Person of mine – Day 6

Dear Person of mine,

I was staring at you the other day. Your eyes shone like they were bedazzled with tiny little diamonds. They were lovingly bright, and yet strong and firm; I felt safer than Obama. And then you smiled. Your teeth were so perfect, I don’t think I want to smile ever again because I wouldn’t make any sense. But in that moment, you looked extraordinary.

I was transfixed. I could have stayed there, in that seat all my life but then we’d starve. So then we took a walk to find some good food, and you took my hand in yours; I thought the world should end already. What more did I want? Or rather need? No…I sure need a few more things, but I got all I wanted. And all i wanted was right there taking a firm grip of my little hand. You didn’t let my hand go when we had to walk either side of a huge manhole because I had absent mindedly decided to go the other side. I thought that was really sweet.

We found some good food, and even you, felt that those chairs were uncomfortably far from each other. The table was large. So you moved yours close to mine. Close enough for us to touch shoulders each time we laughed as we shared a pizza. I caught you staring a few times, with a little smirk on your lips and I didn’t want to ask what you were thinking because it was your moment, in your mind, and I wanted it kept there for you.

We got up and left to God knows where (at that time) because we just wanted to keep walking. You could not say that goodbyes and see you laters were not your best parts of our days, but I could see it. So I let you keep taking me to God knows where. And when one rugged man tried to grab my arm, you dangerously glared at him so hard it made me smile. When usually that situation would get me raging mad. You wanted to take the long way to my taxis because it just wasn’t the time to part yet. But part we did, and I sat next to the window and watched you wait for the taxi to set off. It finally did, and you kept looking, as we sped into the distance.

I love that you are who you are. I love that you are a person of mine.
Till I see you.

Yours to keep,
Person of yours.



See my life. – Day 5

These last two days – inclusive today- have been crazy busy for me, swamped up in workshops and not being able to tell the difference between the tea break and lunch break. I always mistook one for the other. I haven’t had a lot of time to myself; Yesterday though, I was this close to not writing day 4’s post in time, it got in a few minutes to midnight. By around this same time. Meaning, today is worse, because I am not even half way into my blog post and it will be midnight and day 6 in no time; I am therefore typing like a maniac and hoping to make it on time.
I don’t even know where to start from and I will not edit this post, so I will just get on to telling you some stuff about myself you garra know. Not that you have to, but well…what shall I write now??

So the best thing that happened to me the other day is not chocolate, sadly, but It’s that while I fumbled with all the paperwork in my desk, I had the C.S. Lewis song off Brooke Fraser’s 2007 Albertine album swim through my ear phones and straight to my heart. Hehe. Somewhere up there I sounded like a music freak, but waah. Don’t be decieved. The truth is i listen to alot of music, both common and random but mostly because I like the Lyrics. For me, the best part of listening to a song is when you can sing along.

I love music. But i have no favorites. I generally have no favorites. Not with music, food, books, sports, hang out activities, nothing. See my life, right?
Oh but colour! I have a favorite colour, but that is not yours to know, because I can’t have people look up my birthday and then come bearing gifts of the same color. (Haha i wish!) Everything i own looks almost the same already.

Geez, i keep swerving. I was telling you about my music. I don’t keep memory of it either. Not even most of the song titles. I will do my best to remember the singer, but not the title. Never.
Same goes for the books i read. I am basically a reader, but not the typical one…(you will find out why) lock me up in a prison with good books and I will beg for a life sentence. BUT, like the music, i never remember the titles of the books i read. Not even the authors. If i am lucky enough to remember, it is one or the other; never both. And I am glad to share two of my very classic authors that i can recall; Louisa May Alcott and Jack London. I feel so proud of myself at the moment, that i could manage just two.

Now you get it. I am not a major-anything freak. I like to try different things and adventure (like everybody calls it) apart from new foods. It is very good, nice and comfortable knowing my stomach will be just fine, so I get conservative on that front. I’d rather starve than have creams, purple leaves, and other colored substances for lunch. I hear they are healthy, but across seas, they are all GMOs. The chicken too. So is that still healthy? I am not educated on that part.

PS. It’s 10minutes to midnight. Onto Previewing and publishing! Phew!


Closed Door. – Day 4

It’s like a big mahogany door,
That shuts bang in your face
And says you can’t get in.
Sorry you have no pass key.

It deems you unworthy of the carpet
The woolen carpet there in
That your sore feet could rest upon.
A haven for your blistered soles.

So it drags you back to that darkness,
Of a dungeon devoid of expression
Cold and lifeless
Of a path of the past.

A rocky path you know all too well,
That trod your feet sore
So down drops your laden body
You shall tarry there a while.



Two Men. – Day 3

I adore the man,
My first love
To give everything could seem enough,
But yet perfect love is immeasurable.

I love this man,
He first loved me then fixed me.
He didn’t just tell but showed
That there is more to unconditional
Than what the oxford told.

I owed this man.
Because he lost so I could win,
So i gave him my heart.
And then I won another man,
One after the other man’s heart.

This other man;
The blessing of my first love,
The knight in every armour,
Pitched camp at my castle
And re-set a rhythm some place beyond my ribcage.

This other man;
He loves with the strength of Samson,
And leads with the wisdom of Solomon.
My fear bids farewell in this perfection.
Because perfect love casts out fear.


In the moment. – Day 2

Time check 23:06 hrs (the time of writing – or should i call it drafting – the blog post). It is because i usually write down in my notebook before i type it out. I just don’t know how to let go of my book. I thought i was alone until another blogger tweeted about the old school style; i forgot his handle, i wish i could mention. But i digress…

I feel nice. Nice for example sitting at the kitchen bar all by myself at 11 pm with just two dim lights making it cozy enough for mind travelling; and also the feeling of having of having the entire living room behind me all to myself. It feels nice. it feels free, it feels awesome and almost refreshingly better than a warm bath on a cold day because my days (and home) involve 5 other people who either get me too excited for myself, or too angry to live. So you understand now when i say i feel so good i could sing so loud, but then i might wake the party.

The point is my dream came true. Not about being a loner, but about being able to be alone whenever the heck i want. For someone like me it is not easy getting here, no, not at all. I thank Jesus everyday. So i’m at the kitchen bar, propped up on this high seat or stool, simanyi. On my right is an empty glass of water (do you see that madness? Empty glass of water??) It is a glass that i just used to drink water, and it is now empty (i am sure there’s a shorter version on how to say all that). And further next to the wall is a solar/electric lamp that i have not dared to use because i just haven’t. On the other side is an empty plate of food <– I did it again. It is the plate i just used for supper and it is wiped clean; i never finish a plate of food, let alone leave no crumbs but because after my experience across seas, i learned that you only take what you will finish and better still, you take less than you need so you are sure of finishing your food and then you are able to figure out if you can take another helping. However, back here, if not at home, it is really embarrassing to take a second helping; you will either appear like you just fell from Mars, or you will be the talk of your circles for the better part of the next few months be it jokingly or worse. You just never know when and how the teasing starts.

Every two or so minutes when i take a break to think of the next better line i can add to this post, i rest my chin in my palm and my elbow supports the weight as i crane my neck towards the dim light from the bulb just above my head. It’s as though the thoughts are travelling through the light and i can read them. But also because, like the previous post, this one, and the next ones to come this week, i have no idea what to write about. I just felt good, that’s all. I am also just a bit proud of myself for getting back to what i had left for cobwebs and possibly death. And i hope i can have actual inspiration on stories to write about to keep this place breathing and dusted; most bloggers and or writers do (have inspiration), not like the lot of me who just write fwaa.

This moment though… This moment is mine.


NEW(S) – Day 1

blog pic

If there’s anything happening, all I can think of is my new surroundings, job and state of mind. It’s not a frenzy, but I think the real word just finally showed itself. I am not scared or unprepared; I am rather curious and just a little excited (yes, I love my job but I can’t be too excited because then my new found physical and mental freedom will sink in and I will be impulsive with my decisions…but yet I want to stay sane).

I had no idea how short the days would become for a typical 8-5 individual. Okay, I did. I’ve tried this before. I just don’t know why everything feels real(er) now. Onto the short days, they’re very short. Then this starts to make me think about the women in or out there, and or the mothers. How they even start to carry themselves off their chairs, slip on their high heels, tuck back their pumps (read flat shoes), to head back to another whole job that could either be relaxing on one very rare day or murderous on one very common day. Not that I have a family to go back to, I am just assuming; because I have a group of people I go back to every evening (or is it “go back with”) too, and my days are yet to make comfortable meaning. The transition is still fresher than ever. As for personal space, that’s a story for another day.

There’s one lady I don’t get though; The kitchen lady at work. I am almost as afraid of her as I am with hens. I said good morning in the kindest and sweetest way to the kitchen lady this morning. She didn’t respond. I asked to borrow a knife that I’ve seen a couple of times before, and she shook her head. I wasn’t offended. I was scared.

I never know when she is happy or when she is angry. Sometimes I will ask questions and she is silent; then in 2 seconds I figure out that it was one of those questions with obvious answers and then I’ll just go ahead with whatever I was thinking. On other days she will smile when I say good morning, and then I will feel like i just won a 100 metres race with Usain Bolt in it. I don’t get her. As you make your cup of coffee, she will watch you take half boiled water from the boiler and into your sugar and coffee and tell you afterwards before you stir that you have just used un-boiled water. You did not see her take out and replace the boiling water, and she did not tell you. And you did what you did because you heard her mention to another that they could use water from the boiler. I noticed also that she doesn’t have an actual laugh when she says some jokes and it is only the longer-serving employees here that can figure that out. Me I just be thinking I’m in trouble.

There’re people with interesting names too, like names of former US presidents and also people that bend the rules from 1-10. I envy those ones because they look like they get away with it. But it’s a cool place, neighboring huge malls (read a huge mall), great radio stations, nice looking fuel stations with fancy restaurants. Not that I can even go to those places. No dear. I walk further down to mama-someone’s place. So maybe sometime when I want to do one of those self-celebratory things, I should love myself a bit more and make an order on Hello Food; one time won’t kill, will it? One time won’t make me broke as a mouse…or will it?


The first I knew.

But of course there was no way I could have happened just like that, you were the first man I knew. At least for a little while.. well. I want to say something about you, maybe many things or even nothing at all. It just depends on how much my spirit can manage . You see, every time I have spoken about you I noticed that I am hardly moved. But sometimes, I could cry a bucketful if I didn’t stop before the next detail. I am not sure why, but I guess It’s because there were some lovely things about you despite the hurtful ones..and maybe I have a hope that you still think of me as important. You’re so much alive, although very much alone. I can’t seem to figure out why you took to loneliness and I’m sure that is not something I will know as long as I live, seeing as you have succeeded in remaining discreet. What I don’t understand is why you won’t see me, why you won’t show me that you still love me as you always say.. I keep thinking what it is that I did wrong. Yes, at this point am only speaking for myself. Well, in the movies, kids always blame themselves for grown upsmesses even when they didn’t even have a follicle to do with it. But well, I could be anything but dumb. Maybe I had something to do with it, ofcourse with the rest of us. I feel so much that you went against what u taught. But whatever the case, we were supposed to stick together through the fog and stuff. I wanted to know what it felt like to talk about you to a friend, or even someone special. To know how it felt to listen to words of advise from your wise brains. To know what your point of view sounded like.


Forget feelings, I thought you were doing all you could to make me happy. Not just me, but you know who else. That night…the night beside my bed when you didn’t just shed tears, but wept for God to do something. You didn’t know I was awake, but I was and i heard’s been our little secret because I wanted to see for myself if you really meant what you said, if those tears were anything. I started to think that maybe God didn’t give you what you asked…something like He abandoned you. But you see, that was no reason to abandon me either…two wrongs, as the old adage suggests, do not make a right. But you didn’t know that. You also didn’t know that even though God was your shoulder but made you feel like He left, you were supposed to be mine, but you just walked off and left my head hanging. Hanging with pain, confusion, disillusionment and everything that comes with abandonment except ANGER. Yes, I have failed to be angry at you. Not that I had forgiven you by then, (now I have) but I just couldn’t be angry. I thought you were coming back for me, that you had this very solid reason that would make me cry so hard with forgiveness when you came back for me. I thought all that until I chose to wake up. I chose to accept my fate and tell myself that you will not come for me. That you don’t want me anymore,.that I am the reason you left because you were too weak to carry my imperfections, too sorry to face me with the truth that you felt inadequate and unworthy to be loved by me, but yet I do. I don’t know how true this is, but they say if you love someone, you let them go (most probably if you’re the danger itself..otherwise you stick with those you love, like white on rice or skin on flesh, whatever) so if that’s what you were trying to do, I had the right to know still. I love you even then. That even when you come back, if ever you will, I shall run and cry on my pillow after whatever you will have as a reason for letting me go. Did I mention that at some point in my life I often try to remember what you look like? It is until I rummage through the old boxes for a picture of you..although from what I gather, you have had your share of days. Yes. I always forget what you look’s as though you never happened to me, or like you came and blew past like the breeze here from the lake on a hot afternoon that leaves you wanting for as long as the sun still scorches. I keep visualizing my special day. That day when you’re supposed to take my arm through those doors, down the aisle to say my I dos to one who I fear you shall not meet. But I can also clearly see you standing me up again for the millionth time.