He doesn't kusaala ko.
Endless prayers, novenas, litanies and threats later, she's still in the same place. Ranting doesn't scare God. She has sent grown men to near-madness with her tantrums. God just looks on and goes,
"Gabriel, come watch. She's learned some new cuss words and stinging phrases."
And then He goes on doing the business of perfecting other people's lives while she falls into a deep, dreamless slumber. Listening to The Script. Danny O'Donoghue. She's thinking of ways to let him know that she'll have his babies, listen to him sing all day and feature in his videos at no cost and tattoo his name onto every available space on her body without sounding too desperate.
Or obsessed.
 |
| Smitten |
She wishes God would make His mind up. That He would find another brilliant hottie to mess around with. But then, how many of those are in existence? Un-roll your eyes, Liz Kobusinge.
The curve balls He's throwing are not good news for her hotness. They kill her smile and dull her witty self.
How can she start being full-time melancholic when the world is used to bubbly and vivacious her? Sigh...
God does things His way. God is not moved by tears or her threats to pile a ladder onto the highest chair possible just to get to heaven, part the skies and shake her fist at Him and tell Him to QUIT trippin'. Enough already.
 |
| First, that chair. |
Why won't you give straight answers? Why are you allocating the not-bright-at-all grey colour to theme her life?
Because while she has sinned-greatly, while she has allowed sloth to get in the way of getting to the very top and while the lusty-thing for Clooney will not go away, she's tried. Real hard.
To believe. And trust. And hope. And be nice to people who write "I am" as "am".
Who knew God did things by the half? That he does something, you thank Him and walk away believing it was divine will at play. Sad maybe, but smug. And comfortable in the knowledge that you just obeyed God.
Then, WHAAAM!!
MAJOR FREAKING WHAAAM.
She was not meant to apologise for walking. She wasn't meant to look into his eyes and see the pain she had caused.
No, she was not meant to kick her strapped ankle and want to die. Because she asked you, God. She did.
The doubts that she might have let go a good thing-albeit all its complexities is not a nice thing to carry around.
She was not supposed to think the dreaded "What if???" at any one point. She was not meant to feel styupeed. But she does. Extremely styupeed.
She should be in self-righteous and its-all-your-fault mode right now. Because it was his fault. He screwed up. Botched the job. Slept on duty. Tripped. He messed up.
Except it turns out, she messed up.
And is blaming it on the Almighty.
 |
| That's just to emphasize the point. Not going to happen. |
But He just goes on going on. Sending cloudy skies on a Friday evening. Because threatening to write bad things about God doesn't shake Him one bit. Mbu, He's been through worse.
So she kulamuzaas.
This drama just cannot go on. Her heart is out of whole pieces to be plucked out and chewed up then given back to her. To try and erase the damage. She is a writer. Not a magician.
She needs clarity. And pain erasing balm. And direction.
She needs to stop getting past him and then having him come back, if only to show her what a mess her mind is.
She needs him around forever. Or gone for good.
In return, she promises to let him go for good. Or try and love him the way a woman should love a man.
She will even make his evening dose of what-it-takes-to-close-a-particularly-bad-day;
She needs closure.
And a gin and tonic.
Ni Furahiide.
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