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.

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.

At His Knees.

I sat before God…

I sat down at my maker’s feet…

Grabbing on to the only one that remains solid

The One whose love is without question.

                                             

I sat at my maker’s feet

I asked the one who watches over me

Where He had been lately

Why He had been silent

And why my heart was aching

Because the pain was numbing me

And the nightmares were now frequent.

I told Him that loves my soul,

Him, the lover of my spirit

I told Him the truth

The truth I could tell no one else

That I was all wrung out of strength

The fight in me was burned down…down to cold and lifeless ashes

I told the one whose love I had come to depend on

Told him that this time, I was out of my element

This fight, I could not take on.

I sat at the knees of the one my soul loves

The one who redeemed my lost self

Told Him I was losing my way. Again.

I told the Lord, the Lord of my life

Told Him I was spent

And, could use a lift.

From the dumps. From the hurt. The mess.

I sat at the feet of my maker.

And asked Him to make it better.

Fear. Acer. Him.

I will start by venting. On God. I got up this morning feeling all inspired and ready to write about three pieces today. So I log in and type away. Then some criminally-stupid error happened to the page and poof! went my deep and witty blog post. Man did I swear. After months of totally zilch inspiration, which is the most essential part of writing, the dwanzie of a computer eats up the first thing I put down. All swear words and curses to the silly computer fairy who was sleeping on duty. Msssscccchhhheeewww.

Unfocused Just.

Hours later, after I have gone over every possible way to re-acquire my handiwork, I have moved on. Life is short. Abusing this Acer gadget will not help. Let me put what's left of my inspiration to good use. New posting. Arise fairy. We've got knowledge to impart. Wisdom to share. Fears to confess.And you need to keep any form of article-eating, mind-flaming and talent-disrespecting bugs out of my way. Here goes;

Passion is underrated. Fear is the enemy. The enemy who knows all your deepest, darkest doubts, misgivings and character patterns and will not be shy about using them against you. The shrinks insist that that giving attention to fear is the surest way to have it wreck havoc in your life. But we do not give attention to fear. Fear pays us the attention. Fear clings to your heart and invades your mind and clutches your soul. Fear is not scared of us. Because fear has been around longer than any of us has. So it has the experience necessary to pin you down. Fair and square.

I have been engrossed in a battle with this enemy. Who seems to think that dragging images and replays from my memory bank will cause me to scare and like I always do, run. The fear is right. At least the tactic is. My memory bank is filled with scenes I wish I could erase. With faded but clearly-there reminders of past pains, past aches, past losses. The memories which are mine are being used against me. To eventually create more painful memories right after I give in and create a huge, dirty mess. Isn't life ironic?

Isn't fear devious?

How does one ever totally wipe away those stains to the mind? How does one let the past fully go so they can enjoy the now with no qualms about the past being repeated and causing the same past pains, with the same spirit-crushing results? Because I would like to go on. With life. With him.

But he scares me. He always did. Flame-hot passion doesn't exactly help matters. Especially since this is first-time-flame-hot-passion. Oh, there has been passion. The sort that warmed me.

This is burning me. And I am begging to be scorched.

Fire, follow me...???

There are things you do not believe in until you have seen them yourself. That I just might have found my human kryptonite is one of those things. I do not believe in kryptonites. I do not hold with the belief that one can have a great weakness for another human being. I do not understand being weak for another person. And I am not weak for this person. I am not being kryptonited, please. I am simply caught up in an intensity that has this rare but enduring ability to get deeper. I am running in a circle that for two years (albeit at intervals), has refused to come to an end. I am the girl who is being forced to question everything I ever stood for and believed in. Because what I believe in is simply that-beliefs. What I am in is words and everything else. Action. Feelings. Blood rushes. Everything deep and scary.

Pain is pleasure. And passion is pain. My body and heart have minds of their own. And I am no competition. That's a lie. I do not want to fight them.

There is something to be said about not being able to last an hour without touching someone and of the man who will not last an hour without turning to look at you. 

It is meaningless but somewhat deep things like these that are giving rise to the cold demons of fear within me. I do not like to be this way with another person. Yes, I wish for it. I pray for intensity and depth and friendship and that searing passion. I know I would not be in any thing that is without passion and intimacy. I pray for all these things and when they do show, I am like the dog that chases the car but doesn't know what to do when the car does stop. 

Because when you are this way with another person, you are vulnerable. Vulnerable and me don't make good friends. I prefer to have my head screwed on right at all times. But he makes my mind run away. And honestly, I don't exactly miss it.

Until it strikes.

Fear of the past repeating itself. Fear of the future that is unknown. Fear that if this the real deal, the battle is just beginning. Hell will break loose and commitments will be put to test.

I fear that because we have somehow failed to grasp the-let-us-leave-one-another-alone-and-actually-move-on part of this entire thing, we are in line for shocks and surprises. 

I fear that because we will not let go, because even when I am tantrum-ming like a three year old and we are fighting like cats, you are there. You never really leave. Some of the things that you did in the past are begging to be revisited. In the name of experience being the best teacher. The stories of your past are little arrows that pierce me each time someone unknowingly speaks of you. The extent of your drama pushes the run alerts so hard, I have to stop myself from picking the phone and cutting you completely out of my life.

Heaven doesn't seem to be in any hurry to help me. And I am only human. I am a girl who has come face to face with the stuff real life is made of. 

I am the girl who doesn't understand how pleasure and pain can go together. Because I am the girl who always had it figured out. Now I am the girl searching for answers. In not-so-clever-places.

His eyes for instance do not hold written-in-stone-answers.