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 😉

How to …. Be Two Hours Late To Work

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It’s been a warped day. For
one, I’m not bored to tears on a Monday morning. Weird!! Aaaand… I was two hours late to court.  Two whole hours!!! And fifteen minutes if you want to be technical. Gasp, I know. How does that happen?? Well, here’s a complete guide to being late to work.

Step One
Get a job. Or just go to school. In this case, law school. Can’t be late for something you don’t have … except of course a period.  Anyway.. 

Step two
Pass just enough to finish second year( no pressure. As are overrated ), then attend clinicals (attachment to the court , as you may call it).

Step three
Get just enough official armour, including just one pair of shoes that go with everything. (Don’t look at me like that )( yes, I’m a girl. Mwanamke si multiple pairs of shoes! )

Step four
Have a cat with a fashion sense that immediately decides that your shoes stink and decides to show you just how much, by pissing on them.

Step five
Wash said cat-piss shoes. Allow them to dry overnight. Wake up the next day to find shoes dry but still strongly scented. Perfume said shoes heavily with your Mama’s special perfume.

Step six
Wake up at the time you’re supposed to be leaving the house. Leave an hour later, when you were supposed to be in court.  

Step seven
Have a father with a keen honker who picks up on the cat piss shoes and insists you need new shoes. Agree, begrudgingly but secretly excited!

Step nine
Go shopping at 9 am, an hour past the time your supposed to be in court

Step nine
Here’s the important bit(the whole process relies on this ): have a small shoe size. One that, for some discriminatory reason, Bata never seems to have a shoe for. Go to three different stores. Settle in the third, for any shoe that fits at all.

Step nine.
Get a tuktuk to court, nervous for the first time the whole morning since your always extra super early. Find that your magistrate isn’t even sitting!!

Step ten
Thank God!! Let your friends rib you for being late. Be ready to tell them the whole story about cat piss shoes. But they don’t ask. Get disappointed. Grab your phone instead and blog about it to people who have no choice but to read( love you guys). Smile and wait for comments. 

Ps if my supervisor is reading this, all accounts in this post are fictionalized and I should not be held liable if you think its referring to any existing person. Saaaay… me .

I’m a good girl, I promise!!! This is the only time! Okay, the last time.

Burnout

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Caring hurts. Such is the folly of the human heart. It brings such joy at first, to be vulnerable,  but with time you realize that you’ve stretched your neck across a chopping board. You’ve given someone a butcher’s knife to hold over your head, hoping they wont drop it.

Its a thrill, knowing you trust a person. But the hand gets tired. Distractions come along, and though they may not mean to do it maliciously, the knife falls.

Disbelief comes first, then anger. Anger can burn for quite a while . But staying angry takes such a toll. Eventually, you tire of the rage game and tell yourself ‘i will never….’.

Being human is such a chore. Sometimes it becomes too much too bear and its just easier not to care.
Its easier to sit in this chair and not move. It’s easier to try not to do anything to disturb the air around me. Its calm and peaceful as it is. No need to mess that up. So I’ll just sit here and be invisible. Its easier.  

Flu Season

It sneaks up on you like a flu. It starts with a sneeze, but you blame the pepper you just added to the sufuria. Then your nose gets stuffed, but its a rather cold morning so you don’t give it a second thought. But the morning you wake up with watery eyes, stuffed-as-a-turkey nose and a sneeze punctuating each minute, you know you’ve got it bad. 

When did it start?
I have no idea.

Did you know it from the start?
Hell no!!

So…. what do you like about him?
Don’t ask me that! I’m still stuck on the fact that I do.

Does he like you?
How should I know? I hope not!

Why?
What do you mean ‘why’?

Why dont you want him to like you?
Because!!

Because?
Because… its complicated.

Hmm..
Don’t give me that!

Well what do you want me to say?
Say,  ‘yeah, that’s good thinking. Its better to leave things as they are. Good catch. Now go forth and conquer the earth. ‘

….I would never say ‘go forth’.
You know what I mean.

So what are you going to do?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Except blog about it.
Shut up! If you weren’t the voice in my head I would totally walk out.

You know you love me .
Shhhh!!!   

Confusion and other Silly Emotions

Its like a leech; a blood-sucking leech attached to my brain, draining it of all sense. I guess it’s more accurate to call it a sense-sucking leech, isn’t it?

Argh! Its driving me crazy!! But the more I struggle, the deeper it sinks it’s fangs. ( does a leech have fangs?! Or is it hooks? What sense-sucking device does this lecherous beast have?! ….see what I mean?).

I sigh in defeat as I grow weak and faint. I thirst for a drop of sense. My lips, chapped, my tongue, a dry carpet.. what form of hell is this?

I fear I have lost it; my sanity. I don’t even remember what it looks like. If I remember, I will pin it up on the notice board. Please, if you have seen my sanity ( in whatever form she may be in) kindly tell her to come home. There’ll be a warm glass of milk and a fresh batch of cookies, let her know. I wont be mad. I promise.
 
Its agony. But can agony be beautiful? If it can, then I’m enthralled. Sometimes, (you know, when I breathe) I don’t hate the leech as much as I should. Sometimes, its kinda, you know, not a bother.
But it has to go,right? If only because leeches suck (teehee). And maybe because it’s killing me?          

Table for One

They never stay for dinner; you learn that the hard way. There’s always a plan to leave. Doesn’t matter how many hours you slaved in the kitchen, making the perfect meal. Even if you do get to set it on the table, all they’ll do is nibble at it. And then they’ll find their way out the door. That’s just the way it is.

Takes a few times to learn this, but sometimes all it takes is one time. Just one time to look at the empty chair across you and the banquet you had set, watching it grow colder by the minute, knowing all that effort and food was all for nought. Sometimes, once is enough.   

You learn to love them while they’re there; for the moment. You laugh and make memories but you note when they start to glance at their watch, when they’re gaze starts to linger at the door, when their foot taps incessantly… you learn to know when its time to let them go.

You learn not to cook for an army and instead, give a simple spread of tea ad biscuits. Sometimes they’re hungry so a crumpet or two would suffice. Put your jam and honey on the table; no one can resist those. It’ll give them enough energy to leave.

You learn not to close the door when they enter, rather, leaving if open.  You learn to give, not to expect. You learn that after they leave, and you know they will leave, how to set a table for one.

Big Beautiful

It’s a beautiful night out my window and I wish to speak you tonight.
But the selfish clouds, the oh-so selfish clouds hide you within their cotton folds.
Let the moon out, I beg, let me ask the questions that plague my heart tonight.
Let me see its mysterious glow, it’s glow that holds the secrets of a thousand hearts.
‘How many whisper their hearts to you tonight?’, I would ask.
If I could see the moon I would inquire of the lies I tell myself, or are they even lies?
If I could look into the sky and see that big, beautiful ball, I would ask if it’s lonely being up in the sky all alone.
If the moon could see me, it would say, ‘ not lonelier than the girl who only shows her heart to the moon.’