Moonlight Monologues

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Hi. I’m not sure what kind of  night you’re having because you look like you always do. I guess that’s part of being the moon; sitting in the middle of night,not saying much or doing much at all. Just looking. Waiting. Maybe for someone to look up and say ‘Hi’? I don’t know.

I feel like I can talk to you. Is it because of your kind phase? Sorry, bad moon joke.

Anyway, I wish I could cop a ride to where you are.  We could hang out. I’ll do most of the talking. Okay, all of it.
We’ll look down at this crazy world, watch as the pesky humanoids go about, trying to make sense of existence.

We’ll shake our heads at the clueless ones. We’ll want to shout and tell them to face reality. But we won’t. Reality will walk up to them and punch them right in the face; her flight might be a little late but she’ll get there eventually. Our hearts will break as we see theirs do. A tear may fall as theirs fall in torrents.

But on the other side of town, there are the hopeful ones. The dreamers. Lost in their own worlds, they barely register the one before them. That’s not always a good thing.

They’ll look up to us. We’ll be surprised at first. Shocked that they are looking directly at us. You won’t be able to turn but I’ll look behind us to see if they’re trying to catch the eye of a zooming shooting star. But it’ll be us that they’re looking at ; the moon and (his? Her? We should really have that conversation ) trustee sidekick.

For some reason, they wont ask me to give you guys a minute. For that night, all dreamer- moon privilege shall be waived.
Then they’ll tell us their heart, their pain, their deepest desires.
We’ll listen. Could we do anything beyond that? For some reason, you will be brighter. As if the dreams and pain of dreamers are the light you reflect back.

**
She’ll leave the house,wanting to just be outside. It’s a warm night and the moon seems to be beckoning her. She doesn’t think much about it but she knows what she feels.  She goes with her gut.

He’ll be walking down the street. He wont know where he’s going, but not home. Not right away. His chest will have a dull ache. Incessant. A slow burn on the inside. Never stopping. Never getting better.

He’ll see the bench, perfectly encased in the amber street light and he’ll know it’s where he was going. He’ll sit down with a sigh, wishing he could rip out his heart and be done with the pain.

He wont notice her sit beside him as his head will be buried in his hands.

‘Beautiful night, isnt it?’

He’ll look at her,sursprised. She’ll be smiling slightly, looking up at us. He wont be able to stop looking at her. The amber street light and the silverish moonlight will play on her features beautifully. She’ll look at him for the first time. He’ll look up at us quickly as the dull throb in his heart turns to flustered beats. They’ll look up at us, not really seeing us,  but the possibilities of the next lifetime.

He’ll be glad that he didn’t rip out his heart. He may have some use for it after all.

******
To every journey, there is an end. And to this journey, that end has come. Mwende the dreamer was born over two years ago but now it’s time she grew up a little.

I appreciate you, dear reader, who has been with me throughout the journey. Listening to my winding monologues and pushing me on when the hill got too steep.

I hope that you’ll join me as I start a new on my new platform mwendeideally.com.

You didn’t think I was actually quitting, did you? I’d go crazy if I didn’t write!

See you guys on the other side 😉

internal-silence_Humanity-Healinghttps://mwendethedreamer.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=460&action=edit

I sat alone on the park bench. The midday sun, which would have been a nightmare, was tempered by a modest dose of cloud cover, making it a perfect day for a picnic. I watched as Nairobi succumbed to hunger’s demand., the streets immediately teeming with starved suits with a time limit.  Deftly, I reached for the Uchumi ham sandwich I had bought earlier, and settled in for the afternoon’s activities.

Perky Stella walked, nay, skipped down the path, her arm hooked firmly around her beau of the week. The poor sucker looked scared to death, constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure that no one he knew was around to see the sight. And it was a sight! Stella was a compact beauty, who, from my observations, hooked her prey by feigning to be honey’s sweetness and the sun’s warmth. But the girl was far from sweet! Sure, she meant well, but if life was all intention, Eden would be a realtor’s dream.

She gave a small wave as she walked past me. I smiled as much as one could without exposing chewed matter. We’d never actually had a conversation, but there’s a bond between people who see each other everyday for more than four months, albeit from a far. I had a feeling we’d probably be pretty good friends; where she’d come cry over what he did and I’d give an exasperated sigh and tell her she should stop giving a show and just let him get to know her for who she was.

As the stink of ‘perk’ slowly diffused away,  Funky Karl, made his way up the path. Ah, Funky Karl. Just the thought of him makes me smile. So the sight of him in pink kitenge loafers, jean cut-offs and  shirt so tight, he was halfway through tearing it with his muscles, made my day. You see, Karl at first sight looks like these uber cool guys who know that they are hot. (Ladies, don’t we just hate those?!) So here’s the really cool bit; that’s exactly who he is!

For the first two months, he would come over and wax lyrical, spouting the nonsense that normal girls would melt, boil, dry on the cement floor, over. Finally, we came to the mutual conclusion that I lost a screw during assembly and we were better off as Park buddies.

He stops by the smokie cart and then walked over with about ten smokies. Just a snack before lunch of course. He sits beside me and launches into a monologue about , well, everything. Don’t think him rude. That’s just his way. And I didn’t really mind much. I’m not much up to talking..hadn’t been for the last three years.

I could remember the very last words I said. Well, they weren’t exactly words. Sounds, I guess. Shouts. Screams. I didn’t like to remember. Silence had become my constant companion. Life wasn’t that much different. No one used to listen before. Now, i just didn’t even bother.

‘Are you okay?’

Funky Karl has a worried look on his face. Its a new look for him. I attempt a smile but all i succeed in is stretching my face. It’s such a poor attempt, we both crack up.

Am I Okay?

Had I ever been ?

Quiescence

Kryptonite

Its not easy being different. It means that no one understands. No one can listen. Really listen. Especially when its something that everyone knows off. Its like the sun to us mortals versus the sun to a blood-sucking, fang-bearing creature of the night. Its like a haircut to the average guy versus a haircut to Samson. Its kryptonite. My kryptonite.

I know how to be strong. That’s how we were brought up. Be strong, they said. Don’t cry, they said. And so I didn’t.
I know how to be unmoving. Grounded firmly on cement-block values. There’s no going anywhere without them, and at no careless speed.
I know how to fly, to navigate shark-infested waters, to save the world in one blow. But.. but.

Even Superman wasn’t quite as super as he thought himself to be.
A rock. Imagine that! A simple rock brings him to his knees. Reduces him to less than a man, tormented by an unexplained pain.
Kryptonite. My weakness. My Achilles heel. My unraveling. My rock, and my hard place. My edge of sanity. My undoing. Mi corazón.

Tales of an Old Maid

Its been quite a long day. First, I made the grand discovery that I, am old. Ancient. Mummified. Soon to rise from the dead. 
I no longer identify with the ‘younglings’.

I sneer at their verbal t-shirts, and their colorful shoes. Their gigantic caps are beyond me! Fashion, you say? Pah, I reply with disgust.
This language they speak … English? Nay! Jamaican English.. what does that mean?! Don’t ask me; I’m old.

Apart from the chalk-on-blackboard kids, life is grand.

This is the part where I’m supposed to go off about my new beau or new crush, right? Well, not today, and not for a while, either.

Quirkyalone
I came about the word a short while back and oh, the joy! There is an actual word for it! I am a degree less weird because I can identify it with something that didn’t originate from my head.

It being, the state of being single and happy. I hear your collective groan but I ask you to just keep an open mind.

To some people, relationships come naturally. Like a dog to water, they paddle through it like they belong. For some reason, everyone is expected to take to the water, which is quite unfair, don’t you think?     

Some of us are cats; we might as well be allergic to water.  We’re just a match not meant to be.

That’s not to say I’m completely opposed to dating; it’s just best taken in measured doses. If at all.For everyone’s sake, of course. The one time I tried, I crashed the car into the first wall I saw so I guess that tells you something.

For now, I am blissfully single, enjoying the benefits of time for introspection and watching the game from the bench.

On behalf of fellow quirkyalones, I will say that yes, we are quirky. Mainly because we refuse to conform to this standard mould that is expected, and also because we are quirky in the very sense of the word. 

But lets face it, quirkies are like the best people ever! We’re kooky and are not afraid of making a fool of ourselves from time to time, so laughs ahead! 

So if you don’t mind, let me get back to playing bridge and knitting sweaters.

The Illusion of Happiness

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She walks into the room and time stops. All form of conversation is suspended. All thought, forgotten, except her, the elusive creature. She is a vision in her silk champagne gown. It flows gently against her caramel skin. The room sighs longingly.

Elegant. Graceful. Hearts clench in their chests as her lips curve into a captivating smile.
Ties are fastened, breath is checked, dummy conversations are carried out with adjacent mirrors. Here, everyone has a chance to meet with her. Court her, perchance.

Toasts are made and everyone gets a chance to spin her around the room. They make all attempts to charm her and she smiles and giggles into the arms of another.
No one hears her say a word, but in earnest, they don’t even notice. A chance to hold such a diamond, even for a split second, is more than they had ever dreamed.

I sit in a corner and watch them as they fall over each other, trying to impress her.
‘Come home with me,’ one says.
‘Forget him! I will make you the happiest woman alive ‘ another one said.
It was amusing in the beginning but now, it was just sad.
They saw the glamor and promise of grandeur, but they were blind. Literally blind. They were slaves to their own imaginations.

They made cat calls at her, the waitress, which she obligingly responded to. I admit, her dress was quite lovely, but far too tight for a lady her age. Her face was pulled back so much that she had a constant look of surprise! Her skin was so stretched out, you could see the veins running through it. She was indeed a vision; a vision of what a zombie would look like.

But not to them.

I envied them. I really did. They had hope, albeit born out of ignorance, but hope all the same. They saw rainbows, I saw rain. They saw butterflies, I saw flying caterpillars.

I walked out before I crushed their dream. Let them have tonight. Let them hold onto it. They wouldn’t believe me anyway. No one wants the truth when they can have happiness.

Hello August.   

Couch Potato Series: Tujuane

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Tujuane.
You either love the show or hate it. I’m sure everyone has their own thoughts, which they readily share anytime the show is brought up, but here are my two cents.

For those whose humble abode is carved out of the side of a mountain, tujuane is a Kenyan dating show which follows guys through their first date.

I watch tujuane for a number of reasons. One, it offers a glance at the structure of society. The divide between the hustler and the Barbie, the shao and the urbanite, wannabes and those who’re comfortable being themselves.    
Aaand.. the comments tweeps have on twitter are a blast. You’re better off ‘reading’ tujuane on twitter than watching it.

I’ve watched pretty much every episode of the show but I haven’t seen a ‘good’ date yet.
I get that drama gets more views but camuuun!!!! We’ve seen almost 50 dates and well, its been disheartening.
Here’s a thought to the producers; why don’t you give us at least one good date??

A date where both people can speak decent English, not the nail-on-chalkboard jargon that has us grammarnazis, writhing in pain. That’s not too much to ask, is it?

Get guys with wit! We need some interesting conversation!! I’m not saying write a script, just get people who are intelligent and have a sense of humor . That’s good television, if I ever heard of any.

I agree with everyone who’s been calling out for older guys on the show, as opposed to the 20 year old young’ns. Sure, its fun to see them fumbling around, but with time, it gets sad and depressing then downright irritating.  I’m pretty sure we’re at the latter stage.
Sincerely,
Couch potato.           

The Non-Relationship

You noticed him the first time you met. Cute. But it was never going to happen. That kind of guy… he just wouldn’t go for a girl like you. So when he came over to say hi, you tried not to picture the two of you walking down the aisle but it was hard not to, what with his eyes staring into your soul. 

He cracked a joke and made you laugh . You’d already named your second child. Diana, after your grandmother. You make a note to ask him what his grandmother’s name is. Or was.  Baby number three’s name,no doubt.
You exchange numbers and as you turn away, you wonder what kind of an existence you had before him.

In the days that follow, your phone is never far as you anticipate his next text. Goofy smiles and flirty texts, midnight calls and cryptic conversations with you girls. ‘The mystery guy’, they call him.

He becomes your world. You share intimate details of your lives. All the while, you wait. Wait for him to say something.

Does he feel the same? Well he must! Would he pay you so much attention if he didn’t?? He must, you tell yourself.  It’s just a matter of time, right?

If only you could just come out and tell him once and for all. But no, that’s not the way the fairy-tale’s supposed to go. So you wait, losing your sanity with everyday that goes by.     

The sweet thoughts that filled your head turn into poison.There’s the text he sent that definitely shows he’s interested, then he disappears for two weeks?? You roll his words in your mind ;dissecting them. What did he mean?

Then one day you’re walking through town, absently wondering what he might be doing, when he comes into your line of view. He smiles and your world lights up. You put all your doubts aside. Of course he’s into you. You revel in the feel of his arms . You swallow your disappointment when he pulls away. Then he introduces you to his girlfriend.

It takes all you’ve got to keep the smile on your face, but your body’s gone cold . Girlfriend? How?? But .. 
You hate her immediately.
Her gorgeous hair repulses you. Her exceptional fashion taste is disgusting. She’s exactly the kind of girl he’d go for. And he did.

What bites even more is how nice she is. In another world, you would have been great friends. But not in this one.

In that instant, your world is destroyed. You embark on the awkward journey that is getting over a relationship that you were never in .

So who’s fault is it? His? He should have said something, right?          

What about you? You didn’t exactly lay your cards on the table. Oh, a guy’s supposed to say it first?? Well, that’s a good reason to be miserable for a couple of months!

The non-relationship: looks like a duck, walks like one, but its no duck!
So stop chasing it.
Next time it passes by, just ask! The worst thing that could happen is that it quacks.