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

The Things Girls Are Afraid To Say

I couldn’t have put it any better

Thought Catalog

You will look at us with these prying, insisting eyes. You will wonder — possibly out loud — why we feel that we can’t be honest with you about how we’re feeling. We will avoid your glance and say “I’m fine,” even though everyone in the conversation is more than aware that we’re not. In fact, “fine” is a pleasant, distant stasis that we haven’t imagined attaining in longer than we can remember. But when you look at us like that, with those eyes that insist on a kind of honesty we have never felt comfortable displaying, there is no chance that we will answer. We will shake our heads, say “nothing,” and walk away.

We have always been told that this honesty is ugly. We have been afraid, as long as we can remember, of coming across as the girl who is too much all at once. We know…

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BAKE AWARDS

I’ve had the worst writer’s block these last couple of months but today words are flowing with less difficulty.

The BAKE awards are here and yours truly has been nominated in the best creative blog category *cue scream*. I am so thrilled!!! Thank you to all those people who submitted this blog and thank you for believing in me.

I’m nominated alongside Bikozulu, who is like the best blogger this side south of the Sahara and Crazynairobian who, though crazy, lets be honest, we follow the posts religiously.  Then there’s lil ‘ol me in the corner with the ball of string trying to make heads or tails of it.

I’m honored to be named beside such greats. Okay, end of post bye bye, see you next post 🙂 🙂 :)………….

VOTE FOR ME!!! I know its a pipe dream to think I can compete with such heavyweights but only you can give me a fighting chance so kindly vote here .  Ok, now I’m done.        

Losing Mojo

My Mojo’s gone. He disappeared into the still of the night. I don’t know if he went kicking, his scream muffled by the gloved hand of his kidnapper. Could he have been unhappy? Did he pack up his few valuables in search of true joy? Did he run away? From me?

The house is quiet, now that Mojo’s gone, but sometimes it’s like he’s still around . If I think hard enough I can hear him in the kitchen, whipping up a sandwich, or in the living room, flipping restlessly through the channels.

I miss Mojo. If you see him, tell him to come home. Tell him I’m sorry and that I really do love him.
If he was kidnapped, if he is dead … then bring me back his body that I may lay him to rest in peace.        

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.

Me, Myself and Introspection

I had no idea I was missing something! It’s like thinking the world is fuzzy until that ‘aha’ moment that the optician gives you a pair of transcription glasses. I have been running up and down these last few weeks, always rushing somewhere or even to enter the mat before the first raindrop falls so that I don’t pay that extra 40 bob. Then I get home and I’m out like a light.  That’s how October came and went.
Then today happened ..

It’s like a general rule to NEVER ever ever …ever, go to an event alone, right?  As in you bought the ticket, you’ve been psyching up with your pal for months but when that day comes and s/he has gone to shags, you just drag your deflated balloon and your broken heart back to your empty uneventful apartment and wallow. Apparently, this is better than going to an event alone.

My ‘person’ wasn’t getting back to me and my first instinct was just to forget the whole thing (because we all know there’s nothing worse tham having a nice quip wasted on a stone-faced stranger) but at the same time, I really didn’t want to miss it(and thank God I didn’t).

The thing about having earphones that don’t work is that there’s this weird thing that happens that is just so not trending in 2012… self reflection. (That sounds so much better than ‘having a conversation in your head’ 🙂 ).

So I’m walking through town in no particular hurry, not having to keep with any conversation other than the one going on in my head and I felt… happy. Content.

The event was absolutely amazing! If you love the arts and your looking for a place to meet like minded folks, the BOGOF is definitely for you. Today’s event featured the premiere of a great short film called SPILLED which was amazing (have I said that already?).. As in..wah!! (You can’t see how I’m struggling to find words… but I am). It was that good!   

As I lay down to sleep, I realize that I have missed me. I’ve had me all along but somehow in the bustle of life, it’s like we’ve completely forgotten how to talk to each other.
In fact, I’ll start taking me and my lonesome for a nice book/coffee date just for the company.  🙂

Hospital Blues

I’m sitting in a hospital waiting room waiting for my blood test results. They have the AC cranked up so high, I’m wondering why I didn’t carry a sweater. Oh yeah! Maybe its that tiny fact that this is Mombasa, known for its sweltering temperatures.
I’m not big on hospitals. Never have been. I’ve been here now and again for the occasional flu and then there was the time I landed on a glass. No, not glass as you have thought to be grammatically correct. A Glass. In a sentence, ‘a glass of water’.
Long story short, I jumped from the second bunk and crushed a glass under my foot.

I remember sobbing in the waiting room and having folks hold me down as the pieces of glass were being removed. To date, I get a sick feeling in my stomach every time I enter that wing.

I can literally count the number of times I have gone to see a doctor alone ( this clocks 2). My mum actually asked my dad if I’m still young enough to see a paediatrician….. no Mum, I’m not. I suppose I should feel all grown up now with neither of my parents flanking my side, but I don’t. I just feel cold and hungry.