grown too big and too complicated now. This should have been the last time, I was coming to give farewell. To let him go, yet here I am again. I have not said a word since I came. I have submitted already to a complexity that is not mine.

I need to speak, I need to leave, I need to do something, anything. I can feel the anger, I know he doesnt want to deal with my shit anymore, I  should have never leaked to the press, wrong move, wrong time, wrong man.

‘I…I….I CANT’

And just like that, for the first time in fifteen years  I cry, I can feel my heart break, tired of all the work its been doing putting up with the shit. My hands are still restrained, it is getting to my skin, it hurts I try to focuss on that and I can’t, I begin to sob and for the first time lift my eyes up to meet his. I watch the  blood drain from hes face, he looks ashy then his hands begin to shake, I have never put him so off balance. This was not the plan, so not the plan.

The shoes come off second to the tie and he kneels. This works me up even more than all the rest, he never humbles himself for me, he doesn’t come down to my level, he doesnt sink down to me, he tells me how I can get up to him, when I am ready. My tears seem not to be controlable. Well this is embarrasing. He holds my waist pulls me closer head to shoulder my sobbing body accepts this, he unwraps the tie, freeing my hands and I beggin to protest I know what I need, and it is to capitulate, to yield and not to move, to be confined within the rules, to obey, to be submissive. It is all I know the only life I have lived with them all, it’s my medicine.

He is saying no, he is freeing me, he is massaging my writs where they were tied up and looking at me, tender eyes, I cant remember tender eyes, I cannot deal with tender eyes. He then proceeds to rip my  heart right out, wraps my body into his and rocks me back and forth as if to sing

rockabye baby don’t you cry,

‘Hush there Cherie, it’s not like that this time, I got you baby, now let the demon out.’

Via Adudahera

Delusion

I think it is morning, I hope it isn’t but I know for a fact that it must be. Something must have woken me up, it does not take me long to find it. I smile that one smile that I reserve for him, he doesn’t return it. I guess we are not in a smiling mood. The Nyaluo in me will not agree to this, I keep smiling and he catches the drift and gives mama some teeth. I do my sarcastic giggle because I can and when I hear myself I think, it sounds good.

Among the most famous words I have heard given to me by men in my adult life are to name a few,

“Luos don’t come this pretty nowadays jaber, are you a hybrid?”,

“Those eyes tear me down jowa, I’m coming to pay dowry this weekend because there is no way am letting you go”….

One thing or another with an obvious goal that I might shame myself for falling for one too many times in the distant past. Enough about this stories, the point was that this man often told me how beautiful he thought I was, in the beginning, it puzzled me, because how? then came the understanding and I actually believed him because like I mentioned above, I like to shame myself more often than not.

This, therefore, cancels out my good giggle for, and I want to assure you, my voice is nothing to reckon with. Back to important things, i get up from my bed it’s roughly nine thirty am, no this is not the time that i woke up, i woke up roughly at six am, i get to the shower, toy about with it till i get the right temperature then my body is systematically cleaned. I don’t hate this shower i come to notice, i might get used to this…

Am feeling particularly pretty today, I put my nude lipstick on, make an attempt to hold up my weave, that I wish I didn’t put in the first place but a few people have thought it looks good, good, bad, semantics really if you ask me. The nude lipstick is supposed to make my lips pop but by the time I walk past the light-skin receptionist i instantly wish i wore the dark purple that my good friend, let me call her Barbie thinks looks good on us dark skin girls.

This girl maybe 25 or 26, i may be tempted to say 30 or 40 but i will not get personal with her, assumes my very presence. Now i was not in the “let it pass mood” because, as i mentioned earlier, i was feeling pretty today. She says to  me, and i know she was talking to me because there was no-one else in the lobby she could have been referring to but me, “that comes with breakfast,” i thought so but i stood all the same and waited for my him, lets name him Thindo to come and respond.

We did not have her silly breakfast, i say with pride, despite the smile she plastered on her face when Thindo reached me and said,

“No, breakfast wont be necessary,”

I couldn’t hide my smile, it was going to be a good morning this one.

Now there is something about eating at home that appeals to me, it might be the fact that i don’t need to put both legs on the floor when i eat or the fact that no-one would care if i showed the color of my panties as i got comfortable on the floor  and bit a far too big piece of sausage off and it proceeded to burn my tongue where i would then attempt to dispel some air out by hissing in the least dignified manner you can think of, otherwise are you even eating sausage? wait what was i saying yawa, i talk too fucking much, ooh eating out. Yes, i dont like eating out, fighting with knives and forks and whatnot yet we all know mayai you tear with your hand and put in your mouth because the taste of mayai and oil on its own minus all that bread nonsense is what we live for, dont pretend you dont know what im saying…

I get into java Hurlingham and you already know what i see, people having business breakfasts, i think, they look pretty serious and it is a Wednesday morning, others just there because they can take breakfast in java, its their damned ass money by the way you have nothing to say, others are just not in love with the breakfast their maids make at home. I classify all these categories of people in one glance at the room, then tell Thindo, we are sitting there, i indicate with my finger at the far left corner. My Thindo follows me and behind him is a pretty, short and melanised waitress just like me. We sit as she calmly waits for us to organise our shit,then she gives us our menus and while she turns she gives me that smile, that knowing one, like damn girl.

I smile back, i know at that moment that i did well going with nude, she walks away and my stare lingers on her. She’s probably my height, she’s curvy but not voluptuous, she has her braids caught in a bun at the top of her head and at that instant i realize she’s most probably better looking than i am.

Quickly i turn my gaze to the menu she gave me and open it, it’s about to happen and i know it. I’m about to hand my stupid ass back at myself a nice good plate, i have been served. What was that smile about, maybe she knows i have lied to Mrs Ochieng Nyar Kanyada about my whereabouts, i must not look like i come from around i mean rich people don’t wear doll shoes and short dresses not these 500 bob ones at least. I knew this yesterday but why did i wear them? Why couldn’t i stick to my thick sole rubbers, they’d look better for sure. my hair, this hair ojoga ma daliedalieda i dont know about this weave business it looks awful and the waitress knows it has been on my head one week too long. Maybe it Thindo here, what if she also knows he’s too good for me, i mean Thindo clearly has no problem with handling a fork knife and spoon, if need be. I  still want to talk about sitting on the floor  and bite big pieces of sausage. Im barbaric and they all know it. I mean i should have stayed longer with dad after the divorce, maybe i’d enjoy java like this people, maybe i’d know how to sit properly, one leg over another the way my cousin Mizurl does.

I hear footsteps she’s coming back, I’ve taken too long i haven’t read anything in this goddamned menu, i look up at her and then at Thindo who must have realized i was in my head again and left me to it, he knows the kind of maniac i am, he cannot change this so he walks with me while i do it when Im ready, i come back. She has that smile on her face and i know for sure that she knows i know what it meant, she makes a small nod and starts writing, that’s when i realise Thindo just said,

“ill have a house coffee and the breakfast combo,”

Via Adudahera

“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

Finding Something True. Perhaps One Day.

Perhaps one day, in another time, in another world. Perhaps then eros will be kind to me. Perhaps then it will be just the right time, at just the right place, at just the right moment.
Perhaps then we will find each other. Perhaps then we will stay. Perhaps then I will not be afraid to love you for knowing not if you will love me back. Perhaps then we will not need to think and rethink and think again. Perhaps then there will be no other one; no other mine or yours. No other heart I fear to hurt. No other’s life you wish to destroy. Perhaps then it will only be you and me.
Perhaps then you will look into my eyes and see your whole life etched in their sand. Perhaps then I will feel your heart beat and hear the rhythm to carry me to eternity. Perhaps then our lives will be nothing apart. Perhaps then we will be complete in each other.
Perhaps then I will stand by the shores of the ocean, watching the sun sink far into the waters. Perhaps you will walk up to me, a face never before seen, but a heart forever known.
And if not by the ocean, then perhaps in the fields of green at dusk. A lowly flower-picker blissful in her ways. Found by a man seeking a rose in its precious beauty.
And if not in the fields of green, then perhaps in the warmth of a coffee shop. Where I will sit alone reading Shakespeare, and you will find that every one of your senses directs you to me.
And if not in the ensnaring air of coffee, then perhaps in a crowded bus. With noises all round and chaos abound. Where a young woman will sit by the window, watching the rice fields and the woods fly past. Enamored of the sky in its blue and white and streaks of gray. Entranced in a world of her own, until the other half of her sits by her side, both unknowing of their fates intertwined.
And if not in a bus, then wherever it may be. If not while we are young, then whenever it will be. If not as we are, then whoever we shall be.
If only that in that time, in that space, in that world, we will find our way to each other.
Perhaps one day.
Via Clover.

PAIN

What’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you hear or read the word pain. I will tell you my definition through a series of experience I’ve gone through in the few years I’ve existed on this rock that revolves around a star.

5 year old me was a confident wanna be adult. I talked fast and acted faster. And when I bolted to the kitchen to to make myself a cup of hot chocolate, no one saw me. I was a tiny being who was and is still height challenged. The hot water jug had been placed on the table and as I clumsily pulled it, it tilted and the hot scalding water poured on my chest. The pain was so immense that after I let out a blood curdling scream, I lost conscious.

The following 8 months were grueling agony of trying to heal. School, friends, birthday parties, playing, joy, became obsolete. I then yielded an unfamiliar companion and confidant, radio. My love for music, art and communication blossomed there. Sundowner, radio theater, educational episodes on KBC became ingrained in me and left an impact.

Heartbreak. I was living on cloud 9 first time I fell in love. Then it happened. I never knew love could hurt this bad. My self esteem was in shambles. I lost weight, mind and will to live. I went to a place I never knew existed in my head. Then I found Quran. I know its a cliche when people say “God saved me” but am a living testament. I created a relationship so strong, intense, personal and fulfilling with my God that has enabled me to tackle most challenges in life I’ve faced with certain confidence and assuarity.

Aug 2013,I received a notification from my bank stating that the cheque I had issued had bounced and I had been penalized. I was broke. I couldn’t fathom how I had reached here. Memories of the times I spent money on unnecessary things haunted me the same way our government is being haunted by corruption cases. I had to learn to live within my means. Gone were the days where I used to eat chicken like a caucasian. Nowadays I clean the chicken bones so good that my fellows brothers and sisters from the western community would be proud of me.

Fast forward, to Feb 2018. I had been transfered to Doha Qatar. Money, status quo, and living in the wealthiest country in the world. Yet I was living my worst nightmare. My skin color, gender and age were my shortcomings when it came to my occupation. I did everything, frkn being nice to get the whole office dunkin donuts for two months. Nothing worked. I loathed how I felt preparing myself going to work. I despised how my co workers treated me. I shuddered at the sound of Skype call because I knew it was nothing but it would be something that will totally make me feel depressed. As I lay in bed, I wondered how I got myself here.

That morning I woke up, picked my passport and left for the airport. I left all my worldly possession I had over there. I slept two days at the airport for there were no direct flights back home. All I knew is that I was done, and I wanted my piece and peace of mind. And that I wouldn’t find it anywhere else than back home with the people I love and the environment that my soul knew.

So señoritas and señors, physical, emotional, financial, occupational pains that I have gone through has created fundamentals aspects of these woman you see infront of you. What doesn’t kill, makes you stronger, and gives you unhealthy coping mechanism that helps you to waddle through this journey called life.

Thank you.

Via Nay Nay.

Dangerous Muster

 

He racked his brains, from the moment they met, where they had been to, people they met. Any clue that he thought would be able to solve this puzzle. His brain lit up like a light bulb when he remembered the one place she had whimsically mentioned a couple of times. He had a good feeling about this one. He imaginarily high fived himself for his eidetic memory.

Quickly he picked his jacket, cell phone, wallet and left the house. He didn’t want to drive because he was not in the right state of mind. Ran to the nearest stage, got into a matatu and left for town. The lively matatu culture around him felt surreal. People boarding the matatu, others alighting, the makanga shouting, the driver blasting latest obscene Kenyan songs, all to him felt illusory. The makanga had to tap him twice when he was asked for fare and thrice to let him know he had reached CBD.

He was in his own world. As he boarded a shuttle heading to Thika, he realized that chances of her being there are subjacent. But a gnawing feeling that he might see her there was too immense. The closer and closer he got to the town, the more he catechized himself on her disappearance, him seeking her out and whether he should let her go. Then he recalled how she made him feel, her sarcasm, laughter, terrible jokes…her entire quirks and quiddities made him realize to breathe and live. She brought him a peripheral range of understanding of the world, her and himself that he hadn’t unearthed despite having a brain power than most. Yet in a transitory second he knew whatever the reason she had for abandoning the ship, was valid and him seeking her out would not make much difference. But his ache to see her, even it was one last time, won this battle.

He didn’t know the place, so he got into a cab and asked the driver if he knew the area. Luckily for him, he did. He was torn whether to go empty handed or not. Heck, he didn’t know how to act when he sees her. “It is what it is” he mumbled as the driver sped on.

The the weather was cloudy, cold and grey as if prepping him for bad news. When they got there, the gate-man didn’t allow the cab to go in. He paid, got out and asked the gate-man if he knew where Layla lives.

“Layla mgani? Hapa kwa hii estate watu ni wengi my friend” 

“Ummmm…Layla Amin?”

Blank stare from the gate-man.

“Ummm….babake alikua mkubwa pale Delmonte?”

“Ah! Si ungesema tu Amin wa Delo! Nyinyi vijana mnakuanga na maneno mingi hehehe. Hata ameingia tu saa hii kutoka sokoni. Nipe ID yako na uandike majina na numba ya simu kwa hii kitabu”

Relief with a tinge of anxiety kicked in as he wrote on. He was given instructions where Layla’s house was located. Like a man on a mission, he stepped forward and fast. He was in a high pitch fervor to see her. As he opened the gate to Layla’s house, he realized he was sweating. A quick wipe of his brows and a pat on his shirt and pants, he wished he had adorned an antiperspirant.

“She likes my smell anyway, hope that hasn’t changed.” he chuckled as he knocked on her door.

He knocked twice. No footsteps, no sound coming from inside the house. Hit harder, no answer. He twisted the door handle, and the door nudged open. He hesitated to wonder whether he should go in or not. As he stepped in, she appeared at the end of the hallway. His feet froze as her hands thawed and she let go of the cup in her hand, breaking into smithereens on her feet.

Silence…….

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.