Her Thought Piece

On this day I feel like Cinderella, running in her glass slippers back home, shunning the midnight hour when tick-tock hits then she turns out to be who not the prince thought. I am alarmed, truly that this year has been my princess-like charade, and once the fireworks start to go off and people start screaming in the neighborhood that it is new year, everything will change. So 3 campus years, what do I make of it? Maybe I should have pictures to show and stories to tell round a bonfire all night. But snap your fingers and for those who cannot put their thumb and middle finger together; swing them sideways to make a sound, I hope you can blink once. And yes, that’s all I can say about my years for now. It was, then it wasn’t, and believe me it’s still messing my mind up.  Can I go on being Cinderella anymore? Will friends I had in school always there for me because they were there, like the next door to mine? Will there still be like a titanic-sized room for mistakes, a

I wanted to pour my heart out but… You didn’t ask me. I am not inherently the type that just pours whenever I feel burdened.  I am a tickly lady but it takes more than the “hi, how was your day?” series of questions to  poke issues from the pits of my troubled soul. It also sometimes take more than a day of chit- chat to break through the “I-have-been-great” veil that I wear on my face. I do not ask you to  shake things off me, I do not have to be going through something every day, but realistically I  cannot be so great 365 days a year, or every twice a week that we get to talk. Disconcerting  and painful tales do not readily respond to the “how-are-you?” probes for some of us too. You look more curious than caring . That is a no-no. I am a private being. I do not spill my  beans on you just since you asked. I can tell that you just want to know and maybe feel good  that someone told you something sensitive. You do not follow up the details. Days later you  do not want t

Today I stand before thee, fellow mortals and what I have is a hefty matter at heart. Today I’ll try to plead my case and each of you reading this is already an appointed member of the jury. I am just a media student and most definitely not pursuing a law degree and yet I feel like my issue deserves a hearing. Hence, I throw this ball to the court of public opinion and I will be waiting edgily for a ruling to finally put this mind-boggling matter to rest. (In the end you can comment but finish with a standard “guilty” or “not guilty’’ verdict) So look at me, better, look into my eyes in case you need a better view of my soul. If you are scared stiff then listen and do it good and proper. Today I am desperate for a second chance (well I think even the 10th and 5th times are also called “a second chance”) but I need it bad. The weight of my guilt may not be best portrayed on my face but it is definitely shaking me like an earthquake.  Sometimes I get hold of myself and I walk ar

I recently visited Inua Mimi Rescue Centre , a home for children who have escaped tribalism, domestic violence, abandonment and such traumatizing events. I had plenty of fun, thanks to the joy these kids bore like when a friend of mine introduced himself, the kids just burst into a song that mentions his name. I mean they were so adorable and made that Saturday so memorable. I am sorry if it’s terrible to have pitied them, but that’s the kind of attitude I carried all the way from Juja to the Kibera, you know, that woiye woiye feeling. So I am there, fully determined to accomplish the day’s mission, as they say “putting a smile on a child’s face” and our idea was to do a drawing activity having brought plenty of painting stuff for them to get wild on. They draw and their 10 minutes are over. I collect their pieces as we grin at their creativity and tell them how breathtaking they are, but one. That was of a 7 or 8 year old boy, a drawing in red pen of a tilapia, a love shape,

“I’m beautiful, I’m funny, I’m gentle, I’m kind,” I tell myself while standing by the mirror. It’s my daily routine, the kind of confidence I must don before I step out of the door. It’s the dose I need to have the strength on my feet to walk hand in hand with the man that I say I love. “You’re beautiful, you make me laugh, your soul is gentle, your heart is kind,” he told me, not once, not twice. That was when his world revolved around me, when he would pursue me relentlessly, when he had the conviction, he loved me and wanted me to be his. And I was, and I loved him back and I felt beautiful, funny and kind. Time passed on and I am still his but I am not sure anymore. “You’re beautiful, you’re gentle, you’re kind,” is what I tell the reflection I see when I look at me, because now I have to remind me that; he doesn’t say it anymore. I am his but the four adjectives are thrown to others but me, he doesn’t realize I need them as much now as he needed to say them w

If you read the title your face is probably smirking already, I know. If it stays that way till the end please let me know. Our social advocates of imperfection, HOLA! Please stop getting edgy too soon, ITS JUST ME. If you hurt me and I do not confront you, count yourself uncared for, by me. Also maybe I’m keeping my distance because yelling my true feelings may drive you closer to me, and I am not interested. Being a girl in itself makes me automatically too awesome at detecting mistakes, getting mad, confronting the offender and not easily forgetting those faults. SO… Recently someone hurt me and I’m there counting A-Z; the chronology of everything they did. The nuts and bolts accurately giving the day, the hour, under what weather, in what clothes; blame it on my photographic memory. The burden of proof was staggering. Someone got the hang of it, shoved me in the car and took me on a nasty guilt trip down the memory lane.  This blame game doesn’t stop until you are tire

Its on my knees, on my back, on my face; a scar. Each is a different childhood story, or a kitchen knife, or a tripping tale into a ditch. Its what these physical unfeeling objects spot my body with, these visible reminders. It’s as shallow as the abrasions appear to be, at least for me. These scars are from a place of pain, other times of fun and cured by an over the counter pill or a band aid and drops of antiseptic that send me screaming all day. They are wounds I would make excuses over; to not do the house chores and that I got guilty pleasures from to not attend school. They are bruises my parents would remember about and bring me sweet gifts in the evening from work. There is that which you do not see, or care not to probably because you don’t know. They cannot be buried like we do dead rats in the backyards. They crouch on to dark stacks of the conscious and the subconscious awaiting a slight touch on the edges to rip open and spill all the gore out. They hide but n

I have a little girl in me that loves to play She likes to be tickled and laughs so hard She likes to yearn for sweet things a little ice cream here, a smokey there She likes to be surprised a midnight text, a takeout breakfast on a Tuesday She likes pretty dresses shoes and hippy music to dance to She likes to be waved in the air lifted high and tossed around She likes her hand held while crossing the road She likes to be tucked in bed and hugged until she falls asleep She likes to play hide and seek and giggle at a corner while you search for her She likes to be told shes beautiful and shes the only one She likes to be wiped off her tears and broad chest for solace She likes to whisper you her secrets and make saliva pacts and pinky promises and make you swear you'll never tell She likes to watch animation and sing out loud to her favourite tunes She likes a naughty note passed on in the middle of a boring lecture She likes to be wal

Today I am feeling different. I am having a tilted perspective about relationships and especially at this age. I’m feeling the pressure the society is putting on my shoulders to have someone to call boo or a guy best friend who I will take selfies with and everyone gets jealous. But instead of succumbing to the new age I’m raising my standards higher. I’m plotting my life and I hope it turns out that way.   So how about I just live life. Have a few people around whom I can share my best and worst moments with. Stay busy with anything I can. My writing, wonder lust, pool, swimming, photography, chess or even better a job. When I’m feeling rich go for a shopping spree, cinemas or camping. Through all these activities I will meet new people and make new friends. I will keep in touch with those willing. I suck at maintaining a large web of friendships so in the process some will give up on me. But I will not give up on those who go an extra mile. Those who do not wake up every day t