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.

Father+daughter+black+family

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 everything..it’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 like..it’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.

Women @ Desks.

Sometimes I want to think that a woman behind a desk, is the worst thing that ever happened to the corporate world. Believe me. Sometimes.
I’ve had quite a number of encounters with these women, and I can assure you those were not experiences to treasure because every time I turned to leave, I prayed for an opportunity to “show them how its done”..to show these women (I am strongly refraining from calling them ladies because I think they hardly act like it) what respecting people, regardless of their age, really means. And what it means to work with people, the importance of smiling at strangers, and to be at the frontline of the enterprise, to be the definition of that business. But well..like a friend once wrote, “A customer who is angry and says nothing is a customer you have lost.” So I leave, and never get back to that office.

The other day, I had to gather 6 signatures for my final year students’ form so I can be at par with the responsible administrators before I graduate next month (yay). So anyway, even if the registrar is available, he can’t sign before the librarian because his signature comes 5th and the librarian’s is first. I made way to the library and this lady, sorry..woman, who looks like all she does is sit all day and eat, was actually eating; her fingers all oily eating the last bit of her food, fish head and stuff. Her eyebrows shooting up like as if to her hairline, she looked up at me as I told her what I was on about; sounding very disturbed, she went like “come later, I’m eating” then gave me 30 minutes.
Half an hour on the dot, I went back and when she took my form, she started to read my name trying to mumble the pronunciation and her face changed and wore this tired, confused but yet disgusted look then she asked “banange how do you pronounce this name and which country do you come from?”
Believe me, by this time I was done putting up with being polite, and the intimidation that comes with it. All this time she was looking up at me in intervals of 2 seconds and meanwhile I decided to be tough..I kept eye contact with a very staright face I could scare a mosquito from biting if the time was 7pm. Anyway, with my face transformed to “mean”, I said my name and nationality so confidently almost angrily, she hardly listened. After which she said soflty “ooh okay. Kati let me check your records”

Yes!! I had made it. I had overcome my baby face, I had done away with my sweet tone, I had faced my foes, haha. Those people who look down at me and think they’ll say all they want in my face and get away with it. Those women who look very tired with their passionless jobs and take their misery out on lovely and polite faces like mine.