I have not written, well typed in the longest time. I have written though. On paper. I have gone back to writing the way I used to know it. Maybe its because of this job that requires I jot down just about everything. There are post-it notes around me. Two work notebooks. Two fill-my-bags-all-the-time personal ones. Filled with to-do lists, bucket lists, blogs to read, books to buy...and then the real words. Phrases that drift by during hour-long briefings. Sentences that come through while I try to re-word pages-long work files. Paragraphs that I sneak in during the first 20 minutes of the lunch break.
There are scattered and incoherent lines all over my notebooks.
I am writing the way I used to write in high school and at university. I wrote on the covers, mid-pages of my class work books.On my palms. That used to infuriate my mother.
Now I buy my own clothes, so I take more care.
Words are the only constant in my life. Even when I behave in a way that makes Blair Wolforf seem pretty tame, they never leave. They are not like my sleep patterns which are highly unpredictable. Nowhere to be found all night, all over my face at 10am.
Also, I have the world's bestest bestie.
She sent me a link to some of the most beautiful writings I have come across. Not the heady-in-your-face kind, no. The...flutter-by, settle-upon and touch-the-most-core-parts-of-you sort.
So I read a poem. I read it and just sat there...staring. Re-reading. Wondering. How someone else could capture so clearly, so simply and yet so honestly, your entire mesh of fears, insecurities, worries and lonely thoughts. How another woman on another continent probably sat down to write about herself and ended up writing about me and several other women. How another woman put pen to paper and brought to life all the aches, all the self-doubting questions, all the years of masking, of trying to be..."normal"...just so someone (usually, some man), could love you. Could accept you.
Could stop to try changing the chaotic mind and not-willing-to-be changed spirit that is you.
There are women who are born..."normal". They're pretty.
And soft.
They play keep-house. They like dolls(urrrghhh). They don't question. They are quiet. They dance without barely moving a limb.
Then, there are the women who always grabbed at the pens in their father's shirt-pockets. They played scrabble. They could not understand dolls. They understood books. A LOT. They found peace in their solitude because it was easier. Easier to lock yourself in your cousin's room at her birthday party and read a good book, because the other girls are playing house and dear Lord, that ish was just so common, so dull, so exhausting, so un-original. Francine Pascal was your best friend. And Elizabeth Wakefield was the character you felt closest to.
And when you started to dance....
Some women are born to have it easy.
God gives them the traits that make it easy to love them.
Lucky, lucky women.
Some women burst onto the planet with so much energy, searing passion and the inability to master the art of slowing down.
Fast walking. Fast reading. Fast writing of class work so they could go back to Enid Blyton.
Wonder how I got the scar under my left eye.
Then the world asks them to stop. When they don't listen, it punishes them and says it will hurt them some more if they do NOT stop.
Bruises. Scars. Permanent sadness. Constant failure to settle in. Majority of your friends are boys. They don't try to make you giggly.
Until they start to bring on the pain.
The worst sort.
You fight and damn near defeat the demons that nearly snuffed the life outta your spirit, only for the people you think will help fan them to full brightness to walk in and stamp out the small, delicate embers you'd began to light.
You shut out anyone with the makings of a light dimmer, you let in people who you believe get you.
And then, you hurt them. Badly.
Your entire world is falling apart and you hurt the one person you probably need around the most.
For the first time in over four years, you break down and cry. And the only person you tell this is the one who walks away. The one person whose hug you need the most will not give you their shoulder.
But you hurt them. So why would they want to make your day a bit brighter?
Because you would never walk away at the time when they most need you.
Because you tried.
Because you were in pain.
Because you opened yourself up at your most vulnerable and told them you were d.y.i.n.g.
Because you're styupeed.
Because walking should NOT be that easy.
Because you're searching for the pain that you thought would consume you and its not there.
Because you met a stranger, a woman who called you beautiful.
She said you deserved deep, committed, will-last-through-the-ugly-days sort of love.
She told you to wipe the pain from your eyes. To let the hurt go. She said you needed to forgive yourself.
She reminded you that you deserved to be happy.
Good, bad, perfectly put together, t-shirt and sweats, hair perfectly coiffured, messy tousles, you deserved to be loved and cared for and worried over.
No half measures.
And you believed her :-) Really, you did.
Then your bestie sent you the link and you thank God for the constants. For the friends that never go away.
You make each day easier, prettier, smile-ier and I am a lucky woman.
Difficult to love on some days. Easy on others.
Deserving love on all.
"For women who are "difficult" to love"- Warsan Shire( Look for the poem. Its the "For colored girls" of 2012.)
Moe.
With love.
Showing posts with label Friendship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Friendship. Show all posts
Friday, January 6, 2012
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
On the wrong side of right. I think.
Passion. Fate. Friendship. Depth. Intimacy.
Bloody, majorly sucky timimg.
Confused? Me too. Join the party.
Welcome to the elements that have conspired to make me giddy happy and indescribably sad at a go. No. The elememts that conspired against me and have slowly but surely and successfully managed to create a sad, achey albeit happy tale.
And the gods. You have to give it to them. At least, I do.
You win. I allow. You take the gold. For a chance at a beautiful and amazing...thing. For lack of a better word because"relationship" feels like I'm cheating. Lying to myself. Being stupidly and mouse-like blind.
FATE IS A WOMAN.
And when I finally do get to meet her, I will not kick or yell at her. I will bow down at her feet. Confess my boundless admiration for the bitch the bitch is/ can be. Then, I'll calmly ask to be her protege. Right after I have learnt all her sick, heart-breaking, dream-busting and happiness-busting tricks, I will throw her off her high and lofty throne, make her human and wreck malicious havoc on her life. I'll let her live long so till the day she dies, I can still mess her up.
Also, I will mess up other humans. I am a woman please. Fate shall just be my biggest project.
What do you do when you have to let someone go? Someone whose only crime is...perfection? Not angel-like, I've-neve-sinned-a-day-in-my-life sort of perfection.
No. Can anyone stand that?
I mean...someone who is a perfect fit to you? Quirks, perks, issues, inch-high temper, semi-craziness, major vulnerablity, sickness that seems to have picked the last three months to pay continous visits to your system...how do you come ladden with all this, and still find someone who without a doubt cares deeply for you?
How do you finally find friendship, support, laughter, brilliance that quite easily beats your own (which by the way, is major. Ahem.), and not be able to have it?
You convince yourself that all the people who could possibly get your outrageous mind are all taken or...dead...(RIP Mae West.)
You meet some of these people and you start to finally feel you belong. But what fate doesn't tell you is that, this person will get you. This person will go from being a make-work more interesting mate to...the person who for the first time in your entire dating/ flinging/ semi-love history that you will let yourself be vulnerable with. Not over flat tyres.
Over things you previously thought would either scare people away or not have their gravity understood. So you spend the day puking out your innards from the latest migraine attack, you spend the day with your dreams on the collapsing train because your work is not fun anymore, but tell your significant other you're fine.
Because you worry that telling him about the migraine from hell or the asthma attack from...out of the blue will scare him away...or that he'll give an arse-like answer to lost-job-love such as" at least you have a job...some people..."
I am NOT vying for sainthood. When I'm in the down and low zone, I don't want reminders of my luck at my being employed. I want support. And understanding. And attempts to make me smile. And practical help; point me in the direction of something that will make me love Public Relations again.
And then fate comes a-calling. She doesn't knock, the ill-mannered woman. She glides in. Un-noticed. One of only few females who don't love attention. She'll patch onto your shoulder and right when you think you've made another great friend, Fate telepath-messages Cupid...and the two busy-bodies proceed to entangle you in a twist so viciously calculated, you want to tell professors to revise calculus syllabi.
Fate and her friends create better and more complex puzzles and problems.
When you have spent your entire life masking your weaknesses, when you have been the first born that's not allowed to cry or make mistakes or be a child because well, you are a first born, when you have hidden the intensity of some of your illnesses from even your closest friends because you will not let them see you cry and turn red from horrible headaches...you get accustomed to that.
You become the perfect first born. The friend who tries to thoroughly love and protect all her friends and the daughter who makes her mama sunny-bright proud of her.
You forget with the years, how it feels like to cry. Over the breaking of your favourite CD. You forget how it feels to be weak and human because you don't know how your friends will react to you crying. Not at a funeral. But over a bad day, a love that wasn't love at all. A job that's starting to suffocate you.
You forget what it's like to be a woman. You click your heels and be witty and proceed to best-friend God.
But God doesn't text. Or hug-lift you off the ground. Or check on your currently skiddy health.
God doesn't make you feel things you last felt with the release of Twilight 1.
God doesn't make you smile silly, silly smiles all day, all week and not be scared to be thought cuckoo by your workmates.
God allows you to be vulnerable. He does.
In the dark of your bed room or in a quiet, peaceful chapel.
But then, you have spent the last 20+ years suffering from the God-complex. You are tired of closed-room break downs. You are fed up with being damn strong. You're done masking throbbing migraines because you don't want to be the party pooper and have dates and friends leave early.
You're done.
So you slowly let in this person. You breed a monster as you let your usually stoic self show sides to you not even your closest friends have seen. You become a pile of major, jelly-like mush and somehow, somehow you're not self-conscious, or mentally dissing yourself for being...that way.
You're being silly but happy. You're caring about someone but you're being cared for as well. Sometimes, even more. You're excited but you're also calm. Because unlike most of your past closeness-building scenarios, this one has a great deal of solid about it. So even when for whatever reason you go a day without talking, you don't spend hours analysing all the possible ways you could have screwed up and gotten un-attractive over night.
You try to be a better person because you are imperfect and sometimes hurt and annoy this person but you're not scared of screwing up.
Because while said person doesn't take your...errr...crap, they also don't de-mean you in an attempt at bringing maturity into your sometimes childish self.
This is when Fate sweeps in and does a number on you. A major, number that leaves you up at 3am listening to Christina Perri and telling your heart that heart ache and loss are around the corner, she'd better get prepared (at least this time you saw it coming), you try to mentally prepare for the time when this person has to be set free, you tell yourself that God, the universe, has a better person in store.
But this is as better as it gets. I think.
Fate leads you to an amazing being of a man. And then Fate says you can't have him.
You smile but are ambushed by constant, subtle and sometimes loud reminders that this has a shelf-life. You attempt to cry but wah. Nada. Tears deserted you ages ago.
All you have are your words. Even those somehow fail you for weeks on end.
So you give up the battle to get answers from deities and gods who play let's screw-up-unsuspecting-humans games for fun. You convince yourself that the person in store for you will rock majorly more than this.
But you also can't help thinking..."What if I'm one of those people? what if the rest of my life is going to be a movie sound-tracked by Hinder's Lips of an angel?
Just, what if...this is as close as I get to almost.....(GULP) falling in love?
The real deal?"
Because while you're quite happy with what you have, you're not brave enough to fall all the way.
Some wounds never quite heal.
Some scars never quite fade away.
The break from such a fall would leave some massive injuries. And tell-tale scars.
You sit at your work desk and pour your emotional mess onto your blog because you do not want to even think of talking to any of your friends about this.
Not because they're not amazing friends or because they will judge you and be cynical.
They will hug you, and check on you every 5 minutes, but most of all, they will see you vulnerable.
And you don't do vulnerable well. Well...with some people, you actually do.
So you stop youself from fearing the future. You know you will be okay. Somehow.
You have horrible days and lonely, scared nights because you know you're the running sort who's not above sending a 4am "I can't do this anymore" text.
Because you do want to do this.
You make peace with the fact that, a good number of years from now, you will be happily married and mothering some beautiful children but might occassionally think of this person.
And what could have been.
Then you'll sit your children down and tell them of life's real issues. Not Harvard graduates whom they should emulate or your success which they should strive to achive.
The real problems, the real issues, are the ones you're never prepared for.
And the worst of the lot are the ones that come coated with bitter-sweet icing.
The ones that come bearing inexplicable complexities and make you question your creator. And His sometimes not-funny-way of doing things.
The real problems are the ones where smiles and aches quite easily go together.
And bear equal intensity.
Also, and most of all, you thank God and the universe.
Even you, Fate. Eh? You rightfully deserve a mention.
You thank the powers that run this universe for all things deep, tender, sweet, mushy, strong, caring, brilliant.
You thank them for wrapping this in 6'1 feet of darkness and awesomeness.
Then you post this. And go home. To lonely thoughts. And Christina Perri.
For...
You know yourself.
And to my friends; I shall not be taking or answering any questions.
This time, let me be.
Please.
Especially you, Yasmin. (that is said with love.)
Moe.
Bloody, majorly sucky timimg.
Confused? Me too. Join the party.
Welcome to the elements that have conspired to make me giddy happy and indescribably sad at a go. No. The elememts that conspired against me and have slowly but surely and successfully managed to create a sad, achey albeit happy tale.
And the gods. You have to give it to them. At least, I do.
You win. I allow. You take the gold. For a chance at a beautiful and amazing...thing. For lack of a better word because"relationship" feels like I'm cheating. Lying to myself. Being stupidly and mouse-like blind.
FATE IS A WOMAN.
And when I finally do get to meet her, I will not kick or yell at her. I will bow down at her feet. Confess my boundless admiration for the bitch the bitch is/ can be. Then, I'll calmly ask to be her protege. Right after I have learnt all her sick, heart-breaking, dream-busting and happiness-busting tricks, I will throw her off her high and lofty throne, make her human and wreck malicious havoc on her life. I'll let her live long so till the day she dies, I can still mess her up.
Also, I will mess up other humans. I am a woman please. Fate shall just be my biggest project.
What do you do when you have to let someone go? Someone whose only crime is...perfection? Not angel-like, I've-neve-sinned-a-day-in-my-life sort of perfection.
No. Can anyone stand that?
I mean...someone who is a perfect fit to you? Quirks, perks, issues, inch-high temper, semi-craziness, major vulnerablity, sickness that seems to have picked the last three months to pay continous visits to your system...how do you come ladden with all this, and still find someone who without a doubt cares deeply for you?
How do you finally find friendship, support, laughter, brilliance that quite easily beats your own (which by the way, is major. Ahem.), and not be able to have it?
You convince yourself that all the people who could possibly get your outrageous mind are all taken or...dead...(RIP Mae West.)
You meet some of these people and you start to finally feel you belong. But what fate doesn't tell you is that, this person will get you. This person will go from being a make-work more interesting mate to...the person who for the first time in your entire dating/ flinging/ semi-love history that you will let yourself be vulnerable with. Not over flat tyres.
Over things you previously thought would either scare people away or not have their gravity understood. So you spend the day puking out your innards from the latest migraine attack, you spend the day with your dreams on the collapsing train because your work is not fun anymore, but tell your significant other you're fine.
Because you worry that telling him about the migraine from hell or the asthma attack from...out of the blue will scare him away...or that he'll give an arse-like answer to lost-job-love such as" at least you have a job...some people..."
I am NOT vying for sainthood. When I'm in the down and low zone, I don't want reminders of my luck at my being employed. I want support. And understanding. And attempts to make me smile. And practical help; point me in the direction of something that will make me love Public Relations again.
And then fate comes a-calling. She doesn't knock, the ill-mannered woman. She glides in. Un-noticed. One of only few females who don't love attention. She'll patch onto your shoulder and right when you think you've made another great friend, Fate telepath-messages Cupid...and the two busy-bodies proceed to entangle you in a twist so viciously calculated, you want to tell professors to revise calculus syllabi.
Fate and her friends create better and more complex puzzles and problems.
When you have spent your entire life masking your weaknesses, when you have been the first born that's not allowed to cry or make mistakes or be a child because well, you are a first born, when you have hidden the intensity of some of your illnesses from even your closest friends because you will not let them see you cry and turn red from horrible headaches...you get accustomed to that.
You become the perfect first born. The friend who tries to thoroughly love and protect all her friends and the daughter who makes her mama sunny-bright proud of her.
You forget with the years, how it feels like to cry. Over the breaking of your favourite CD. You forget how it feels to be weak and human because you don't know how your friends will react to you crying. Not at a funeral. But over a bad day, a love that wasn't love at all. A job that's starting to suffocate you.
You forget what it's like to be a woman. You click your heels and be witty and proceed to best-friend God.
But God doesn't text. Or hug-lift you off the ground. Or check on your currently skiddy health.
God doesn't make you feel things you last felt with the release of Twilight 1.
God doesn't make you smile silly, silly smiles all day, all week and not be scared to be thought cuckoo by your workmates.
God allows you to be vulnerable. He does.
In the dark of your bed room or in a quiet, peaceful chapel.
But then, you have spent the last 20+ years suffering from the God-complex. You are tired of closed-room break downs. You are fed up with being damn strong. You're done masking throbbing migraines because you don't want to be the party pooper and have dates and friends leave early.
You're done.
So you slowly let in this person. You breed a monster as you let your usually stoic self show sides to you not even your closest friends have seen. You become a pile of major, jelly-like mush and somehow, somehow you're not self-conscious, or mentally dissing yourself for being...that way.
You're being silly but happy. You're caring about someone but you're being cared for as well. Sometimes, even more. You're excited but you're also calm. Because unlike most of your past closeness-building scenarios, this one has a great deal of solid about it. So even when for whatever reason you go a day without talking, you don't spend hours analysing all the possible ways you could have screwed up and gotten un-attractive over night.
You try to be a better person because you are imperfect and sometimes hurt and annoy this person but you're not scared of screwing up.
Because while said person doesn't take your...errr...crap, they also don't de-mean you in an attempt at bringing maturity into your sometimes childish self.
This is when Fate sweeps in and does a number on you. A major, number that leaves you up at 3am listening to Christina Perri and telling your heart that heart ache and loss are around the corner, she'd better get prepared (at least this time you saw it coming), you try to mentally prepare for the time when this person has to be set free, you tell yourself that God, the universe, has a better person in store.
But this is as better as it gets. I think.
Fate leads you to an amazing being of a man. And then Fate says you can't have him.
You smile but are ambushed by constant, subtle and sometimes loud reminders that this has a shelf-life. You attempt to cry but wah. Nada. Tears deserted you ages ago.
All you have are your words. Even those somehow fail you for weeks on end.
So you give up the battle to get answers from deities and gods who play let's screw-up-unsuspecting-humans games for fun. You convince yourself that the person in store for you will rock majorly more than this.
But you also can't help thinking..."What if I'm one of those people? what if the rest of my life is going to be a movie sound-tracked by Hinder's Lips of an angel?
Just, what if...this is as close as I get to almost.....(GULP) falling in love?
The real deal?"
Because while you're quite happy with what you have, you're not brave enough to fall all the way.
Some wounds never quite heal.
Some scars never quite fade away.
The break from such a fall would leave some massive injuries. And tell-tale scars.
You sit at your work desk and pour your emotional mess onto your blog because you do not want to even think of talking to any of your friends about this.
Not because they're not amazing friends or because they will judge you and be cynical.
They will hug you, and check on you every 5 minutes, but most of all, they will see you vulnerable.
And you don't do vulnerable well. Well...with some people, you actually do.
So you stop youself from fearing the future. You know you will be okay. Somehow.
You have horrible days and lonely, scared nights because you know you're the running sort who's not above sending a 4am "I can't do this anymore" text.
Because you do want to do this.
You make peace with the fact that, a good number of years from now, you will be happily married and mothering some beautiful children but might occassionally think of this person.
And what could have been.
Then you'll sit your children down and tell them of life's real issues. Not Harvard graduates whom they should emulate or your success which they should strive to achive.
The real problems, the real issues, are the ones you're never prepared for.
And the worst of the lot are the ones that come coated with bitter-sweet icing.
The ones that come bearing inexplicable complexities and make you question your creator. And His sometimes not-funny-way of doing things.
The real problems are the ones where smiles and aches quite easily go together.
And bear equal intensity.
Also, and most of all, you thank God and the universe.
Even you, Fate. Eh? You rightfully deserve a mention.
You thank the powers that run this universe for all things deep, tender, sweet, mushy, strong, caring, brilliant.
You thank them for wrapping this in 6'1 feet of darkness and awesomeness.
Then you post this. And go home. To lonely thoughts. And Christina Perri.
For...
You know yourself.
And to my friends; I shall not be taking or answering any questions.
This time, let me be.
Please.
Especially you, Yasmin. (that is said with love.)
Moe.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Hold me. Embrace me. Intoxicate me...; On Support Systems.
I am a deeply stoic being. But I am also a vulnerable woman.
The trials, the life-punches-the first-bornism, the-never ending appearance of pain, hurt, disappointment and inhumanity have made me stoic. What are you going to do when the would-be-love-of-your-life is already taken?
She is lucky, the one that got him first. In the next life, not only will I beat her to him, I will get into and fill his entire system until kryptonite begs to be re-defined.
I met a man I like. Really like. Except this man was a surprise-like. Here I was, trying to forget Mr.-But-are-you-back-for-good-or-not-out of my life or into it?( It is complicated. Very. Extremely), and he appears.
Not a single romantic or lusty thought towards that man. None. Just total admiration for the brilliance that he is.
P.S- Did I mention that brilliant, brilliant and gifted men do hazardous things to my system? I am sorry, Mr. Pretty-as-a-pin. Brains. Not chiseled jaws.
There was a time in my life not so far back, when everything seemed to be falling apart. My dreams were draining the life out of me, the man who never leaves me had just made a re-appearance, the corporate world was showing its ass-holey side; brilliance, not-so-bad-looks and talent don't get you up the corporate ladder. They get you on the wrong side of the dumb, ugly, unflattering-walking and flat behind-ed bitch who has mastered the art of spotting betterness a mile away, and smothering it.
Don't smirk too long, witch. I am gifted. The gods favoured me. And the hips help.
Two years, and I will be bringing the Blair Waldorf in me to life. I'll make Waldorf seem like a very, very, bad amateur. And God, will I B.Y.A.T.C.H.. .
Oh, you didn't know? I don't forgive and forget. I remember. And plan. And stick my heel into your heart.
I can hardly wait.
The world is such that even the we who consider ourselves strong and hardened and able-to-face-anything, we the ones who will smile when every bit of ourselves is crumbling apart, the world is made in a way that even we, we fall.
Hard. Bad. We swerve off course so suddenly and at such full speed, that no one sees it coming. When people like me hit rock bottom, it is NOT rock bottom. It is the part beneath the layer underneath the section that holds the parts that support rock bottom.
It is horrific. You watch yourself fall apart daily, you watch your self intoxicate with substances you know for a fact will not make things better, you turn off your phones, go to the bar and further self-destruct. You laugh and dance with your friends and hope, pray, that one-just one friend will glimpse the death that now resides in your eyes but your friends do not. Not because they don't care, but because you, the perfect actress has learnt to layer the death in her eyes with the light she wants the world to see.
And light, they will see.
Until one of them approaches dangerous territory. And asks. "Are you okay?"
And the ego-ess that you have bred so well jumps to attention, to declare how you've never been better...but somehow the heart, that precious thing you have silenced for so long, with one last effort, shuts Miss Ego up and says," No, I am not okay. I have not been okay in months. And I am perilously close to falling off the edge. No, Sarah, I am not okay."
Ladies and gentlemen, I am a masker. My pain and hurt discovered they are happier hiding in gin bottles. Not friends' shoulders. But pain and hurt didn't count on Sarah Nsubuga. My recently-found soul mate(yes, the relationship was rushed. Feelings do those things to you.)
So, this post is to thank the women who have held me up for the last four months of my life. Women who have IM-d me, texted me, cancelled appointments to speak sense and encouragement into me, women who have gotten me intoxicated because at the time, that is ALL I wanted. And women who have and still are slowly, but surely leading me back to God.
Acan Sara and Kahunde Lauryne.
My big sisters. Who get me fed, then totally drunk. We talk men,and life, and work and God...and Faith. We dance to Mark Morrison and whomever old school musician that Steak Out decides to play at rock night.
I feel for those two bar men who always serve us. We have scandalized them to levels I dare not analyse.
But I really don't care if their prim& poor-service selves have been open to conversations strictly-meant-for-bridal-showers.
I have had two of the world's best biggest sisters with me during some of the crappiest moments of this year.
The bar men shall live.
Akiiki Tuhaise.
Thank you Akiiki, for cooking me the most delicious meals....and concocting those deliriously-mind-altering cocktails while I lazily watch your TV.
Thank you for letting me feel secure in the knowledge that I am not alone-in my ability to beef, block out people and not feel a thing about it. Banange, that helped. The thought that I was the only being capable of such hardness was not so light a burden.
Now there is me, and you and all those intoxicants.
I heart you immensely, Akiiki.
For giving this first born the chance to be baby-ied.
Bisous.
Aimle Caroline and Melanie Kaita.
Two best friends who couldn't possibly be any more different.
Two brilliant, brilliant, gifted and crazy women.
Two women who love the LORD so much and who have subtlety, sarcastically, mercilessly, relentlessly and effort-fully led me back to God.
Most things in life happen for a reason. Meeting these women was one of them. Out of what would have otherwise been a disastrous situation, came the relentless push to pursue my dreams. The real ones. Not the ones the world I thought I should pursue.
At a time when walls were crumbling and life-long securities were losing their sheltering abilities, came in these two women. Armed with the strength of battalions and the energy of the Red Bull making factory. I swear.
Giving me books to read, showing me how to pray, praying with me, re-minding me of who I really am.
Minus the heels, and lipstick and wit.
I am my father's child. And for this year, this has been the greatest reminder.
Mela. Carol.
Thank you. For not taking my insecurities and worries and fears lightly. For knowing about the horrors that plague my life but still looking at me through un-tainted eyes. For laughing, scolding and teaching. For constantly checking on me.
For being my friends.
Sarah Nsubuga Senyonyi
My Mere to me-Yang.
That is from Grey's anatomy. Sarah is happily married so I had to find a spot that hadn't been taken yet. He is the love of her life.
I am her soul mate. Shared love of all things meaty, a bit of snobbishness, deep love for well-written books and the friendly-but-serious competition to be Maya Angelou in the next life. Or meet her first in this one.
Have I mentioned that she cooks like a charm?( Lucky love of her life)
Sarah and I have one of those unexpected friendships.
But the things I tell this woman....are things I have failed to tell some of my longest-lasting friends.
Maybe it helps that she sits next to me( We work for the same company), or maybe it's because, unlike the rest of the world that sees me in heels and passes judgement, she sees me in heels, lipstick, singing to weird rock music and still looks at the woman behind it.
For a Christian woman to know my flaws, my recurring mistakes, my erroneous decisions but still support me unconditionally, rub the injuries when once again, I shoot myself in the foot and to believe in me enough- to encourage me to take the paths that will better me, reward me and give life back to my passion.
For a woman of high such high and unshakable principles, to know the dirty on me, and still be my Meredith-loving, unassuming, and tough when necessary, I can only say....Thank you, O so very much.
I love You.
And I promise not to show up at your bedroom door, semi-depressed and ask Mr. to push over, or go to the couch. ;-)
My control systems, my sanity re-storers, my red-coloured hair and Joshua Radin addicted guardians, my party sisters...Thank You.
Without you, rehab for me might be a very real possibility right now.
Love. Love. And, more Love.
"I have been alone, when I am surrounded by friends,
how could the silence be so loud???
But I still go on-knowing that I have got you...."
"Ave Maria"
Beyonce Knowles.
The trials, the life-punches-the first-bornism, the-never ending appearance of pain, hurt, disappointment and inhumanity have made me stoic. What are you going to do when the would-be-love-of-your-life is already taken?
She is lucky, the one that got him first. In the next life, not only will I beat her to him, I will get into and fill his entire system until kryptonite begs to be re-defined.
I met a man I like. Really like. Except this man was a surprise-like. Here I was, trying to forget Mr.-But-are-you-back-for-good-or-not-out of my life or into it?( It is complicated. Very. Extremely), and he appears.
Not a single romantic or lusty thought towards that man. None. Just total admiration for the brilliance that he is.
P.S- Did I mention that brilliant, brilliant and gifted men do hazardous things to my system? I am sorry, Mr. Pretty-as-a-pin. Brains. Not chiseled jaws.
There was a time in my life not so far back, when everything seemed to be falling apart. My dreams were draining the life out of me, the man who never leaves me had just made a re-appearance, the corporate world was showing its ass-holey side; brilliance, not-so-bad-looks and talent don't get you up the corporate ladder. They get you on the wrong side of the dumb, ugly, unflattering-walking and flat behind-ed bitch who has mastered the art of spotting betterness a mile away, and smothering it.
Don't smirk too long, witch. I am gifted. The gods favoured me. And the hips help.
Two years, and I will be bringing the Blair Waldorf in me to life. I'll make Waldorf seem like a very, very, bad amateur. And God, will I B.Y.A.T.C.H.. .
Oh, you didn't know? I don't forgive and forget. I remember. And plan. And stick my heel into your heart.
I can hardly wait.
The world is such that even the we who consider ourselves strong and hardened and able-to-face-anything, we the ones who will smile when every bit of ourselves is crumbling apart, the world is made in a way that even we, we fall.
Hard. Bad. We swerve off course so suddenly and at such full speed, that no one sees it coming. When people like me hit rock bottom, it is NOT rock bottom. It is the part beneath the layer underneath the section that holds the parts that support rock bottom.
It is horrific. You watch yourself fall apart daily, you watch your self intoxicate with substances you know for a fact will not make things better, you turn off your phones, go to the bar and further self-destruct. You laugh and dance with your friends and hope, pray, that one-just one friend will glimpse the death that now resides in your eyes but your friends do not. Not because they don't care, but because you, the perfect actress has learnt to layer the death in her eyes with the light she wants the world to see.
And light, they will see.
Until one of them approaches dangerous territory. And asks. "Are you okay?"
And the ego-ess that you have bred so well jumps to attention, to declare how you've never been better...but somehow the heart, that precious thing you have silenced for so long, with one last effort, shuts Miss Ego up and says," No, I am not okay. I have not been okay in months. And I am perilously close to falling off the edge. No, Sarah, I am not okay."
Ladies and gentlemen, I am a masker. My pain and hurt discovered they are happier hiding in gin bottles. Not friends' shoulders. But pain and hurt didn't count on Sarah Nsubuga. My recently-found soul mate(yes, the relationship was rushed. Feelings do those things to you.)
So, this post is to thank the women who have held me up for the last four months of my life. Women who have IM-d me, texted me, cancelled appointments to speak sense and encouragement into me, women who have gotten me intoxicated because at the time, that is ALL I wanted. And women who have and still are slowly, but surely leading me back to God.
Acan Sara and Kahunde Lauryne.
My big sisters. Who get me fed, then totally drunk. We talk men,and life, and work and God...and Faith. We dance to Mark Morrison and whomever old school musician that Steak Out decides to play at rock night.
I feel for those two bar men who always serve us. We have scandalized them to levels I dare not analyse.
But I really don't care if their prim& poor-service selves have been open to conversations strictly-meant-for-bridal-showers.
I have had two of the world's best biggest sisters with me during some of the crappiest moments of this year.
The bar men shall live.
Akiiki Tuhaise.
Thank you Akiiki, for cooking me the most delicious meals....and concocting those deliriously-mind-altering cocktails while I lazily watch your TV.
Thank you for letting me feel secure in the knowledge that I am not alone-in my ability to beef, block out people and not feel a thing about it. Banange, that helped. The thought that I was the only being capable of such hardness was not so light a burden.
Now there is me, and you and all those intoxicants.
I heart you immensely, Akiiki.
For giving this first born the chance to be baby-ied.
Bisous.
Aimle Caroline and Melanie Kaita.
Two best friends who couldn't possibly be any more different.
Two brilliant, brilliant, gifted and crazy women.
Two women who love the LORD so much and who have subtlety, sarcastically, mercilessly, relentlessly and effort-fully led me back to God.
Most things in life happen for a reason. Meeting these women was one of them. Out of what would have otherwise been a disastrous situation, came the relentless push to pursue my dreams. The real ones. Not the ones the world I thought I should pursue.
At a time when walls were crumbling and life-long securities were losing their sheltering abilities, came in these two women. Armed with the strength of battalions and the energy of the Red Bull making factory. I swear.
Giving me books to read, showing me how to pray, praying with me, re-minding me of who I really am.
Minus the heels, and lipstick and wit.
I am my father's child. And for this year, this has been the greatest reminder.
Mela. Carol.
Thank you. For not taking my insecurities and worries and fears lightly. For knowing about the horrors that plague my life but still looking at me through un-tainted eyes. For laughing, scolding and teaching. For constantly checking on me.
For being my friends.
Sarah Nsubuga Senyonyi
My Mere to me-Yang.
That is from Grey's anatomy. Sarah is happily married so I had to find a spot that hadn't been taken yet. He is the love of her life.
I am her soul mate. Shared love of all things meaty, a bit of snobbishness, deep love for well-written books and the friendly-but-serious competition to be Maya Angelou in the next life. Or meet her first in this one.
Have I mentioned that she cooks like a charm?( Lucky love of her life)
Sarah and I have one of those unexpected friendships.
But the things I tell this woman....are things I have failed to tell some of my longest-lasting friends.
Maybe it helps that she sits next to me( We work for the same company), or maybe it's because, unlike the rest of the world that sees me in heels and passes judgement, she sees me in heels, lipstick, singing to weird rock music and still looks at the woman behind it.
For a Christian woman to know my flaws, my recurring mistakes, my erroneous decisions but still support me unconditionally, rub the injuries when once again, I shoot myself in the foot and to believe in me enough- to encourage me to take the paths that will better me, reward me and give life back to my passion.
For a woman of high such high and unshakable principles, to know the dirty on me, and still be my Meredith-loving, unassuming, and tough when necessary, I can only say....Thank you, O so very much.
I love You.
And I promise not to show up at your bedroom door, semi-depressed and ask Mr. to push over, or go to the couch. ;-)
My control systems, my sanity re-storers, my red-coloured hair and Joshua Radin addicted guardians, my party sisters...Thank You.
Without you, rehab for me might be a very real possibility right now.
Love. Love. And, more Love.
"I have been alone, when I am surrounded by friends,
how could the silence be so loud???
But I still go on-knowing that I have got you...."
"Ave Maria"
Beyonce Knowles.
Friday, September 2, 2011
THE STATE OF ME.
So my new lady love whom I gushed about in a previous post asked me to whip up a post on THE STATE OF ME.
Its part of a blogging meme started by http://angelakintu.com/ , another blogger. And because I welcome any excuse to gush about my tres hot and vivacious self, I jumped at the opportunity. Yes, I am going to go on about my favourite topic; ME. Be prepared please. Shocks are bound to happen. Gasps even.
This woman is going to spill the beans and provide the dirt on herself. The real, dark and muddy dirt. No masks.
We go.
I have a big heart.
Literally.
I have the hugest heart ever. While the truth is it accommodates a few, well-chosen individuals, my heart is still big. I do not know how to feel in halves. I do not know how to love but hold back half of myself . I do not know how to be a friend but not help you fight your battles.. I have never understood the point in staying in a relationship that doesn't make you happier or smile-ier. Because I am the woman that will love her lovers, her friends and her families with every inch of my heart, mind and soul.
And on a really good day for the lovers, I will throw in my body. Or a bit of my body, anyway.
I am a Gemini. And passion is my blood.
I am shallow. Excessively so. People who are not well spoken and well written turn me off. Literally. I turn up my nose at them and make no effort to hide it. I use the ability to do cross words as an S.I unit for any man running after me. Yes. A girl's gotta have her words.
I am not above judging you because you wore the wrong top for even wrong-er jeans. I am also not shy about sneering at people who think Ragga Dee and Soulja Boy can do any sort of singing. On a day when I'm in the really-narrow-minded-and-judgemental zone, I will dismiss any sort of seriousness in your persona just because I think watching "How I met your mother" spells serious humour dysfunction.
Friends rules.
I am thoroughly self conscious. My hips give me day and nightmares. The things have a mind and life of their own. I'm still uncomfortable when people look at them pointedly.
Me is a caffeine addict. Happy junkie. Coke, coffee...any time.
I love good food. Crappy food gets me cranky. And totally bitchy. So does crappy restaurant service. I've been known to write burning reviews on hopeless eating places.
I LOVE GOD. I cannot break that down.
I do not comprehend meals that are meat-less. Vegetables are not meant to be a major sauce. Ground nuts are evil. Matooke is NOT food.
I am 5'2 tall.
I love heels. Mostly because of the 5'2 factor.
I am attracted to men who are much, much taller than me. Something about tilting my head a bit to look into their eyes. And get me a snog.
Dark, manly men get my blood racing. The light and pretty ones make me think of....make-up. Making them up.
Sean Connery is one of my greatest loves.
Clooney has my heart.
I LOVE MY FAMILY. Mama, Martha, Arnold and Lindah, I would kill for.
I suffer from migraines. So, no chocolates please. I am trying to get off red wine. It's not easy.
I want to be a vampire in the next life. A smouldering, female vamp.
Or a man. So I can get the big deal with booty.
I am the world's bestest grudge holder. I block people out when they hurt me. In their place, I see dark spaces. Or voodoo dolls which I stab with my mind-needles.
I have never had a true or real love. I have had love, but I always left when things started to get un-pretty. Because I don't think love should hurt. Or demean. Or smother. So, I am a runner. Me and my friends await the one who will catch me. We're praying for him because, if I haven't said this, let me. My mental wires are loose. Perilously loose.
I have a shocker of a temper. I have broken crockery in fits of anger. And verbally broken people.
And slapped someone. I love you, my pretty.
I love gin. Seriously. I love gin.
I love, love, love to read. Anything written gets me.
I love to write. I was born to write. Writing is my life line. When I'm not typing away, I write in my mind. Most of that fades away, though.
My bed is my favourite place. I love the water. The ocean-type of water. One day, I hope to own a beach house. Complete with a cocktail genius of a bartender.
Rock music is one, big soundtrack to my life.
I am insanely private. I do not let people see me cry. I do not let people see me broken. Unless I am intoxicated.
I believe in love. And fidelity. Cheating men have no place in my life.
I cherish my me time. No men, no friends. Just me and my thoughts. I have been called anti-social. And I do not care.
I have a tattoo.
I am still learning. Still growing. Still getting to know God. Still fighting demons and ghosts from the past.
But I am a strong one.
And will emerge victor.
Calling it; STATE OF ME AS AT 13:10 hrs. Friday, 02 September, 2011.
Its part of a blogging meme started by http://angelakintu.com/ , another blogger. And because I welcome any excuse to gush about my tres hot and vivacious self, I jumped at the opportunity. Yes, I am going to go on about my favourite topic; ME. Be prepared please. Shocks are bound to happen. Gasps even.
This woman is going to spill the beans and provide the dirt on herself. The real, dark and muddy dirt. No masks.
We go.
I have a big heart.
Literally.
I have the hugest heart ever. While the truth is it accommodates a few, well-chosen individuals, my heart is still big. I do not know how to feel in halves. I do not know how to love but hold back half of myself . I do not know how to be a friend but not help you fight your battles.. I have never understood the point in staying in a relationship that doesn't make you happier or smile-ier. Because I am the woman that will love her lovers, her friends and her families with every inch of my heart, mind and soul.
And on a really good day for the lovers, I will throw in my body. Or a bit of my body, anyway.
I am a Gemini. And passion is my blood.
 |
| This....and more. |
I am shallow. Excessively so. People who are not well spoken and well written turn me off. Literally. I turn up my nose at them and make no effort to hide it. I use the ability to do cross words as an S.I unit for any man running after me. Yes. A girl's gotta have her words.
I am not above judging you because you wore the wrong top for even wrong-er jeans. I am also not shy about sneering at people who think Ragga Dee and Soulja Boy can do any sort of singing. On a day when I'm in the really-narrow-minded-and-judgemental zone, I will dismiss any sort of seriousness in your persona just because I think watching "How I met your mother" spells serious humour dysfunction.
Friends rules.
 |
| Shut up already. |
I am thoroughly self conscious. My hips give me day and nightmares. The things have a mind and life of their own. I'm still uncomfortable when people look at them pointedly.
Me is a caffeine addict. Happy junkie. Coke, coffee...any time.
I love good food. Crappy food gets me cranky. And totally bitchy. So does crappy restaurant service. I've been known to write burning reviews on hopeless eating places.
I LOVE GOD. I cannot break that down.
I do not comprehend meals that are meat-less. Vegetables are not meant to be a major sauce. Ground nuts are evil. Matooke is NOT food.
I am 5'2 tall.
I love heels. Mostly because of the 5'2 factor.
 |
| SHOESES!!!! |
I am attracted to men who are much, much taller than me. Something about tilting my head a bit to look into their eyes. And get me a snog.
Dark, manly men get my blood racing. The light and pretty ones make me think of....make-up. Making them up.
Sean Connery is one of my greatest loves.
Clooney has my heart.
I LOVE MY FAMILY. Mama, Martha, Arnold and Lindah, I would kill for.
I suffer from migraines. So, no chocolates please. I am trying to get off red wine. It's not easy.
I want to be a vampire in the next life. A smouldering, female vamp.
Or a man. So I can get the big deal with booty.
I am the world's bestest grudge holder. I block people out when they hurt me. In their place, I see dark spaces. Or voodoo dolls which I stab with my mind-needles.
I have never had a true or real love. I have had love, but I always left when things started to get un-pretty. Because I don't think love should hurt. Or demean. Or smother. So, I am a runner. Me and my friends await the one who will catch me. We're praying for him because, if I haven't said this, let me. My mental wires are loose. Perilously loose.
I have a shocker of a temper. I have broken crockery in fits of anger. And verbally broken people.
And slapped someone. I love you, my pretty.
I love gin. Seriously. I love gin.
I love, love, love to read. Anything written gets me.
I love to write. I was born to write. Writing is my life line. When I'm not typing away, I write in my mind. Most of that fades away, though.
My bed is my favourite place. I love the water. The ocean-type of water. One day, I hope to own a beach house. Complete with a cocktail genius of a bartender.
 |
| Somethin' like this. |
Rock music is one, big soundtrack to my life.
I am insanely private. I do not let people see me cry. I do not let people see me broken. Unless I am intoxicated.
I believe in love. And fidelity. Cheating men have no place in my life.
I cherish my me time. No men, no friends. Just me and my thoughts. I have been called anti-social. And I do not care.
I have a tattoo.
I am still learning. Still growing. Still getting to know God. Still fighting demons and ghosts from the past.
But I am a strong one.
And will emerge victor.
Calling it; STATE OF ME AS AT 13:10 hrs. Friday, 02 September, 2011.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Dealing. Faith. Breathing.
I have the most murderous thoughts going through my mind.
Gruesome images of body-mutilation and stabbing and choking. Not of myself please. I am way too narcissist to consider putting my pretty self through any physical pain. I want to hurt you. In ways I haven't wanted to hurt anyone since the day they went and cancelled Friends. Okay. It wasn't that bad. Still.
I want to hurt you for hurting me and for being the biggest asshole this side of the planet. I want to hurt you because you re-define callous and reckless. And heartless. Yes. You, the-one-that-I-just-let-go-of are the universal definition of heartless.
And I am the universal definition of proud and strong-headed and mentally-loose-ish. At least by your standards. So, what the hell was a brilliant girl like myself even doing getting close to a...person like yourself?
Brilliant girl is not seeking answers. It is a rhetorical question.
Alcohol is my drug. Gin is my bestest friend. Somewhere up there next to God-when I am not venting and telling Him to leave me alone.
And those Black Russians? Man, oh man...Vodka and rum are my comforters. Especially when it seems all my guardian angels are taking a very long and extended break from me. Alcohol helps me deal.
Stella used to. Then she just had to go and die. How so real-life-like. For the one person you allow yourself to be broken with, the one person you can cry with, to die in the year when real life and all its complications start to happen.
There is Celia. But then she works in Nairobi. Convenient right? I should learn to cry over the phone. Except that will be quite frustrating for poor Celia and damaging to my smart phone.
Where on earth is Michael when I need him desperately? What's a woman to do when the very persons who are her warm arms and I-can-be-my-messy-and-currently-weepy-self with people are not within a boda ride's reach?
Said woman turns to alcohol.
Dealing is difficult. Dealing is painful. Letting go is exhausting. Moving on sounds so easy when Oprah says it. In real life, moving on first of all requires you get out of bed in the morning. And getting out of bed is the hardest thing to do when you have to move on. There should be a warning manual for the twenties. Life gets foggier, friends get...complex and judgmental, God becomes a disturbingly distant figure and the Bible ceases to make sense.
Snogging people you have no right or business snogging becomes well....very likely.
Dear God.
At what point did life take such a ferociously dramatic turn? How did the aches, pains, sores, wounds pile up without me realising it?Why the hell does my spell check thingie insist on me spelling realise with a z? I am a product of British, NOT American colonialism.
Bloody Americans.
I am a victim-self-made victim of stoicism, facade(ing), first-bornism( that one's on the parents) and the psycho illness a friend described as the God-complex. Saving everyone and pushing me aside until I wake up and realise I have created my own hell.
Shadows don't make for nice company. Aching hearts don't make for easy breathing. Especially if one is an asthmatic. Stoic natures don't make for easy crying. And this does not make for easy dealing.
Because crying doesn't leave bright and sunny spaces in one's heart. It squeezes out a good deal of the pain.
But it leaves despair. Dark, empty and bottomless despair. I am not one for crying. But I think its about time.
Time I took the mask off, rolled aside the thick rock across my heart and cried.
Real, deep, gut-wrenching and heartbreaking sobs. The sort that would send my demons packing. Because my demons are of that nature. The lets-pretend-and-play-fine. They hate emotion.
I think its time. That.I.Cried.
I do not need company please.
Stella's ghost and gin bottle are quite enough.
"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."-Hebrews 11:10.
And in that one verse, the good-intention(ed) apostle Paul went and made faith the most forsaken, challenged and ignored substance of life.
Because faith is the very basis of all things-faith in a better day, true love, totally accepting friendships...faith for the dark in all its forms to finally go away.
How does one expect mortal and fallible beings such as the 6 billion mass of pain-ridden, wound-carrying and fearful human species to have faith enough to last one through the tragedies that most of us call our lives?
In a world of cause-less wars, starving children whose only crime is being born of parents who have failed to master the concept of co-existence, in a country where class-differences are slowly building up enough reason for war, how do you speak to us of faith?
Faith in what? or whom?
A deity that walked away from this place centuries ago? Governments that plunder, loot and then stand by their patriotic albeit hypocritical and clearly-wrong decisions?
Excuse me please.
We might be made in God's image but surely there is a reason God took His own away from this just after 30 years. He should have stayed. Keep encouraging the rest of us mere mortals along.
But what sort of loving parent leaves their beloved son in this forsaken place?
So pardon my cheek God, but when do you plan on coming back for the rest of us? We also are your children.
Right?
There is alot to be said for life's happy moments. But in summary; they do not last. Love dies. Or fades away. Or burns you.
Friends leave, friends move, friends die.
I will miss you Yasmin. Come back soon. Please. Please. You're one of my rocks.
Dreams die or take the life out of you as you fight for them.
Men can be real scum-of-the-earth-characters. Not all of them. On this, I will always insist.
Happiness is fleeting. Joy is something we all write about. Way less than all of us actually believe it.
The truth is, it is as elusive as happiness. Pain and hurt are lacking in the etiquette department. They do not call before they show up.
So we smile. We laugh. We kiss and make merry when we can. We grab at our dreams the first chance we get. Because deep down we are painfully aware of this-that this minute's happiness most likely doesn't have any intentions of making it to the next minute.
So this girl turns to alcohol. And mentally challenges the now sainted-and-heaven-residing Paul.
And reaches for her inhaler.
No one said this was going to be easy.
Gruesome images of body-mutilation and stabbing and choking. Not of myself please. I am way too narcissist to consider putting my pretty self through any physical pain. I want to hurt you. In ways I haven't wanted to hurt anyone since the day they went and cancelled Friends. Okay. It wasn't that bad. Still.
I want to hurt you for hurting me and for being the biggest asshole this side of the planet. I want to hurt you because you re-define callous and reckless. And heartless. Yes. You, the-one-that-I-just-let-go-of are the universal definition of heartless.
And I am the universal definition of proud and strong-headed and mentally-loose-ish. At least by your standards. So, what the hell was a brilliant girl like myself even doing getting close to a...person like yourself?
Brilliant girl is not seeking answers. It is a rhetorical question.
 |
| This is meant to really hurt. |
Alcohol is my drug. Gin is my bestest friend. Somewhere up there next to God-when I am not venting and telling Him to leave me alone.
And those Black Russians? Man, oh man...Vodka and rum are my comforters. Especially when it seems all my guardian angels are taking a very long and extended break from me. Alcohol helps me deal.
Stella used to. Then she just had to go and die. How so real-life-like. For the one person you allow yourself to be broken with, the one person you can cry with, to die in the year when real life and all its complications start to happen.
 |
| I miss you. Always. |
There is Celia. But then she works in Nairobi. Convenient right? I should learn to cry over the phone. Except that will be quite frustrating for poor Celia and damaging to my smart phone.
Where on earth is Michael when I need him desperately? What's a woman to do when the very persons who are her warm arms and I-can-be-my-messy-and-currently-weepy-self with people are not within a boda ride's reach?
Said woman turns to alcohol.
 |
| My bestest....well. One of... |
Dealing is difficult. Dealing is painful. Letting go is exhausting. Moving on sounds so easy when Oprah says it. In real life, moving on first of all requires you get out of bed in the morning. And getting out of bed is the hardest thing to do when you have to move on. There should be a warning manual for the twenties. Life gets foggier, friends get...complex and judgmental, God becomes a disturbingly distant figure and the Bible ceases to make sense.
Snogging people you have no right or business snogging becomes well....very likely.
Dear God.
At what point did life take such a ferociously dramatic turn? How did the aches, pains, sores, wounds pile up without me realising it?Why the hell does my spell check thingie insist on me spelling realise with a z? I am a product of British, NOT American colonialism.
Bloody Americans.
I am a victim-self-made victim of stoicism, facade(ing), first-bornism( that one's on the parents) and the psycho illness a friend described as the God-complex. Saving everyone and pushing me aside until I wake up and realise I have created my own hell.
Shadows don't make for nice company. Aching hearts don't make for easy breathing. Especially if one is an asthmatic. Stoic natures don't make for easy crying. And this does not make for easy dealing.
Because crying doesn't leave bright and sunny spaces in one's heart. It squeezes out a good deal of the pain.
But it leaves despair. Dark, empty and bottomless despair. I am not one for crying. But I think its about time.
 |
Real, deep, gut-wrenching and heartbreaking sobs. The sort that would send my demons packing. Because my demons are of that nature. The lets-pretend-and-play-fine. They hate emotion.
I think its time. That.I.Cried.
I do not need company please.
Stella's ghost and gin bottle are quite enough.
"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."-Hebrews 11:10.
And in that one verse, the good-intention(ed) apostle Paul went and made faith the most forsaken, challenged and ignored substance of life.
Because faith is the very basis of all things-faith in a better day, true love, totally accepting friendships...faith for the dark in all its forms to finally go away.
How does one expect mortal and fallible beings such as the 6 billion mass of pain-ridden, wound-carrying and fearful human species to have faith enough to last one through the tragedies that most of us call our lives?
In a world of cause-less wars, starving children whose only crime is being born of parents who have failed to master the concept of co-existence, in a country where class-differences are slowly building up enough reason for war, how do you speak to us of faith?
Faith in what? or whom?
A deity that walked away from this place centuries ago? Governments that plunder, loot and then stand by their patriotic albeit hypocritical and clearly-wrong decisions?
Excuse me please.
We might be made in God's image but surely there is a reason God took His own away from this just after 30 years. He should have stayed. Keep encouraging the rest of us mere mortals along.
But what sort of loving parent leaves their beloved son in this forsaken place?
So pardon my cheek God, but when do you plan on coming back for the rest of us? We also are your children.
Right?
 |
| Say Paul, ya think you could write letters to this day's peeps? |
There is alot to be said for life's happy moments. But in summary; they do not last. Love dies. Or fades away. Or burns you.
Friends leave, friends move, friends die.
I will miss you Yasmin. Come back soon. Please. Please. You're one of my rocks.
Dreams die or take the life out of you as you fight for them.
Men can be real scum-of-the-earth-characters. Not all of them. On this, I will always insist.
Happiness is fleeting. Joy is something we all write about. Way less than all of us actually believe it.
The truth is, it is as elusive as happiness. Pain and hurt are lacking in the etiquette department. They do not call before they show up.
So we smile. We laugh. We kiss and make merry when we can. We grab at our dreams the first chance we get. Because deep down we are painfully aware of this-that this minute's happiness most likely doesn't have any intentions of making it to the next minute.
So this girl turns to alcohol. And mentally challenges the now sainted-and-heaven-residing Paul.
And reaches for her inhaler.
No one said this was going to be easy.
 |
| Drunk, achy and...waging war. Mbu. |
Monday, August 15, 2011
Dear Life. (Rated R. For Some-What Strong Language)
Friday;
Dear Life.
Thank you. For the chance to live out this story. Thank you that I have been blessed with the amazing opportunity to be part of this dance. I have lived. I have loved. I have been blessed. I have excelled. I have learned. I have been loved. By friends. By family. By lovers. I have been at the receiving end of some good loving. Ans spoiling. Thank you for family that has loved me, supported me and stood by me. Thank you, Life for the gifts I have been blessed with. My way with words is not only my greatest gift but my greatest release. When I write, I put into words the things which would otherwise choke me. Thank you for friendships. The ones that have lasted years, the new ones and especially, the unexpected ones. Thank you, life for the love of books and all things written. Thank you for Maya Angelou and Liz Kobusinge-two of my favorite writers.
I thank you, from the bottom of my soul for rock music. For performers who speak from the heart. For Life House, Joshua Radin, Ingrid Michaelson, Amylee, Ne-Yo, Eminem and Christina Aguilera. Thank you for The Weepies, Sara Bareilles and Rob Thomas. And Lyfe Jennings. And Beyonce. I cannot leave out B.
Thank you for a heart that can love, has loved and still loves. Thank you for the scary but very-real ability to open my heart and pour all of me into loving others. Thank you life. For the chances that keep coming my way. Oh, thank you for another shot at my dreams. For Lucie and Liz-who pushed till I got my writing out there. Thank you for the ones who take the time to read my work. Thank you for whispering the words that put my aches and pains and fears to life. Bless you, for coke. And gin. And meat. And sleep. Yes, sleep...
Thank you, for forgiveness. That I have received. Especially the one I have given.
Thank you life for the story that is Makuba Muhairwe Nagasha Maureen. The story that is still being written.
Saturday;
Dear life.
Please. Stop. The pain has become unbearable. The aches have the strongest holds on my heart. My dreams-the dreams you put to life, the dreams I have fought tooth and nail for, the dreams I gave up all comforts for, the dreams that have been putting the light in my eyes. Those dreams? They are crumbling before my eyes. The passion, the words...they are getting away from me. The voice that whispers the rhymes...that soft voice? It has gone still.
The pain of the ones I love the most eats me up. Burning my soul, squeezing my heart...the pain in their eyes, the questions I cannot answer, the past I cannot undo. The price for sins not my own, I cannot continue to pay.
Dear life,
It should not be this hard. The search for the love that lasts, the smiles that stay and the laughter which never fades...it should not be this hard. My heart should not have to be ripped out just so you can test if I'm still alive. My soul should not be burned just so you can teach me yet another lesson-on faith. The begging should not be this demeaning. I should not be brought to my knees just so a few prayers can be answered.
No, I'm all out of tears to cry. I do not have enough spirit to even begin one more battle. I have not the faith to believe in miracles that take decades to get to me. No, I do not want to beg just so I can die. Yes. Die. Because when it gets this difficult, what is the point? To live with no light in my eyes, no spring in my step, no song in my soul...no. That is not to live.
I will take blackness. I will be glad to never wake again. I will choose the unending darkness. I will give back to you this...life. This life you call a gift to me, I will give back to you. Because it's no gift.
It is a burden I can carry no more.
Sunday;
But life.
WHAT THE HELL??
At what point do you stop? At what point do you draw the line? How do you go and give me something and then turn it to a burdensome load? Because now, I am mad. I am screaming and cursing you. Because you are a shameless bully. Because you love to complicate things. Because if its drama-free, you go and create the drama. Just for your private entertainment, you play chess with me and then smirk away as yet, another battle I lose. But not this time. My begging fell upon your conveniently-deaf ears. The pleas faded away,past your century-old and battle-hardened heart. That I offered to return the gift to you, was not enough. That too, has to go according to your timing. In the meantime, you poke. And prod. And pinch. And squeeze. And to lace it off, you punch. But man, have you picked the wrong person.
Dear I-do-things-my-way-even-if-someone-has-to-bleed-so-I-can-have-my-way aka life. I can bitch pretty good. Scratch that. I bitch awesomely. You push to the edge,I push off the cliff. You throw punches, I fight to knock out. You drain, drop by drop, I suck dry.
O Life. I learnt from the best. And I am a fast learner. I do not lose my lessons. You will stab my heart but my dagger will draw your heart out. You think you can rage? You should see my tantrums. You believe your tornadoes and storms will wear me out? You have not seen me blind and mad. I leave nothing un-turned. Not a single leaf.
Life. I am done. Begging, pleading, bargaining, waiting, hoping, false-smiling, pain-hiding. I AM D.O.N.E.
Two can play this game. I am grabbing you by your thick-dare-touch-me neck and I am not letting go. Until you relent. And let go. Of my dreams. My heart. My soul. My joy. I am taking back what you happily gave me all those years ago. My Life. I am taking it back. And I am going to live it out-loud. You will either join in the merry-living. or you will sit by and look on. You are not in charge anymore. I am.
Dear Life.
It takes two to tango.
And boy, can I swirl. And twirl. And jaba.
Dear Life.
Leave me the fuck alone.
For Isabel. And myself.
Dear Life.
Thank you. For the chance to live out this story. Thank you that I have been blessed with the amazing opportunity to be part of this dance. I have lived. I have loved. I have been blessed. I have excelled. I have learned. I have been loved. By friends. By family. By lovers. I have been at the receiving end of some good loving. Ans spoiling. Thank you for family that has loved me, supported me and stood by me. Thank you, Life for the gifts I have been blessed with. My way with words is not only my greatest gift but my greatest release. When I write, I put into words the things which would otherwise choke me. Thank you for friendships. The ones that have lasted years, the new ones and especially, the unexpected ones. Thank you, life for the love of books and all things written. Thank you for Maya Angelou and Liz Kobusinge-two of my favorite writers.
I thank you, from the bottom of my soul for rock music. For performers who speak from the heart. For Life House, Joshua Radin, Ingrid Michaelson, Amylee, Ne-Yo, Eminem and Christina Aguilera. Thank you for The Weepies, Sara Bareilles and Rob Thomas. And Lyfe Jennings. And Beyonce. I cannot leave out B.
Thank you for a heart that can love, has loved and still loves. Thank you for the scary but very-real ability to open my heart and pour all of me into loving others. Thank you life. For the chances that keep coming my way. Oh, thank you for another shot at my dreams. For Lucie and Liz-who pushed till I got my writing out there. Thank you for the ones who take the time to read my work. Thank you for whispering the words that put my aches and pains and fears to life. Bless you, for coke. And gin. And meat. And sleep. Yes, sleep...
Thank you, for forgiveness. That I have received. Especially the one I have given.
Thank you life for the story that is Makuba Muhairwe Nagasha Maureen. The story that is still being written.
 |
| Momo! |
Saturday;
Dear life.
Please. Stop. The pain has become unbearable. The aches have the strongest holds on my heart. My dreams-the dreams you put to life, the dreams I have fought tooth and nail for, the dreams I gave up all comforts for, the dreams that have been putting the light in my eyes. Those dreams? They are crumbling before my eyes. The passion, the words...they are getting away from me. The voice that whispers the rhymes...that soft voice? It has gone still.
The pain of the ones I love the most eats me up. Burning my soul, squeezing my heart...the pain in their eyes, the questions I cannot answer, the past I cannot undo. The price for sins not my own, I cannot continue to pay.
 |
| Please....? |
Dear life,
It should not be this hard. The search for the love that lasts, the smiles that stay and the laughter which never fades...it should not be this hard. My heart should not have to be ripped out just so you can test if I'm still alive. My soul should not be burned just so you can teach me yet another lesson-on faith. The begging should not be this demeaning. I should not be brought to my knees just so a few prayers can be answered.
No, I'm all out of tears to cry. I do not have enough spirit to even begin one more battle. I have not the faith to believe in miracles that take decades to get to me. No, I do not want to beg just so I can die. Yes. Die. Because when it gets this difficult, what is the point? To live with no light in my eyes, no spring in my step, no song in my soul...no. That is not to live.
I will take blackness. I will be glad to never wake again. I will choose the unending darkness. I will give back to you this...life. This life you call a gift to me, I will give back to you. Because it's no gift.
It is a burden I can carry no more.
Sunday;
But life.
WHAT THE HELL??
At what point do you stop? At what point do you draw the line? How do you go and give me something and then turn it to a burdensome load? Because now, I am mad. I am screaming and cursing you. Because you are a shameless bully. Because you love to complicate things. Because if its drama-free, you go and create the drama. Just for your private entertainment, you play chess with me and then smirk away as yet, another battle I lose. But not this time. My begging fell upon your conveniently-deaf ears. The pleas faded away,past your century-old and battle-hardened heart. That I offered to return the gift to you, was not enough. That too, has to go according to your timing. In the meantime, you poke. And prod. And pinch. And squeeze. And to lace it off, you punch. But man, have you picked the wrong person.
Dear I-do-things-my-way-even-if-someone-has-to-bleed-so-I-can-have-my-way aka life. I can bitch pretty good. Scratch that. I bitch awesomely. You push to the edge,I push off the cliff. You throw punches, I fight to knock out. You drain, drop by drop, I suck dry.
O Life. I learnt from the best. And I am a fast learner. I do not lose my lessons. You will stab my heart but my dagger will draw your heart out. You think you can rage? You should see my tantrums. You believe your tornadoes and storms will wear me out? You have not seen me blind and mad. I leave nothing un-turned. Not a single leaf.
Life. I am done. Begging, pleading, bargaining, waiting, hoping, false-smiling, pain-hiding. I AM D.O.N.E.
Two can play this game. I am grabbing you by your thick-dare-touch-me neck and I am not letting go. Until you relent. And let go. Of my dreams. My heart. My soul. My joy. I am taking back what you happily gave me all those years ago. My Life. I am taking it back. And I am going to live it out-loud. You will either join in the merry-living. or you will sit by and look on. You are not in charge anymore. I am.
Dear Life.
It takes two to tango.
And boy, can I swirl. And twirl. And jaba.
Dear Life.
Leave me the fuck alone.
 |
| SOD OFF. |
For Isabel. And myself.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
All My Women; The Other Half.
The Sisters From Other Mothers.
To label these women friends is becoming increasingly difficult. We are at that point where we have been through all the drama that entails sisterhood, survived it, taken life's shocks and blows, fallen away from one another but somehow managed to find one another once the dust is settled. Let me introduce you to the girls that are my sisters, in every sense of the word.
Yasmin.
aka Maureen. My name sake, semi-enemy turned bosom friend turned sister. We have survived high school drama, University madness and pre-real-life issues. Aside being a mother to the happiest boy on this planet, she happens to be one of the few people on this planet that totally understand me but will still call my bluff. Aside telling me to my face that running from people will only ensure I keep running forever, she is responsible for the highest number of panic calls that I have received my entire adult life. I truly think you are one of the most virtuous women that walk this earth. Mwaaah.
Ritah.
The prettiest Mutooro I know. Okay, next to her mother. I can honestly say that this is one of the people that gets me best. She is also one of the few people that know quite how much I love my Lord. Friends from 1993, we have carried each others burdens, shared secrets that we'd kill to keep from the world...and then spent hours telling one another we were not the worst beings alive. And now she has found happiness. And I can honestly say no one deserves it more.
Lucie.
My ruuuuvvv...my height mate, my shoe-size-mate...and one of the women that saw me through some of the toughest two years of my life. I Love you truly. Because you know things about me that I would scarcely admit to myself but you never judge me. You are horrible at keeping in touch but amazing at hugs and wiping away tears when they do come. I wish I could be as organized as you are but I know you love me either way. Now, go be the lawyer we both always wanted to be. When I summon the courage one very near day, I shall join you, and reclaim my dream.
The BFFs And The Soul Mates.
Pieces of me. The people that were separated from me when the creator made me. Then sent to me to make my life a little brighter. There's a lot of things I do not have faith in. But I believe in soul mates. Not the romantic sort. The girl-friend sort. And here they are.
Celia.
Thank you for being by me through the suckiest years of high school and looking beyond the facade that was me. Thank you for praying with me through so many nights of despair and anger, and staying my friend when it was a great risk simply to associate with me. Thank you for loving me, even and especially when you do not understand why I do the things I do. You have seen me at my weakest, you have seen me broken and you have seen me rise to the top. You know my sins better than almost anyone but you also know my greatest weaknesses. And some how you do not judge me. I know for sure that no one else has seen me cry as much as you have. You understand my pride but still know how to get through to the heartest of me. I know I tell you all the time but I do love you. For being one of the purest souls I know but still loving some one like me. Diva-ish or not, I still am one of the sinners. I am blessed to know you.
Els.
My dearest cherub. I love you babe. I know quite well that one sentence is enough. You understand just how deep this goes, even without words. And that is the best part. That words are not very necessary with us. Coke is, and so is meat, and so is deep music. And even deeper books. But I have a bestie to whom I do not have to say much to in way of explanations is one of the biggest pluses in my life. Thank you for letting me into your tres cool family, thank you for letting me steal novels from you when you're half way done, thank you for knowing me enough to see when am in pain. Thank you for being mad at men who do not think am super hot. You are the reason I got my writing on track once again, you're the reason I force myself to type when the writer's block pays me a visit. Thank you for bungee jumping with me, for walking with me when our faith was gone. I do not think I'd have made it this far without you. We are two lazy bums but we shall soon have our car& walking shall be no more. Then we'll take all our money and go to an Island where we'll live on coke and beautiful lyrics forever. You can come with him. Leave the kiities at home though.
I heart you immensely. Bisou. Bisou. Bisou.
Mama.
My first best friend, the kindest woman I know, the one I love the most. Also,the one who broke my heart the hardest. The one that enrages me like no other but who understands me above all else, and believes in me, even when my wild dreams do not make any sense to you. If I was wiser, I'd wish to be as kind as you are. But I'm not very wise and I have seen that kindness can be a downfall. And I fear to fall, I am scared of pain. You have nursed me through countless migraines, you have questioned my love of reading and music, and sleeping, and I have broken your heart in so many ways, mostly as a defense mechanism but no else loves me like you do. This I know for sure.
When I'm rich, I will make up for all the hurt you have had to live with, I will buy the world so you can have some sort of real joy, and I will forgive you. Even if I have to force myself to do so.
Most importantly, I will make you proud. I have God by my side. I will conquer the world, then make you queen. I promise.
The Departed.
Stella and Faith. I miss you so much. My soul mate and my friend. My sweetie and my seat mate of four years. That you are not hear today still manages to shock me. You were meant to be here. For ever.
Stella, the plan was to be crazy wild, do what we loved the most and then find love. With you by my side. Now all I have are memories from a school that taught us some of the hardest lessons life had to offer. I miss your art, I miss your beautiful voice. I miss sharing naughty secrets with you. I pray every day, that you are at peace my sweet. I shall see you soon. Real soon. And then we'll catch up on all that's been happening.
P.S- I Miss You.
Faith.
F.... to this day, I do not understand what happened. Some times I'm still in shock that you're not here. Four years of sitting together in class and now...nada, nothing. Oh, I know you are perfectly okay. I know you are happy, but still...I came across one of the notes you wrote me, accompanied by a Plus One Song..You were always on my side. Always. Silently at times, but I knew you had my back. And that got me through the hell hole that school had turned into. I wish we'd had more time to make the friendship deeper. But I had you for 4years. And that made all the difference. Thank You. But, how can you really be gone?
God bless you luv.
I will turn to music and once again, borrow a line. From "Butterfly Kisses";
"In all that I have done wrong, I must have done something right....." Because I truly have& have had the world's greatest women for friends. If I never say this again, you are God's bestest gift to me.
I Love You.
To label these women friends is becoming increasingly difficult. We are at that point where we have been through all the drama that entails sisterhood, survived it, taken life's shocks and blows, fallen away from one another but somehow managed to find one another once the dust is settled. Let me introduce you to the girls that are my sisters, in every sense of the word.
 |
| Yasmin- the bride. |
aka Maureen. My name sake, semi-enemy turned bosom friend turned sister. We have survived high school drama, University madness and pre-real-life issues. Aside being a mother to the happiest boy on this planet, she happens to be one of the few people on this planet that totally understand me but will still call my bluff. Aside telling me to my face that running from people will only ensure I keep running forever, she is responsible for the highest number of panic calls that I have received my entire adult life. I truly think you are one of the most virtuous women that walk this earth. Mwaaah.
 |
| KaRita. |
The prettiest Mutooro I know. Okay, next to her mother. I can honestly say that this is one of the people that gets me best. She is also one of the few people that know quite how much I love my Lord. Friends from 1993, we have carried each others burdens, shared secrets that we'd kill to keep from the world...and then spent hours telling one another we were not the worst beings alive. And now she has found happiness. And I can honestly say no one deserves it more.
Lucie.
My ruuuuvvv...my height mate, my shoe-size-mate...and one of the women that saw me through some of the toughest two years of my life. I Love you truly. Because you know things about me that I would scarcely admit to myself but you never judge me. You are horrible at keeping in touch but amazing at hugs and wiping away tears when they do come. I wish I could be as organized as you are but I know you love me either way. Now, go be the lawyer we both always wanted to be. When I summon the courage one very near day, I shall join you, and reclaim my dream.
The BFFs And The Soul Mates.
Pieces of me. The people that were separated from me when the creator made me. Then sent to me to make my life a little brighter. There's a lot of things I do not have faith in. But I believe in soul mates. Not the romantic sort. The girl-friend sort. And here they are.
Celia.
Thank you for being by me through the suckiest years of high school and looking beyond the facade that was me. Thank you for praying with me through so many nights of despair and anger, and staying my friend when it was a great risk simply to associate with me. Thank you for loving me, even and especially when you do not understand why I do the things I do. You have seen me at my weakest, you have seen me broken and you have seen me rise to the top. You know my sins better than almost anyone but you also know my greatest weaknesses. And some how you do not judge me. I know for sure that no one else has seen me cry as much as you have. You understand my pride but still know how to get through to the heartest of me. I know I tell you all the time but I do love you. For being one of the purest souls I know but still loving some one like me. Diva-ish or not, I still am one of the sinners. I am blessed to know you.
 |
| Els |
My dearest cherub. I love you babe. I know quite well that one sentence is enough. You understand just how deep this goes, even without words. And that is the best part. That words are not very necessary with us. Coke is, and so is meat, and so is deep music. And even deeper books. But I have a bestie to whom I do not have to say much to in way of explanations is one of the biggest pluses in my life. Thank you for letting me into your tres cool family, thank you for letting me steal novels from you when you're half way done, thank you for knowing me enough to see when am in pain. Thank you for being mad at men who do not think am super hot. You are the reason I got my writing on track once again, you're the reason I force myself to type when the writer's block pays me a visit. Thank you for bungee jumping with me, for walking with me when our faith was gone. I do not think I'd have made it this far without you. We are two lazy bums but we shall soon have our car& walking shall be no more. Then we'll take all our money and go to an Island where we'll live on coke and beautiful lyrics forever. You can come with him. Leave the kiities at home though.
I heart you immensely. Bisou. Bisou. Bisou.
Mama.
My first best friend, the kindest woman I know, the one I love the most. Also,the one who broke my heart the hardest. The one that enrages me like no other but who understands me above all else, and believes in me, even when my wild dreams do not make any sense to you. If I was wiser, I'd wish to be as kind as you are. But I'm not very wise and I have seen that kindness can be a downfall. And I fear to fall, I am scared of pain. You have nursed me through countless migraines, you have questioned my love of reading and music, and sleeping, and I have broken your heart in so many ways, mostly as a defense mechanism but no else loves me like you do. This I know for sure.
When I'm rich, I will make up for all the hurt you have had to live with, I will buy the world so you can have some sort of real joy, and I will forgive you. Even if I have to force myself to do so.
Most importantly, I will make you proud. I have God by my side. I will conquer the world, then make you queen. I promise.
The Departed.
Stella and Faith. I miss you so much. My soul mate and my friend. My sweetie and my seat mate of four years. That you are not hear today still manages to shock me. You were meant to be here. For ever.
Stella, the plan was to be crazy wild, do what we loved the most and then find love. With you by my side. Now all I have are memories from a school that taught us some of the hardest lessons life had to offer. I miss your art, I miss your beautiful voice. I miss sharing naughty secrets with you. I pray every day, that you are at peace my sweet. I shall see you soon. Real soon. And then we'll catch up on all that's been happening.
P.S- I Miss You.
Faith.
F.... to this day, I do not understand what happened. Some times I'm still in shock that you're not here. Four years of sitting together in class and now...nada, nothing. Oh, I know you are perfectly okay. I know you are happy, but still...I came across one of the notes you wrote me, accompanied by a Plus One Song..You were always on my side. Always. Silently at times, but I knew you had my back. And that got me through the hell hole that school had turned into. I wish we'd had more time to make the friendship deeper. But I had you for 4years. And that made all the difference. Thank You. But, how can you really be gone?
God bless you luv.
I will turn to music and once again, borrow a line. From "Butterfly Kisses";
"In all that I have done wrong, I must have done something right....." Because I truly have& have had the world's greatest women for friends. If I never say this again, you are God's bestest gift to me.
I Love You.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
ALL My Women; The Beginning.
Being a member of the female species comes with a lot of baggage. Such as heels that mangle toes but cannot be done without. And menses. And the fact that unlike men, wrinkles do not add character. They cause worry lines, which in turn lead to more wrinkles. The female aging process is a viscous cycle.
But there are some perks to being the weaker sex. And today I shall focus on the one perk am most grateful for; The ability to bond. Not with men or stray kittens or strangers' babies. No. The ability to bond with one another.
When women are not busy tearing each other down, or secretly analyzing shoe/ bag betterness, we are doing what we do best-saving one another. Being sisters, shopping partners, taking 3 am panic calls...
The world of women is such that we NEED each other. To binge on ice cream when the men we love walk out on us...or drown in wine when mother fate hands you a day that more than adequately describes disastrous.
And for all the blows life has handed me, for all the mistakes I have met and made, God has gone and blessed me with the most amazing of complex but lovable females.
And today, I am singing my women very high praises
The Sisterhood
I am the eldest child, and thereby an elder sister to two extremely nerve-wrecking, attire-stealing, jewelery-borrowing sisters. Martha& Linda are responsible for a major part of the madness that now resides in me. But they are also a major part of the joy and blessings that I have been bestowed with. Through nights of endless laughter spent reminiscing on our chaotic childhood, through tears, pain, anger and despair, and through prayers&hours-long phone conversations, it is clear to see why these women shall forever be little pieces of me that I continue to scream at, push into line but still love more than any other. It is not just blood that unites us. It is years of shared pain, trauma,joys, blessings that appeared at the very right time, dreams lost and recaptured...and childhood albums that show how far along we've come.
I Love My Sisters.
And even in the midst of questioning God's sense in the parent choices He made for us, I pause to give thanks. For my beautiful, strong, and sanity-testing sisters.
P.S- This isn't a gate way to ask for jewelry, money, or, more jewelry.
The Gin And Cocktail Friend.
Tabitha.
This team does not have a whole load of members. Mostly one really, who left the country a few weeks back. But who has been with me through so many unsober nights. Tabitha's classic response to, "...I am not so good..." is usually, "Morie, you need a drink...."followed by a plan that most usually gets me to bar where we toss gin& tonic into my sorrowful self.
Tabitha was my University room mate. For one year, we watched "Friends," binged on" TV Chicken," and gave ample support to the gin industry. Two women society labeled crazy but who preferred the comfort of their room to any other place on the planet. When we were not blasting rock music from our top-floor room, we were reading Shakespeare's sonnets, plotting how we'd penetrate the diplomatic world and most of all, being friends. Sharing survival tales, reading Cosmo, and each making sure the other's world was firm and safe.
I love my room mate that turned out to be a great friend. When I am rich and famous, I promise we shall live out all our crazy dreams.
See you in Dubai.
The Bankers.
My first job was at a bank. I hated it. Not one drop of like for that job. Drained me, tested me and nearly took the life out of my dreams. Needless to say, I jumped ship. Yes, I met and made one of my greatest mistakes in that place. But not before I had met three women that to will forever remain the most beautiful treasures I took from there.
Peace;
My strength, my big sister, and one of my biggest models. To say I admire this woman would be an understatement. To say I learned and continue to learn a lot from her is partly true. I do not now anyone else that gentle or calm. Where I am screaming and blazing a trail of anger, she is calm, calm and calmer. Where I'll gladly tell you where to shove your bad attitude, she will smile and try again. And where I will walk out even on those I know I will not forget immediately, she will stay. And love on.
I wish I could be more like you, I wish I had the strength to not give up on love, I wish I saw the good in everyone like you do, and I wish I had a knack for numbers like you do. I am sorry I partly introduced you to alcohol, and I am sorry that sometimes, the bad clearly trounces the good. But I am glad we have one another.
Vanessa;
Straaaange...and stylish and Life House-loving. And wise. Yes, wise...not the book sort of stuff. Not the quote and lyrics sort of wisdom. But the learned, sometimes-the-hard-way, type. This woman is a lot like me. Stoic, sometimes annoyingly so. But I know that I like to be left alone some times so I leave her alone when I think life is making its rounds with her. Then I send a late-night text message...digging, but just on the surface. Then we riddle our way around the issue, go a bit into the heart of it...then seal off with stoic-but-real-feely promises to always be here for each other. And we always are. She is, at least.
Thank you for pushing me to the light...albeit it was closer to a shove. Thank you for not judging me at a time I was on the verge of hating myself...for understanding that I got weak, but making sure I didn't wallow too long.
Woman, you were partly the reason I was able to face the last major-ish storm in my life. Thank You.
NO HUG, PLEASE.
Isabel;
My dearest...I will tell you today that I think you are exceptionally strong and beautiful. And because you have not sent me an-intended-to-annoy-me email in a long time, I will be totally nice to you. I do not even know how you manage to get through some of life's not-so-wanted-but can't be-escaped-issues. That you do so standing tall& proud only makes me prouder to have you as a friend. Thank you for letting me give you a bit of advise, considering am still making my way around life. For silly but deep Face Book status updates, for wine and coke cocktails, and for trusting me enough to be vulnerable with me.
Happiness is on its way. I hear it has been asking for directions to you.
That we have managed to stay friends even when we do not have a common work mail system any more, and do not see one another as much is proof that some thing good always comes out of a bad situation. The bank drained a lot of the life out of me, but God went and sent these blessings my way.
For all the times I've never said it, I truly appreciate you.
The Listeners And The Long-Distance Loves.
Flower;
It is quite possible to have a successful long-distance relationship. With years of no communication, followed by a re-union across a social network that rekindles the relationship. The couple in question however has to have the strongest foundation of love possible. Louise and me are a powerful example that such relationships do work. Friends from 1993, school mates from 1993 to 2003, numerous semi-fights between us, but the bond holds as strong as ever. It could be because I have my eye on her elder brother that doesn't seem to notice I'm all grown up now...or it could be because love can be this true. And survive time differences, and years of almost no communication. It could be because first best friends are not that easily forgotten. I know that same town or not, ours is a friendship that will stand all the major tests.
Peron and Immy;
These are two of the noisiest, loudest and craziest women I have the fortune of knowing. I'm constantly wondering what they'd be like if they so much as sipped alcohol. They are mostly teetotalers but God,are they hyper! And the most social and friendly people I know. Peron listens to me rant..and rant...and laughs with me...and knows me well enough not to probe if I don't offer to tell. And she gave me my first and totally adorable God-daughter.
Immy...my love, my friend, who would tell stories all night if we didn't doze off on her and who manages to never keep time...but somehow keeps in touch even when oceans separate us.
I am thankful that I got out of my shell long enough to get to know you.
More praises to be sang later on....
 |
| Me....Loving My Women.. |
Being a member of the female species comes with a lot of baggage. Such as heels that mangle toes but cannot be done without. And menses. And the fact that unlike men, wrinkles do not add character. They cause worry lines, which in turn lead to more wrinkles. The female aging process is a viscous cycle.
But there are some perks to being the weaker sex. And today I shall focus on the one perk am most grateful for; The ability to bond. Not with men or stray kittens or strangers' babies. No. The ability to bond with one another.
When women are not busy tearing each other down, or secretly analyzing shoe/ bag betterness, we are doing what we do best-saving one another. Being sisters, shopping partners, taking 3 am panic calls...
The world of women is such that we NEED each other. To binge on ice cream when the men we love walk out on us...or drown in wine when mother fate hands you a day that more than adequately describes disastrous.
And for all the blows life has handed me, for all the mistakes I have met and made, God has gone and blessed me with the most amazing of complex but lovable females.
And today, I am singing my women very high praises
The Sisterhood
I am the eldest child, and thereby an elder sister to two extremely nerve-wrecking, attire-stealing, jewelery-borrowing sisters. Martha& Linda are responsible for a major part of the madness that now resides in me. But they are also a major part of the joy and blessings that I have been bestowed with. Through nights of endless laughter spent reminiscing on our chaotic childhood, through tears, pain, anger and despair, and through prayers&hours-long phone conversations, it is clear to see why these women shall forever be little pieces of me that I continue to scream at, push into line but still love more than any other. It is not just blood that unites us. It is years of shared pain, trauma,joys, blessings that appeared at the very right time, dreams lost and recaptured...and childhood albums that show how far along we've come.
I Love My Sisters.
And even in the midst of questioning God's sense in the parent choices He made for us, I pause to give thanks. For my beautiful, strong, and sanity-testing sisters.
 |
| The taller one? Yup. My younger sister. Martha. |
Tabitha.
This team does not have a whole load of members. Mostly one really, who left the country a few weeks back. But who has been with me through so many unsober nights. Tabitha's classic response to, "...I am not so good..." is usually, "Morie, you need a drink...."followed by a plan that most usually gets me to bar where we toss gin& tonic into my sorrowful self.
Tabitha was my University room mate. For one year, we watched "Friends," binged on" TV Chicken," and gave ample support to the gin industry. Two women society labeled crazy but who preferred the comfort of their room to any other place on the planet. When we were not blasting rock music from our top-floor room, we were reading Shakespeare's sonnets, plotting how we'd penetrate the diplomatic world and most of all, being friends. Sharing survival tales, reading Cosmo, and each making sure the other's world was firm and safe.
I love my room mate that turned out to be a great friend. When I am rich and famous, I promise we shall live out all our crazy dreams.
See you in Dubai.
My first job was at a bank. I hated it. Not one drop of like for that job. Drained me, tested me and nearly took the life out of my dreams. Needless to say, I jumped ship. Yes, I met and made one of my greatest mistakes in that place. But not before I had met three women that to will forever remain the most beautiful treasures I took from there.
Peace;
My strength, my big sister, and one of my biggest models. To say I admire this woman would be an understatement. To say I learned and continue to learn a lot from her is partly true. I do not now anyone else that gentle or calm. Where I am screaming and blazing a trail of anger, she is calm, calm and calmer. Where I'll gladly tell you where to shove your bad attitude, she will smile and try again. And where I will walk out even on those I know I will not forget immediately, she will stay. And love on.
I wish I could be more like you, I wish I had the strength to not give up on love, I wish I saw the good in everyone like you do, and I wish I had a knack for numbers like you do. I am sorry I partly introduced you to alcohol, and I am sorry that sometimes, the bad clearly trounces the good. But I am glad we have one another.
Vanessa;
Straaaange...and stylish and Life House-loving. And wise. Yes, wise...not the book sort of stuff. Not the quote and lyrics sort of wisdom. But the learned, sometimes-the-hard-way, type. This woman is a lot like me. Stoic, sometimes annoyingly so. But I know that I like to be left alone some times so I leave her alone when I think life is making its rounds with her. Then I send a late-night text message...digging, but just on the surface. Then we riddle our way around the issue, go a bit into the heart of it...then seal off with stoic-but-real-feely promises to always be here for each other. And we always are. She is, at least.
Thank you for pushing me to the light...albeit it was closer to a shove. Thank you for not judging me at a time I was on the verge of hating myself...for understanding that I got weak, but making sure I didn't wallow too long.
Woman, you were partly the reason I was able to face the last major-ish storm in my life. Thank You.
NO HUG, PLEASE.
Isabel;
My dearest...I will tell you today that I think you are exceptionally strong and beautiful. And because you have not sent me an-intended-to-annoy-me email in a long time, I will be totally nice to you. I do not even know how you manage to get through some of life's not-so-wanted-but can't be-escaped-issues. That you do so standing tall& proud only makes me prouder to have you as a friend. Thank you for letting me give you a bit of advise, considering am still making my way around life. For silly but deep Face Book status updates, for wine and coke cocktails, and for trusting me enough to be vulnerable with me.
Happiness is on its way. I hear it has been asking for directions to you.
That we have managed to stay friends even when we do not have a common work mail system any more, and do not see one another as much is proof that some thing good always comes out of a bad situation. The bank drained a lot of the life out of me, but God went and sent these blessings my way.
For all the times I've never said it, I truly appreciate you.
The Listeners And The Long-Distance Loves.
Flower;
It is quite possible to have a successful long-distance relationship. With years of no communication, followed by a re-union across a social network that rekindles the relationship. The couple in question however has to have the strongest foundation of love possible. Louise and me are a powerful example that such relationships do work. Friends from 1993, school mates from 1993 to 2003, numerous semi-fights between us, but the bond holds as strong as ever. It could be because I have my eye on her elder brother that doesn't seem to notice I'm all grown up now...or it could be because love can be this true. And survive time differences, and years of almost no communication. It could be because first best friends are not that easily forgotten. I know that same town or not, ours is a friendship that will stand all the major tests.
 |
| With love from Peron; Kendrah. |
These are two of the noisiest, loudest and craziest women I have the fortune of knowing. I'm constantly wondering what they'd be like if they so much as sipped alcohol. They are mostly teetotalers but God,are they hyper! And the most social and friendly people I know. Peron listens to me rant..and rant...and laughs with me...and knows me well enough not to probe if I don't offer to tell. And she gave me my first and totally adorable God-daughter.
Immy...my love, my friend, who would tell stories all night if we didn't doze off on her and who manages to never keep time...but somehow keeps in touch even when oceans separate us.
 |
| Me, Ritah,Immy |
More praises to be sang later on....
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