MAMA… I’M PREGNANT 

Hi Mama,

By the time you’ll be reading this, I shall be at the place where the skies meet the stars in a harmonious perfection. So let me begin by saying, mama I’m sorry. 

Like all sad stories, mine also begins with a boy. He was wonderful mama. He was the sort of boy that made me feel a different kind of special. He always seemed to say the right thing at the right time and in just the right way. He made me feel safe mama, wanted, loved and despite your advice to always keep my eyes open, I was constantly blinded by what I thought was a love eternal-My Perfect Cinderella story. 

I know mama. You are probably shaking your head and thinking that I should have known better. That you raised me better. That I deserved better. But mama, it was a crippling kind of love. The kind of love that made me see no fault in his eyes, no flaw in his being. He was perfection for me. 

So when the news that I was with our  seed came through, I was not scared, I was not sad, no mama, I was elated. At that moment mama, I was walking on the moon! Because here I was, about to complete this perfect love with the perfect bundle of joy. You should have seen my face mama, you should have heard how beautifully my heart beat in that moment. It was the perfect moment for my perfect love. 

But then it wasn’t. It wasn’t a perfect love and I was not going to have a perfect bundle of joy with my perfect man. All I said mama was, Baby I’m pregnant! Baby, did you hear me, I’m pregnant. For us. It’s finally going to be completely perfect. 

Then the end began.

It wasn’t the hesitation in his voice or the roughness in his tone that made my heart drop mama, it was the betrayal in his words and the spite as he uttered them. He didn’t love me anymore mama. He wasn’t ready. Was I sure? What was perfect? He had a life! Was it even his? He had heard things and this proved it. Don’t call me again. Leave me alone. Click!!

For a moment mama, I thought I was in one of my nightmares. And so I tried to open my eyes mama.  I wanted to open them and realize that my perfect cinderella story was still in play. That somehow the director had not yelled cut on my perfect story. But each time I opened them mama, the reality of it all hit me a hundredfold. 

And now I cannot breathe, I cannot feel my heart anymore mama. And it hurts. It hurts a terrible deal. I am lost mama. I am scared. Because mama, I’m pregnant. And it’s not perfect. It hurts. It aches. It cripples. I haven’t moved for days mama… I seem stuck in a sorf of limbo and I cannot pull myself back. 

Mama, I’m pregnant. I have thought a million times over how excited you would be to hear the news– if only now was 10 years later and all your dreams for me had come to life. But it isn’t 10 years later is it mama? It’s 10 years too early and my heart cannot bear the thought of seeing you dissapointed. Hurt. Angry. Confused. Sad. 

Mama, I’m pregnant. But worry not- when the skies turn a beautiful red tonight, we could be happier maybe even better. Shall I know peace mama? Will the place where the skies meet the stars let me rest mama? Or will the demons of my future past haunt me? Will the blood of my innocent keep me forever restless?

Mama, I’m pregnant and I want you to hold my hand and tell me it’s okay. I want you to do what he was unable to do for me. To love me- perfectly. I don’t want you to be upset mama, I don’t want you to cry, I don’t want you to worry! I want you to smile and tell me it is still my perfect moment and that you and I can create a perfect picture still with my perfect bundle of joy!

But I realize mama, that that would be asking too great of a deal from you!  And I am far too ashamed to watch you try and smile as this tears you apart! Maybe I am a coward mama, for choosing this, for going down like this. But mama, I do not want to carry on like everything is fine. I am trying to be brave for you mama but at the same time, I cannot face your breaking heart! 

Mama I’m pregnant and tonight at sunset I shall take my baby and I to the place where the skies meet the stars in perfect harmony! 

Mama… I’m pregnant but above all mama, I am sorry!

-Broken Cinderella

FOR MY HEART UNBROKEN

To my perfect delight:

It’s almost crippling- this feeling I have because what do you do when your heart beats a little faster, your cheecks flash a little redder and your thoughts are fully and wholly consumed by it. 

I remember the day we first met and I cannot for the life of me tell you how many times I’ve tucked tight in my bed reminising the events of that first meet. I remember everything in brutal detail. I remember the first time you smiled at me, the first time you spoke to me, the first time you hugged me, the first time you kissed me. I remember my knees going just a little weak and my heart beating just a little faster. I remember how everything else faded away and for a moment I could swear it was just you and I. It was perfect. In that moment, we were perfect. Under the stars but deep in your arms. If I never said it before, then goddamn, it felt magical. 

The magic grew with each passing day that I saw you. For a moment it felt like my fairy godmother was always with me, sprinkling just a little bit of wand magic my way and then you’d appear. You were my perfect dream. I remember waiting up late for my green light to pop up- my favorite notification. It was amazing how easily a ‘Hey’ from you could make me smile. And knowing you each day made me believe in this magical thing- this beautiful, perfect us. And dammit I loved it! 

But then, that’s the thing about magic love. It’s not real. It is just but an illusion. By the mind, for the mind. And now I feel trapped. Because I thought you were godmothers gift but it turns out, you were a magical trick. An illusion. A fairy tale- only now I don’t see us having a happily ever after. 

The sad truth is- when we met we were both looking to escape. To escape reality. To escape life. To escape hurt. To escape imperfection. We both wanted a safe space. We both needed a safe space. And, darling I don’t know how hard I make your heart beat or how weak I may have made your knees but I do know for a fact that our safe space is lost. 

Because all you seem to do now is break me and hurt me and fill me with never ending doubt. What do I feel? What do I want? Do I want you or the image of you? Do I trust you or the image of you? Because you are a reality- a reality that scares me but your image is an illusion – an illsuion I love to believe in. 

I want you to wake up and tell me it’s okay. Tell me that just like everything else, this is me overthinking things. That my mind is in a continous state of turmoil for no reason because you are here, and you won’t leave. You won’t fade away. The magic is not dead, we just need to learn new tricks.

And honey I will smile. And I think for now- a certain smile is all I want. 

But you can’t can you? Because just like me- you are in a world uncertain. 

And you have no idea how greatly that kills me. 

So goodbye my love. Goodbye. 

– Broken Pieces

The Rot that is Us

​Today, I wake up a disappointed citizen- Again. 
I wake up disappointed because I have realized that I live in a country where people are okay to be mediocre. We have become so content in our little zones that we don’t see how fast we are rotting. We are rotting as a people. We have forgotten all that once glued us together. 

I wake up disappointed because the only language that we speak is the tribal one. I wake up disappointed because we walk around preaching water and drinking wine. 

A mother lost a child because the doctor at a hospital that can accept her minimum wage has gone on strike because the politician that bags millions of shillings in tax money has refused to pay his wages. Why you ask? Oh you know he is simply busy trying to campaign for a better Kenya. He is not bothered that millions of lives are at stake, I mean what’s more important than Kura Yake?

A family is mourning the loss of their child because there is no food in the country. Let’s go ahead and call it a National Disaster… Will we do anything about it though? Ah well, if we send a few bags of Unga then the mwananchi will see we are hard at work. He will eat Ugali for lunch and then I will drive by in my Range Rover and ask him to take his Kura because I mean, what’s more important than Kura Yake? 

Scores of lives were lost in the post election violence because of the Tribal Language. Mheshimiwa, what will you do about it? Ah, I shall continue to divide and conquer. Spread the message of hate sugar coated in promises of doing better than this and that region. I shall tell Mwananchi that they don’t deserve the seat because they don’t speak our tongue. They are thieves. But when I get to that seat, do you know what I shall do, I shall squander public resources. I shall attend 1M budget breakfast meetings, I shall take my children to Yale where the lecturers never go on strike, I shall devour the tax payers money and I shall blame it all on Corruption. Because He is Evil but me, I am only trying to do what’s best for Mwananchi. 

The lecturers are on strike you say? Ahhh, well good they shall have more time to take Kura. Because, what’s more important than Kura Yake? The students also, I shall visit them and give them Kshs 300 to chukua Kura because they need a better Kenya and I am a better Kenya. 

What about their school work? 

What about it? This man corruption has taken away all the jobs and there is no point of them returning to this mediocre institutions that offer fake degrees and come out to this cruel land that offers zero employment. No! I shall do nothing to ease the strike. Let them strike! It leaves more time for them to take Kura. Because what’s more important than Kura?
I shall sit in my high table in August. After I win my seat. And I shall start a motion to raise my salary because Mheshimiwa is not content with the millions he squanders every month. No, I need more. 
The doctors shall strike again, and so shall the lecturers and the teacher and everyone else. I shall pay no mind though because I shall have reached my high table. I shall sleep in Parliament while they pass motions that actually matter and I shall be wide awake to play the game of He Did, She Did because what’s more important that eliminating your rivals in seats of power?
The country shall hunger but I shall pay no mind. Because I gave them Unga and they gave me 5 more years to convince them that Nothing is more important than Kura!    
We shall ignore the voice of the small man because Baba will speak for the Nation. The young generation government shall dab away our problems and at the end of the day, as the common Mwananchi bleeds for me in the streets of Tom Mboya, I shall sit on the VIP Lounge at Intercontinental with my brother and have a double shot of Whiskey while coming up with more reasons why their is nothing more important than Kura Yake. 

#WeAreARottingPeople

Off to Coast in Red Convertibles 

Today, I woke up with an agenda to write something super important about something that affects the environment, babies, manure or maybe politricks? Then, as it is my nature to never do what I say I’m going to do, I’m sitting here and I’m not going to write about babies or manure or the environment or the pigs in politics. I am going to write about a song sent to me by Thee Arkay called September Song.

It’s a really sweet song about young love at 15. 

Yesterday, I was busy watching Elijah watching Hayley get married to this Jackson guy when it hit me, now she’s going to be the one that got away for Elijah you know unless Klaus kills Jackson and everybody hates him but you know at least then Elijah has a chance with Hayley. Anyway, as I sat there crying like a little bitch for Elijah, I remembered, I have a ‘The One that Got away too’. My own September Song.

See, when I was like 7 years old I had this best friend called, well let’s call him Nick. My mom and Nick’s mom were really good friends and I spent a lot of time at their place with our babysitter Hannah I think. Nick and I were closer than close, we shared stupid secrets and I remember our favorite pastime was stealing coins and buying Juice Cola then taking those 2 liters bottles and making some Cola. I remember Nick once told me that if you drink too much Cola then you get drunk and that day we made 4 liters of Cola for some reason.

At Nick’s plot there was this other girl whose face I can’t remember and whose name I don’t know so let’s call her Angie. Angie would sometimes hangout with us and she had confessed that she had a thing for Nick. Each time we’d hang out I’d always try to get Nick to sit next to Angela but he wouldn’t. You know how kids run away from other kids coz they don’t want ‘cooties’? It was something like that with Nick and Angela and as always I was caught in between but you know best friends before weird girls crushing on best friends.  

One day, Nick and I were in their living room after downing 2 liters of Cola in his room it was raining I think and we must have been watching the telly or something. In his room he had this picture of a red convertible that he loved. It was his dream car or something. Anyway, he passes this piece of paper to me and in it is a question. Thinking back now, it was really sweet what he did and dear future boyfriend, when you propose to me, take notes from Nick and Ed Sheeran will you?

So, in the piece of paper was the question that every girl wanted to be asked at 7, “Will you be my girlfriend?” There were two boxes one marked Yes and the other No. Under the Yes box, he had written, If you say Yes, I’ll buy my red car and take you to Mombasa. He was just the sweetest. Anyway, have you ever met those people that are so scared of love and relationships that they run away from good things, get involved with bad things that are highly dysfunctional and end up just nasty? Yes, even at 7 I had issues. I really wanted to say yes and get my first boyfriend who would buy me Cola and those weird shaped ball gums and we would watch Tom and Jerry together till were old and grey probably living in Mombasa like we wanted. But then I said no and sorry because Angela liked Nick. I’m weirdly such a nice person aren’t I?

I don’t remember much about Nick after that whole situation, I saw him again when we were in class 6 and he moved to my school but by then we had lost our thing and I had a crush on this Luhya guy called something something. He was kind of maybe probably cute- story for another day. 

And that’s the story of how sweet Nick and I never lived happily ever after in Mombasa with his red convertible thingy.

 I miss you Nick and I hope you found the girl that said Yes and went to Mombasa with you– or not, you know there’s a chance we could meet someday so you know maybe who knows okay, bye. I have things to do. 

THE BOY I LOVE

Introverts always tend to thrive in environments where they are alone, you know without the noise of the world. I feel like we say this all the time but nobody ever listens to us. Anyway, I have replayed Boyfriend and not the Justin Beiber version, the Big Time Rush version about 300 million times and it sparked a little memory. Here is the story of a boy I like to call, My Almost Boyfriend. 

Our love story begins like all others, we met on the internet and no, it was not on Tinder or some other weird dating site, it was actually on Instagram. Well I mean I met him on Instagram and for weeks I stalked him and did not like any of his pictures coz you know I was playing a little hard to get. Anyway, he was the complete definition of my tall, dark and handsome which means that he had a nice face, a nice set of teeth and he was generally amazing to look at.  

I swear to God do you ever have one of those daygarsms? Like you rode that day so hard and it just got you there, right in the spot you wanted to be at the exact time you wanted to be there and you didn’t have to fake the excitement of the day coz you really were excited about the journey there? I could use a better comparison but my playlist is currently on Wild Horses and I can’t help but think of jockeys. The people who ride are jockeys yeah?  Ha-ha.

Anyway, the moral of the previous paragraph is that he liked my pictures. We call that insta-rape in stupid people who can’t stay of the internet language. And when I say he liked my pictures, I mean he freakin liked all my photos. Have you ever been so excited that you plan a met, a proposal, a wedding and  three babies? And in a span of like 3 minutes? Before I could even get over how cute Sam, Chris and Ronny (Yes, I have no desire whatsoever to mother girls) he sealed our fate by hitting that follow button. I wanted to go to Mars and say hey to the Queen alien, congratulate her on her 400 new purple babies and then take a little trip around the rings in some planet whose name I can’t remember. I was having one of those: And in that moment Jane new that Raphael was the love of her life moments from Jane the Virgin which I have conveniently not watched, I just heard that line one time. Did I use conveniently right in that sentence? 

Anyway, we spent the next few weeks exchanging those likes and from the way he liked my pictures, I could tell that he knew I knew he knew that we both knew we knew there was something there. Something magical, his like loves even appeared different. The heart would beat a little then give me one of those hey baby winks- you feel? Then one day I was busy minding my business not being where his geo tag had said he was 30 minutes back when he somehow saw me not conveniently sitting directly opposite where he was with his friends. I call it fate- my best friend calls it stalking but I mean, what does she know right? It’s fate. It is. 

So, he walked up to me after a few minutes of me not praying to something that he would and sparked a conversation. We talked about how much I was not looking at his face and picturing him running around with baby Sam who was our first born and wasn’t it just perfect? It was, wasn’t it? I mean you can also see how beautiful of a couple we are right? Him, me, us, together, forever in our little house in the suburbs with our little cats and our little court coz my dad would insist on teaching the boys basketball and our little pool because Chris would be a sucker for the water and Ronny would just be my little perfect boy who likes cooking with mommy. So perfect right? 

Well, wrong. As luck would have it, his girlfriend, that appeared in almost all his photos was a boy.  

I’ve never really been able to get over him majorly because you know, none of this actually ever happened but you know I actually did stalk my way into several lives so… It’s pretty close. 

NAUGHTY BABY

Do you ever have naughty thoughts? Yeah? Me too.

I always find myself devising ways to steal chapattis after they have been cooked and carefully packed in the hotpot. It’s always a challenge especially when your mom busts you with hot chapatti in your mouth and you star dancing around like my chanting rainmaking ancestors. When I was young, that dance was always followed by a really nasty beating with these red slippers my mom owned. 

My beatings as a child usually varied with the crime I had committed and sometimes from the way my mom talked, I swear you’d have thought I was on some FBI watch list. So, as I’m sitting here, something interesting came to me and I decided to write it down. I’ve always been a clumsy girl. I have marks on my body from tripping on things and falling, to stepping on broken glass I had broken and tried to cover up from my mom to some really weird ones I have no idea of their genesis. 

As a kid, my mom always tells me that I was afraid of this particular old woman and each time I saw her I would cry like a baby. Wait, I was a baby. Anyway, moving on to a totally unrelated story, one day around the time I was being potty trained by mom, I don’t know what happened but I was throwing a tantrum. I’ve always had a fair for the dramatic but insist that I am the least dramatic person in the whole wide world! Where was I? Crying, yes I was crying and all because of something that happened and mom doesn’t remember and then suddenly I had to take a shit. 

I don’t know if the tears made me hallucinate or maybe I was just high on something but instead of sitting on my potty (potty is that little plastic thing kids take shits in btw) I sat on my mother’s stove. I can’t remember at all how it felt or even it happening but I imagine my poor ass saw a few hot days- literally! So, as I grew up and began checking myself out in the onset of adolescence, I noticed I had a big black spot on my ass and after asking my mom randomly one day she told me that story. 

As my ass outgrew it Kikuyu expectations, I grew bigger and before adolescence, came my tomboy stage- I think! I wouldn’t say my childhood was Barbie and rainbows but I have some epic memories of people I hope outgrew their child faces. I’m not saying they were ugly, I’m just saying one of us had really thin teeth that were almost all black and when she smiled, she looked like something out of a bad teeth movie. You know like the tooth fairy was abducted by thin charcoal people who had taken over the tooth castle and decided everything would look thin, black and creepy. Anyway, that’s not where the story lies, this one time I had been playing with these group of boys and the only one I remember was called Kevin, I think so, my mom didn’t quite like them or something.

Before she left that day, I remember she was wearing something red, she told me not to try and go play with Kev and Co. at stage, which I guess was our new fascination. Like the little good girl I was, I agreed not to dare go play anywhere near the stage. As soon as mom was out of the door, I was also out of the door. And we both know that there is no way I was going to not go to stage. I met up with Kev and Co. and we went to stage and ‘hang out’ then timed the late afternoon when we knew our parents would be getting back home and set off to go home. 

So, my mom gets home and she is like “Ulienda stage leo”? I looked up at her, face all pokered up and said, “Hapana, tulicheza tu hapa nje ya plot.” Looking back now, lying was probably not a good idea because as it turns out, my mommy was at stage the whole time watching me play my way to an as whooping I would never forget. What happened? Well first, she told me to remove all my clothes and go away from her house. Then, after my clothes were off and I was turning to leave, she asked me where I was going? In my little head I was probably like, woman you just told me to leave! Then she gave me a beating that should earn her an Oscar by the way. Imagine yourself ass naked and a red Bata PatiPati dropping on your body like it’s hot. It was literally one of those moments you cry so hard to a point where the tears just stop flowing and the sounds of agony can’t even come out anymore. 

Your body is low-key adapting to the pain, your tear and scream ducts have gone on an unofficial strike and you just stand there looking at your mother looking at you looking at her whooping you like the Oscar went to some other mom whose kid did not commit a felony a great as yours!

I loved to take a dramatic shit as a kid, the stove hurt my butt, I loved to not obey my mom as a kid, she hurt my naked everything!

In short, I think love is pain! 
Happy Valentines though!

NO CRAZY TITLE TODAY

​I’ve been having the worst case of writers block. It’s almost a month since my last post and I just got this fake nails that are making my hand look extremely sexy as I’m typing. Anyway, it’s the 11th day of the second month of the year 2017 and referencing back to my Hey 20’s post, I’m back at my spot at the dinner table with my just my little sister this time trying to figure out the prime factors of 333. I referenced to Hey 20’s because I’m honestly beginning to think someone cursed birthdays for me. Each time my small, very weird and I’m not so sure sane circle of friends make birthday plans, someone in Kenya goes on strike! We just want a day filled with laughter and food and flirtation and just a little bit of sin here and there, is that too much to ask oh yee striking nation?! 

That whole paragraph was just meant to kill my writers block and I think it worked! Now, let’s talk about resolutions 2017!

I remember when I was a teenager, feels good to say that, I always made resolutions and unlike most people I actually tried really hard to follow them through but somewhere along the way, I would throw in the towel, sometimes literally, and just say F### it. I kept journals and diaries, I’m hoping there is a difference and I wrote everything that I felt weird though I never really wrote on boys or fantasies or anything like that, it ranged from I want to publish a book and be famous or I want to slit my wrists and die kind of thing.

Anyway, as the years went by and I got my emotions a little stabilized and I stopped keeping journals and feelings and diaries, I stopped making resolutions and here is why: I expected. Here’s the thing about me, I hate expectation because over the years, I’ve had to deal with too much disappointment and it was not fun! For a time though, in 2014 immediately after I joined campus, I forgot a little and started expecting things again, call it the thrill of something new maybe? Anyway, as always my overly high expectations are crushed and it takes me to a dark place and to be fair to myself, I’m kind of scared of the dark!

So when people asked me what my resolutions were this year, I said nothing. I don’t want to turn this into some sobby post that will touch your heart or anything but I guess I’m just tired of feeling disappointed you know? I mean when people say why not just lower your expectations, I say no because why do I want to compromise something I want to be able to fit your low standards? Rather not expect anything so that whatever comes, is not really a loss- call it playing safe.  

My best friend thinks that my ex-boyfriend damaged me and that’s why I seem to be spiraling out of control with this crazy talk as she calls it but I think that the stupid guy actually helped me finally put things in perspective. I mean with all the expectations I had since 2014 and all the disappointment I shoved aside and let slide, I’d grown to be someone that just sat in a corner and smiled, sometimes going a little dramatic and hoped that things would turned out as I expected. All the frustrations of that relationship or the previous ones not working out just seemed to build up too much and were turning me into someone I didn’t like. And, stupid relationships aside, even in life as a whole, I realized I was settling too much and expecting things to be just fine. I hate just fine!

Once I sat back and looked at how things had been going, I hated it and I hated this cocooned person I was turning into. I’m Misfitly Wild, I don’t settle, I don’t want just fine. I want fun and laughter and drama lots of drama and memories that make me laugh in the car and inside jokes with people who get me and lazy days where I can just sit and eat unhealthy and crazy nights where policemen are knocking on your door because your music and laughter is a tad too loud and weird conversations over the phone about life and food and music. I don’t want to be the girl that allows a boy to treat her just fine because he can, or the girl that lets  fakeness surround her or the girl that feels she needs to act a certain type of way to fit into a certain type of crowd.

I want to be me. Misfitly Wild. The girl that is a little neat freakish, owns a blog, writes the longest captions on Instagram, takes pictures sometimes or writes a stupid quote or two when she can. The girl that gets overly emotional every time she hears a song and loves to Google recipes on the internet just so she can cook up some fancy food that mostly ends up in the trash coz it tastes awful- haha. The girl that won’t write anything more about herself because now it’s getting mushy. 

I want to dare you, to start not expecting things from people and just go a little wild. Live, laugh, dance, kiss a boy or a girl or go on a date and bring those walls down a little. Go in with the end game of making a really great memory that you can tell your best friend about and see how it goes. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a sucker for memories, they are the only thing I know I’ll have left when the lights are out and everybody goes home. 

Go Wild!

Ps: If you’re single, lonely and alone like most of us, just check out my post 7 days to Love it pretty much guides you on how to survive this horror called Valentines and sharing is Sexy!

THE BEST FRIEND TAG

My best friend and I have been friends since we had boobs and boy problems. I think it’s safe to say that we have gone through the worst part of puberty together. We are currently in the quarter life crisis phase where we are stressed out constantly by the fact that we are 20+ and not millionaires or atleast dating Justin Beiber. 

What is our back story? We met, walked home together one day and decided that we would be besties till our boobs were tired and drooly. Okay, now it’s questions time:

1.When and How did we first meet?

Melo: We met in church. 

Me: It’s true, God actually likes us. 

2.If you could go to any place in the world, where would it be?

Melo: Paris. To see the Eiffel Tower

Me: Amsterdam. Just for the sole purpose of skydiving. I seem to have a death wish. 

3. Favorite Color? 

Melo: Grey. I’m dark like that.

Me: Purple. I’m the light one. 

4. Favorite Food?

Melo: Pilau.

Me: Spaghetti and Meat Balls. Pilau is overrated 

Melo: Shut up. 

5. Name of your Bff’s crush.

Melo: Micheal Clifford. It’s more like an obsession, it’s almost mental. 

Me: Ras. This guy was the greatest headache of our life. Haha. He was cute though… 

6. Your biggest fear?

Melo: To die not having fulfilled my life’s purpose.

Me: I’m only scared of heights, darkness, thinness, Water, Cockroaches, Bad lipstick and bad spaghetti. Yeah. 

7. Three things you cannot live without.

Melo: My earphones, my music and my junk food.

Me: Neopolitan Icecream, Pizza and 5 Seconds of Summer. 

8. What 3 movies does your BFF love the most?

Melo: We both love Investigative, drama and Comedy. 

Me: Yeah. 

9. 2 things your BFF doesn’t know about you.

Melo: Practically nothing. She knows me too much, like she’s my shadown

Me: Yeah, sometimes I can tell her before she farts. 

Melo: Haha. Why are we friends again?

Me: Because I’m awesome. 

10. Your BFF’s ideal spouse/ partner. 

Melo: A guy who will give her 100%

Me: Hmm, a guy who has a great sense of sarcasm, drives and has a great smile. It’s the only way we can be friends. 

11. How long does it take your BFF to get dressed?

Melo: An hour.

Me: She has to do her hair, her face, her eyes, her nails… Well the whole day? We’re always late to everything. It’s never my fault. 

Melo: It’s always your fault. Dumb dumb.

12. If you went out together, what would you most likely eat?

Melo: Icecream and Pizza. Plus Chicken and fries.

Me: We like to keep it healthy. 

13. Favorite TV show?

Melo: Keeping Up with the Kardashians. 

Me: Yeah, we like to be informed about the world and all it’s glorious rachetness. Plus, we like the Mother of Asses- Kimmie. 

14. Favorite inside joke?

Melo: Kuweka Barrier.

Me: Hahaha…  Kasema!

15. Favorite memory?

Melo: Everytime all 4 of us are together. 

Me: By all 4 she means our two guy besties- Mark and Lex. Very cute boys if anyone wants a hookup. 

Melo: We should charge for the hookups.

Me: Yeah, do people put up single guys on OLX?

Melo: I’m officially friends with a crazy person. 

16. What annoys you most about your BFF?

Melo: Nothing. She’s awesome 

Me: I’m awesome. 

17. Last book your BFF read?

Melo: The Power of the Pussy.

Me: It’s pretty powerful. 

18. Does your BFF have any nicknames?

Melo: Mbuguade.

Me: Pinchez.

19. What’s your BFF really bad at?

Melo: Lying… Atleast to me

Me: She’s bad at being mean. She’s overly nice which is annoying. 

20. What would your BFF do if they won the lottery?

Melo: Charity. She has such a big heart .

Me: Definitely start something great business wise. She has this mind for business that will make us RICH AF! 

21. Is your BFF dating?

Melo: Yes.

Me: No.

22. Do you like your BFF’s boyfriend?

Melo: Not really. Well, No!

Me: I want to burn her ex’s car with him in it. 
Okay. Bye 😊


IN MY CURVY EYES

It’s 4:33am and I’m up staring at the ceiling and silently thanking God that no one around me is up. It’s so quiet it’s almost magical. No people are talking, no birds are chirping, no lights are shining, thieves are probably retiring to bed after a hard night’s work and soon the darkness will too. That’s the sad part, that moments like these will not last forever, that I’ll probably have to wake up tommorow and be nice to people. Maybe I should just avoid waking up tommorow?
I love the world like this. Quiet. The serenity of it all brings along a certain kind of peace that I’m sure will be destroyed by the first break of light. Tommorow I will wake up and have to face another day of noise. Tommorow I will wake up and be forced to smile, nod and say ‘I’m great! Thanks!’ Tommorow I will wake up and be forced to open the door and let them in. I honestly don’t want to. I’m praying to the heavens that they let me have this piece of magic for just a while longer. 

I don’t want to close my eyes and open them to the harsh realities of the world. Not today atleast. I want the world to remain asleep because in it’s sleepy state, I can keep my PMS under control. People will wake up today and want to talk to me or look at me or smile at me and I will hate it. I’ll hate their eyes and their teeth, probably their clothes and please don’t let me look at their face. 

I’ll hate how nice they want to be and I’ll hate that I hate how nice they are because I’ll hate how nice I’ll have to pretend I am. Then, I’ll have to pretend that I’m happy with seeing their face when half that time all I want to do is punch them and smile. Is that legal? 

When I started this post, I wanted to describe the beauty of 4a.m but then I remembered that after 4 am, all that beauty will fade away. Just like the good boys and all the world will be left with are a couple of dumb boys and alot of noise! I hate noise except when I’m making it. 

The thing about noise is that it’s loud and it’s eerie and it kills your zone. It’s like having a perfectly good meditation session ruined by a mosquito that won’t stop buzzing. Mosquitos buzz right? I would google it but it’s already 4:53 am and I don’t want to. I hate noise, except when I’m making it. 

I’m particularly mad at nothing at the moment. I don’t like my phone, I don’t like my bed, I don’t like my face so trust me I’ll hate your face, I don’t like my boyfriend I’m planning to be mad at him for nothing all week- poor lad, I don’t like my towel either- I just noticed that it’s so green and so is my purse and my dustbin and my shirt and my stand wait, am I trying to tell myself something? I thought purple was my favorite color! I hate you green!

I hate that my neigbour just came in from a night out. Who knew doors could be that loud? Now I hate that he’s using the toilet loudly, I mean would it kill you to flush the flush thing when it’s after 7 am and everybody is flushing the flush thing? My neighbours are really nice though. Thank God they aren’t green. I once saw green neighbours- literally green.

 I hate that I can’t go to the supermarket and buy myself a big calorie filled icecream with Chilli Lemon crisps as toppings. I hate that we have to say crisps instead of crips. Life would be so much easier if crisps were actually crips right?

I hate that I just said that and now some dumb dumb will steal my crisps topping idea. I hate that instead of deleting that part, all I want to do is complain. 

5:02 am. The magic is already dead. All my insecurities are beginning to surface like how 30 seconds ago I just spelt the word surface as sufface and how I probably have no data and how no one seems to have left their hotspots on tonight. Dumb babies. 

Another thing bothering me is that tommorow I might go to the supermarket and find all the Neopolitan gone. I don’t know why but in my head, I already pictured an attack where the thieves solely steal all the Neopolitan Iceream and drive away in an icecream van with Tyga.I promise this has nothing to do with the song Icecream man.

Have I ever told you that I sometimes have OCD? Is OCD even a sometimes thing? Well let’s just say that I am a mad cleaner. This means that each and every time I’m angry the only thing that makes me feel better is cleaning and growing mad at people for no reason at all. I’m probably mad at you right now. Yeah you, reading this…. 

I clean everything! Once, I was so angry I accidentally cleaned my cat and cats do not like water. Which reminds me that my cat just gave birth and it’s already 5:12 am and I’m going to clean the house then sleep before anyone is awake and they make me kill them 🙂

I hope you have a terrible day and remember people say sharing is caring but in real sense, they just want your money or food. All I want you to do is educate someone because I promise that this post has a really important message about something that I’m yet to figure out.

Okay, Bye 🙂


THE SCRIPT

 It all starts with the little things. The noise and the quiet, the warmth and the cold, the people and the places. He never quite understood what it meant or why it always seemed to happen just after his brightest smile. It didn’t hurt, there was no feeling it was more like a phase. 

A phase characterized by the want and the need to be alone with his demons. It was a phase characterized by so much despair that fighting those demons was never really an option. He let them be. He let them eat at his body, mind and soul but not in a bad way, in a way that was good, a kind of good he couldn’t explain, a kind of good he felt he needed. 

They never quite understood him. To them, he was just another lad with another bad day. He was just another lad that seemed to enjoy and understand the dark and broken things  all too well. 

For courtesy’s sake they would occassionally ask, ‘Are you Okay?’ And he would casually reply with a smile because he was not not okay; he was perfect – no, he was perfectly imperfect. He was in his element, he was himself. They never quite understood that and they never would but he didn’t mind and he never would.

See, they didn’t see the world the way he saw it. To them, the world was either black or white but he liked to think there were patches of grey and a rainbow color or two in there. 

They wanted everything defined, labelled and put in little tiny boxes but he thrilled in the mystery of the world. He never sought to find the answer rather he sought to feel, understand and get lost in the complexity of it all. 

When it came to people, he always seemed to be attracted to their dark and broken parts. He always seemed to understand them better than anyone else. It wasn’t because he did anything or said anything. No. It was just in his being. He seemed to make it better by being around almost as if he was absorbing all that dark matter and blending it with his own. And he loved it. 

But on days like these, the darkness seemed to get a little darker, a little bit more wild. The beauty about his pain and his struggle though lied in the hope of knowing tommorow would be better. Tommorow would bring more hope and a new sunshine. Today was bad but maybe just maybe if he closed his eyes hard enough and wished upon a wishing star, then tommorow would be better a day! 

His heart was kind and his soul was different. 

His, was a script he had come to memorize all too well.