THANKSGIVING

Gratitude should not be confined to momentous occasions. It should be an everyday thing. Your wellbeing depends on it so much. The joy of being thankful is that you experience more positive emotions, feel more alive, sleep better, express more compassion and kindness, and even have stronger immune systems. Isn’t that a reason or two to be grateful? Yes, life is what you make of it and little things in life matter more than the big things we dream about. That ‘thank you’ you tell someone is like a conditional relief. It melts the heart. So, at some point in life, you need to practice gratitude even though you may not be accustomed to it.

I have decided to be upbeat and optimistic. Everyday, I usually write something positive even after having a bad day. Normally, I start my day writing about random thoughts. I call them my prayer journal. They are my McCoy. 

If I as in the US, I would be eating turkey today. Partaking it with a family that would host a guy who is a lively introvert. Especially, I would love the turkey delicacy garnished with sumptuous sauce that has gooey sweetness. And inside, it should be stuffed like I normally see in the movies. The kind that makes your taste buds salivate just by the sheer aroma that massages the nostrils even before tasting. Thus, when it is ready, and you cut a piece, you feel like your whole system is weak. You can’t even think straight. Ideally, Brining is good for moisture retention before roasting. I normally see butchers doing it but chances are they only know it’s good for the nyama choma without knowing the reason behind it.

I know this because I normally view guys with chubby cheeks as high on brine. In my water therapy life, I read that salt makes you retain water on the face and that is why you get those fat cheeks. Otherwise, if you drink a lot of water, it washes away the salt and you end up having a lean and narrow face. If you also eat right and exercise well, you end up with stunningly good looks. Otherwise, on this side of the planet, chubby cheeks mean you are doing well financially. I hate the fact that it means you are doing a disservice to your face because you may end up having a double chin.

You can easily dispute that assumption just like you can dispute the fact that you need to slaughter a turkey without it seeing you. Back in the days we used to call them Kulu kulu. I have never seen one being slaughtered because they are also fearsome birds. When they 'quote', they can really cause a scene if you are a visitor in a home where they freely roam. Some guys used them as security.  Again, their hideous heads is a weapon of safety. Someone told me 'kitambo' that they store poison in their heads and if you try to slaughter them the way we chinja chicken, like a cobra they release the poison into their body making the meat unsafe for consumption. Consequently, in order to slaughter it, in that person’s parochial view, you need to ambush it then chop of it’s head for it to continue being edible when cooked. Otherwise it is not safe for the stomach.

I resorted to confirm how a turkey is slaughtered and saw graphic footages on YouTube (kama umewahi chinja kuku, hii ni rahisi). A moment of silence was observed before slaughtering one. This process debunked the myth above. The guy who was slaughtering it hanged it the way a goat is hanged upside down in a slaughterhouse then he cut the head once 'chwaa'. When it was touched, it behaved like chicken do when they are not dead while cutting the neck. It was kind of scary because he was also with his kids

Cool kids don't even know how to cut the neck of a chicken, just like Jeff Koinange confessed hajui Maziwa Mala but he knows yoghurt. Which Kenyan does not know Maziwa Lala? Anyway, I also know there are prawns and lobsters and I have never seen them.

Children. I have two already. They give me joy and I just don’t know what I would have been living for were it not for them. I can't seem to get enough of them. They make me have a purpose in life. I have a reason why I am here today. That is why I appreciate two other angels who are my nieces.

When I think about the different fresh cakes they bring me with strong tea in the evening, I feel indebted. Sometimes its chocolate cake, sometimes vanilla, passion, forest, marble or even lemon cake. I am also thankful for my sister who bakes them because they come in handy most 'jionis' like this like that. Cake is sweet, I think I will order more cake because it makes me less worried. I seem to think that life is always sweet. Yummy in my tummy.

Something about my nieces is that I can easily talk to them and they will not be having 'tu mafeeling' from some someone who disappointed them. These tiny tots are real. My children are not, they exist in my illusions. Hey! Yo Spock and McCoy, your dad has decided to appreciate other kids today. 

My eldest niece is called Kay. She does not even call me uncle. She calls me by my name. Her cousin, who she calls her 'my sister' is slightly less than a year old. One was born in January and the other in December. Being the oldest, she normally acts her age and has influence over her sister so much so that she mostly copies what Kay does and says. The reverse is also true ‘ile time Kay hana form’. However, when it comes to crying, Kay can do it with attitude for a prolonged period while Lara, her sister does not cry for long because her mother is the care free type.

You know when she cries, I normally conclude that ‘ako tu sawa’ because when we have no better way to express our feelings, we cry. I used to let tears flow freely back in the days. It was my weapon against enemies of development. This ‘ako tu sawa’ phrase. I suddenly became aware of it. This awareness effect is called the "Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon" or "frequency illusion". Someone even called it observer-expectancy effect. In my chat with friends, I see them use it this phrase, my siblings use it and media personalities use it to give validation. Well, a case in point is my love for slim fit shirts with skinny collars. I love it when it is rectangular or curvy at the edges. These days, when I look at pictures, I am apprehended by the fact that it’s not only me who loves these shirts. I will switch to agbada, but Nigerians will certainly not give me space.

My nieces rarely speak in Swahili. The even don’t know any Luo either. They live in a hood where I hear children speak in the queen’s language when they come out to play. The other time I heard a kid barely ten year old talking about the death of a certain politician and how brutal it was. Well, Kay rarely goes out to play with her hood mates. She loves being indoors so much so that I tend to think she is missing the joy of playing with other kids. I have seen Lara play and Kay looking at her through the window, but she never seems to miss any bit of that thrill. Her reclusive traits make me wonder if she is a people’s person and if she enjoys playing with her mates in school. She is three.

Her mother once told me that they were once in a supermarket and a classmate came screaming her name excitedly thinking that she would be received warmly. Woe unto her, Kay snubbed her and behaved like she had never seen her before. You know that look a girl gives you when she is not in the mood. Instead, she decided to clutch towards her mother and the other child’s mother had to save face when she asked if Kay was in the same school with her daughter to which Kay’s mum nodded in affirmation. They even had a chat. That’s Kay for you.

Another case in point is when I saw her in their school van and she feigned knowing me and knowing her fully well, I decided not to push things by letting her be. Afterwards, she later told me, “Yesterday, I saw you walking while I was in our school van.” Mama mia, aint this indifference in anaa level. Yaani, she could not even 'fwayo' her arms to acknowledge my presence. I know of kids who will do anything to attract my attention just by the fact that I am bespectacled.

To Kay, anything that is past is termed as yesterday. She told me she saw me almost a week later.  So, what she is referring to may have happened a while back, but she will still use yesterday to signify that it has already taken place. You will hear her say, “Yesterday, my mum took me to the airport and we boarded a plane to......” Whichever place she flew to in the recent past. That she is inseparable to her mum is no lie. It’s like she controls her and given that my sister does not subscribe to the rod mentality, she never gets spanked for being ‘bigheaded’. If it were in my heydays as a child, you would not have spared the rod on her.

Amid all this, she is a sharp and adorable but kind of a bit shy girl. On the opposite end is Lara who is more outgoing and has a bigger than life personality. Take Lara anywhere and the next minute she has formed relations and she is happily interacting with other people. I guess, Kay’s acts timidly because she is not used to being around so many people. In their class, they were less than thirty and she could recall every child by name in their class picture that has the faces and names of all her classmates and their two teachers.

I think Kay has developed the attitude after spending so much time with her mum who does not like taking initiative so much. She likes delegating whenever possible which I tend to think is a first-born problem. Compounded by the fact that she is also an extrovert, she can easily sway you. And that makes me wonder why Kay has never been bubbly among other kids. But sometimes we are just different.

Today is Thanksgiving in USA. And since I work for clients in that country, they have also thought that I should be on holiday. So that is why I am writing this very long post. So instead of working, I find myself writing. I am on an unpaid holiday as a writer. I feel like cold water has been thrown on me by this holiday. I should have been able to make more money but ‘Haisulu’. If tomorrow never comes, then I will not be working. Like guys in US, I am thankful to the Almighty for thus far he has brought me. It is He that giveth and taketh away and He knows why. I am begging to be holy walai.

On an afterthought, I would have probably been working, then I would have written a title to a blog post that I would write on an easy Sunday morning after church. Postponing posts is my greatest flaw and I think I should just get over it by getting a good disciplinarian. But this relief from work has brought ease. I will give time to my children as well as my people. Now I have decided to spend the better part of the morning with McCoy. I will give Spock more time and we shall really indulge.

Anyway, in her school, Kay took up ballerina classes. You should hear her say that name. She says, ‘Barehina’. Whether that is the correct pronunciation or not, I will not judge. I have learnt to let her be. What amazes me is the fact that she knows how to jump and ensure her legs are at 180 degrees while dancing ballerina on landing. I cant imagine doing that lest I injure my balls and end up permanently impotent. Probably I will do it after I convince a girl to have kids with me. Well, she is destined for big things. Lara learnt ballerina from her and can also do the 180 degrees thing.

What amazes me is Kay’s love for school. Hitherto, I had thought that she would be like other kids who struggle with waking up and refusing to go to school. She is a different breed. Only those days when she is ailing is when she sometimes does not feel like waking up, otherwise, she really loves school. Her paintings, mastery of numbers, ability to recall shapes, knowledge of coulours and the alphabets is mwaah. Once while we were playing, she narrated to me the process of going to school. I was the baby, and pretended to be sleeping. She came and started saying, "Wakey, wakey! It’s time to go to school." I pretended to continue sleeping, and she became motherly while equally touchy saying, “Baby, wake up, it’s time for school.”

I felt assuaged and woke up from the mattress we were on and then she continued narrating to me the process of preparing for school. "Brush your teeth then go to the bathtub." I did as instructed then went to an imaginary bathtub. Then she started washing me and said, "Now it’s time to dry yourself. Take this towel baby."  I used it then she told me to put on uniform, carry my backpack and ensure I have my shoes ready. She then told me to drink tea. Then we heard the ‘pip’ of the school bus and she took me to the bus and said bye.

Methinks her school does not have to rely on 'disks' to execute the policy of no Swahili speaking. Sometimes you will hear her tell Lara, ‘You are speaking Swahili. I will tell on you’. Being the obedient kid, Lara will reply meekly, ‘Sorry!’ then continue doing what she was engaged in.

Lara knows more Swahili that Kaylee. I think she taught her the signature phrase, "Ntakuchapa, huskii maneno." Apparently, Lara’s mum loved using the phrase when disciplining her and because Lara is this girl who is roho juu, she decided to have it as part of her diction. Nowadays, they use it abandonly. Lara uses it when she means business and as an indication that she is not very pleased. Kay on the other hand says it in a cheeky way you would think she has just started learning Swahili. You know that she does not mean it as much as Lara.

The tonal variation and facial expression tells it to distinguish the severity of who is saying it. But when they want to express displeasure in English, they will either say, “I will tell on you or I am not your friend.” Obviously, as a joinder, you will contrarily say, “I am you friend.” Continuously repeating the phrase makes them also switch allegiance to "I am your friend" if it comes with a Pavlovian goody.

Like all children, they like playing. They know who likes playing and who doesn’t. Several times they will grab my legs and clutch on it telling me to play with them. I usually feel obliged and end up playing with them several games that only require their presence. Games like ‘Ring a Ring o' Roses’, jumping, doing squats, running, hide and seek, and chasing after them then they also chase me.  Albeit the fact that they love these games, when outdoors, they love being spanned round and round. ‘Take me round-round’. And as much as I try, none ever gets dizzy, she will walk steadily after the act as I take on the other. On the other hand, I am usually left with a head spinning because I don’t like it much.

Like some kids in this digital age, they have their own smart phones which they normally hide in when they are deeply engrossed on YouTube. I now know of Pepper pig, Shimmer and shine, Paw patrol, Sofia the pride, and countless other cartoons that are modern age. The best she knows of the cartoon I used to watch is Mickey Mouse and Tom and Jerry. I normally get notified when she is bought a Mickey Mouse dress, hood or shoes. And girls like attention. They will wear clothes and come screaming, ‘Look at me!’ And they expect a positive response. Yenyewe this look at me genes are inherently female. Once while shopping for clothes in Eastleigh, a certain Wariah vendor told us that it is genetic for ladies to seek attention and look at their waist to see if the clothes fit. Kay and Lara subscribe to this school of thought. 

Being this outgoing girl who is also confident, I was amazed when Lara one day decided to go and talk with a certain neighbour who is mostly reserved. For once I heard her voice and I realized that developing a mentality about someone is thus bad. So, Lara introduced Kay to this neighbour and when they see her, they enter her house and start chatting. What’s amazing is that they think that big people should always have something for them. Hence, you will hear them ask anyone they know, “You have bought for me what?”

I used to buy them PK. I loved chewing gum but when a PK removed a tooth filling while chewing, I temporarily banned it because their teeth were also getting cavities and losing colour. Ungejua tu vile I wanted to continue chewing gum to give me a better-looking face. God knows why I don’t need that jawline got through chewing. I will try other means now.

Just a question. Should we buy our kids smartphones? Your average kid knows how to maneuver with an Android phone. But when it comes to these old analogue phones, all they do is just look at them. Nonetheless, a phone is a must have gadget for a child. It keeps them busy and develops their IQ. And you know what, children just love kids stuff. They will not watch what they call programs for big people. If they must watch something that don’t entice their eyes, they usually give themselves shughli.

The other day Kay found me bored and to cheer me up, she suggested we play some games on her phone. I refused and told her that those are games for girls. She realized that they were for girls because she knows colours and associates blue for boys, green for boys while red, yellow, pink, purple are for girls. The game she wanted me to play was placing wigs on the head of a girl, applying mascara on her lashes, make up on the cheeks and choosing for the girl the right attire. My friend, kuna watu hufanya tu kazi ya kufikiria nini wasichana hupenda. There is even one of applying lipstick, eyeshadow, nail polish and changing earrings and necklaces. Owada otek small. Nthindo gi ong’e mang’eny motamo wang’a.

When I declined her offer, thinking smartly, she pressed the home button, switched to Googleplay and started looking for games for boys. She showed me a couple of games that she thought would arouse my interest but when she saw that I was not interested, she allowed me to search on my own. The ease with which she was able to download and equally look for apps amazed me. It was a challenge.

Well, I must give it to Google software engineers. They are just on another league. They know how to crawl into a person’s web history gather the information and suggest what you would equally love. If you logged into any server, and you search for something, that forms part of your history. And that is why I normally 'permanently delete' my previous search and pageviews so that the server can start tracking my movement afresh. Kuna vile hizi search engines hukuja sana with their adverts and they are normally irresistible and sometimes pesky.

I searched for what I wanted on Kay’s phone which she let me do and when I was through she installed in herself and tested if she could play the game. It was a simple game where you try to ensure a car does not get an head on collison or hitting from the back while also gathering points by hitting targets. If you hit another car, the game restarts. If I compare my childhood with hers, I had the Dettol mum kind of lifestyle. I got injured, played my all and even though I am introvert, deep down, I know that I love talking too much. This 4G kids have cautious mums. Ka injury kadogo inaleta problem, they are taken to hospital because they should not have flaws on the skin. 

At their age, during my time, my father had no phone nor a computer. He only had a transmission receiver that was installed in his car when he was in the field. That they also know the Chrome icon on a PC and when they click, they expect to see a thumbnail that has YouTube, which they click and look for children stuff. But you get used to that fact. When the Youtube thumbnail is not there, they will leave the computer alone because they love watching children stuff. I normally love the look on Kay's face when she switches on the TV, puts on the home theater, adjusts it’s sound and equally uses the computer. When she has finished, she normally gives you that look to tell you, ‘Maze, mi najua hizi vitu’. I normally return the glance then shake my head because she knows more than she is supposed to when it comes to technology

I think this has really impacted on her childhood because she kind of thinks what she sees other kids doing on YouTube as ideal. Imagine kids pour food in some of this programs and she sometimes want to throw away good food. Someone should check some of this kids programs.  You rarely see her playing with other kids. In fact, she loves the company of older people. She asks question, tells about her experiences and expect you to equally tell her things she does not know.

Sadly, I hate when she cries. I don’t love the cry of a child. And Kay can cause a scene when she decides to seek attention with her prolonged cry. It’s worse when her mum is around because she knows she can bully her into getting her attention. While she is not around, she is this good girl. But when her mum comes, she switches into something else. But she is not bipolar. She has this attitude that after all, my mum will protect me. It’s her personality.

Sometimes back, because Lara was young and defenseless, she would beat her raining slaps and blows on her and it was not a pleasing. And Lara would not cry. At such times, I would restrain her and loving what she was doing, she would start crying loudly saying, ‘I want to beat Lara.’ yet Lara is calmly sitting. The rivalry still exists and after a fight, they still play together. These days, when she starts a fight, Lara menacingly uses her teeth and runs away as she leaves Kay, the attention seeker, crying. Sometimes, when she is helpless, she cries and tells you to beat the person who has offended her

When alone, Kay has this larger than life persona. She never likes to be disturbed and she will yell out, ‘Stop disturbing me’.  Because Kay had been having a smart phone and Lara never had, there were always those incidences when she would be watching 'Elsie and Anna' and Lara being kind of cheeky would grab her phone and run away leaving her crying. Given that her mother bought another phone and wanted to give me the phone because I operate a small analogue phone, I decided that she should give it to Lara so as to cool the truancy between the two.

Those times when Lara used to snatch her phone, she would come to me crying, “Lara is taking my phone. She does not want to share and you know that sharing is caring.”

Hasta La Vista Baby.

[Picture Source:Google Images] 

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UNFINISHED PROJECTS

I have an unfinished blogpost that I was to write over two weeks ago. I am still gathering ideas of the meat to liven it up on the wry bones which I am still pondering over.

It’s not fulfilling to just write for the sake of it. There should be cogent ideas, full of intrigue and intimacy that create relational scenarios. The title should give meaning to what is in the body in a direct or indirect way. Already, I have selected a picture which is not thus bad. It is from Google images and it also assuages the title in a subtle way. Like, when you look at the image juxtaposed with the title, you see no attempt at deviating from the norm. There is significant correlation to justify that I was not making any wild attempt at looking at an insight that is out of the ordinary. Just a look at the two, you already know what to expect.

It is like a topic and the contents. The illustration is failing in the gist of creating intrigue, or suspense and the mystery that there should be in creativity. There is innocence and candor. Only that I am still thinking of worthy artwork to beef up the framework of the composition.

I must admit that that my first attempt at free flow was ducky in a manner that is personal to me. It had oomph and was executed with consummate adroitness. It took full advantage of time and relied less on façade. Well, it may have lacked charisma and segue at some point, nonetheless, the bottom line is that it signified a new dawn. The Artiste’s Way by Julia Cameron has played a big role in this change. Now I have a baby, courtesy of reading the book. It is like a spiritual guide towards profound creativity. Methinks it’s a better version of the Alchemist. It’s a book for every soul and realistic. It recommends having a baby. The last time I checked, your baby should be your kidney recipient. Babies are dear to the heart or kidney (In matters failing health). There is that sentiment and connection that they trigger in us.

I have two babies. They are all weaning. No, they are past the weaning stage. The first is a five-year-old and the last is a two-year-old. And just like that, I am now a father. I am a single parent. Which means that as a man, I get to be reckless, feckless and indifferent. I have been struggling with enthusiasm. All in all, I want my young’uns to grow and become individuals of societal respect and admiration. I want to one day sit down and say, ‘I made the proper decision to invest in them at an early age. And the results are just unbelievable.’

Like all parents, I am the decider of their general direction in life. It’s a fantasy world that I live in with my kids. These angels, they are heaven sent. Considering I am reading, The artiste’s Way, I believe they were ordained by God to come change my life. Each morning, I try to give them the attention they deserve. I will continue doing so until a time when they are able to fend for themselves. I nurture them through being there and meeting their needs. But like most parents, when their wants balloon, I just watch and let them forget. Children rarely forget. They will ask until they have got it. Which means I am constantly being reminded of those wants. Now that they all know how to talk, with the youngest not being as eloquent as the first, I have to be content with noise. The white noise I hear when they sleep makes me grow fonder. I get that happiness every parent gets when they just remember they have a child.

This is my confession. I am a bad parent. I love my first more than my second. Which is true to some extent but not binding given that it is dependent on many things. The problem with the second is that he can be very demanding and obstinate. He does not crave for attention directly. You find yourself tending to him because that is how he has wired you towards him. If he giggles, your heart softens, the gentle sound could make the lamplight more golden and the fires burn warmer. It comes in fits and bursts. It is like a bear hug. But auditory. Even a Hitler heart melts into a stifled grin just by his sounds. On the contrary, when he starts his tantrums of seeking for attention, he normally lives me famished. I remember losing weight for the first time because of him. The pitch in his scream is primal, there is a kind of raw intensity that resonates towards creating urgency and reeks of malice and desperation. It’s a survival skill he has nurtured and mustered. I carry him and warn him when he decides to be that child the society loathes. Like a mother I know him. I rarely use a rod to train his tenets. I let him be.

My first was the reason why I had the second. Well, I am not planning to add another hooligan who will come to give me sleepless nights any time soon. These two kids I adopted at an early age are already making me think that my mum was a genius given that she sired six children with one belated. But when I hear of a cousin who now has eight with the first in her early twenties, I just say, ‘Ni mapenzi ya Mungu.’ Me thinks my young’uns usually realize that I am a single parent but because they never ask about their mum, I really am cool with that. The problem is that they don’t know whether I am straight or gay. Hey, are children that conscious. Yes, they are. They notice things you rarely see and will point them out easily. The reason why I am saying this is because I have never slept with a woman ever since I got them. Sleeping means sharing a bed with a woman for more than four two hours of night sleep. Don’t even try to imagine things. I am a different breed of a man.

The wildest attempt I have made is introducing my last born to a number of chics who fall for him the first time but move on when I don’t give a damn. Only two or three other ladies know of the first which they have even forgotten about. I remember getting to take a campus chic for lunch just by the sheer knowledge that I was having this second child. She was thrilled and thought I was probably smitten. She fell for him just like most ladies do, and once you have a child with her, you know what will happen to your children. They will be forced to play the second fiddle. I want mine to play the first. All of them, the real and the imagined.

Along the way, things happened and on his way to transitioning towards becoming a healthy child, my last born got a health scare. Doctors said that he was suffering from neglect and child abuse. I failed to provide him with his age required care and he really bouted. It was an emotional and physical moment for me. I failed to be with him when he needed me most. He ended up doing badly in his tests. I am taking him through the same stage, but I am more responsible not to repeat the same mistake again.

I was at some point giving up on him. I will dwell on the ‘Why?’ in future. Apparently, all my young’uns are boys. I chose the ones in foster homes for matters that I will not say. No offence but the caregivers could not allow me to adopt ladies because I am still single. They imagined that I would at some point happen with one when they mentioned Sigmund Freud and his Electra’s complex in the same sentence. I felt sad and had to swallow it because I am not a pedophile. I am straight and would never go the RKelly way on Aaliyah. Hitherto, I have never and would not like to hurt a lady given that I have sisters who matter to me just like my two angels.

That said, I am yet to name my two children. I just have a rational way of engaging them and they know who I am referring to. But I will give them names. Queer ones that are less cliché. Since they live in the surrealistic sphere, I am not obliged to give them names. Most people think that my last-born is my first. They have never met the first to find out about him. He is masked, and does not love preying eyes. One day I will introduce him to the world. So, the second born is my perfect replica, someone like me. He will be the guy I will tell the world about when I accomplish his dreams. I will say, ‘Here comes my last-born child. He travelled and reached. But he took his time.’

As a parent, I am suffering from this notion of identity. I want to tell the world about this child who gives me sleepless nights. He is like a star that shines bright in a dark night twinkling with radiance. He is this model child I have carefully crafted, and I would not like to let him give up on what I he has gone through. I tag him along to places I would like him to meet people who will shape his destiny. Like in big hotels of repute. To events that people can recognize him. He is like a signature appendage that I am never going to have enough of.

What I fear most is the thought of this children staging a coup by becoming untoward and restless in their teenage years. I don’t want to imagine that they may at onetime rebel. They will have to, I did and it was a futile attempt at deviance and menacing. I also fear they may make me end up loving being single for way too long because I am used to them and they like the way I pamper them with luxuries. Yaani, these children make me happy in a way I feel like crying. My joy is living to fulfill their wants and seeing them having buoyant health and radiating charisma. Like you need to know that my first born has a way of making me take care of him every morning. He will create a scene if I don’t. When I give him his wants, he will spend the rest of the day unfettered and full of himself. He knows his father gave him just what he needed.

My second child is the extra buddy. Not an after-thought though. He came to remove the only child mentality. They have to fight for my attention. I love it that I get two twats wanting to tell me things in their lives. He has already started showing signs that he wants to dethrone number one from his morning escapade. He even forced me to get him a highly priced skill at an arm and I am not perturbed that he is demanding more. Nowadays, he keeps me on toes. While I am not addicted to him, he sneaks into my thoughts just like a camouflaged predator stealthes on the target prey. Mark you, he does this daily. He makes me feel uncomfortable.

Being the last child, I must give him more attention. He loves it but is frustrated when I have manly conversations that he cannot contribute to with my firstborn. He is like a girl. Somehow. He manipulates me and is kind of self-centered. You will find him doing the untoward. He likes taking time out and his concentration spans less compared to the first’s. That means, sometimes he cannot be able to multitask. He is like a gem though. I have had amorous behaviour with him as opposed to my first. He keeps quiet though. He will not tell when I say he should not. Soon I will make him my absolute factory setting for a few months. When it comes to detail, he is very thorough. He still soils his clothes at night and I have to buy him diapers to control his excessive. I will only cease putting him on diapers when he has finally come of age. Never mind those preachers near National Archives showcase how pampers are made of ice, which I saw and are weapons of mass destruction meant to kill the future generation of boys because they interfere with their machine. I know there is a correlation between scrotum, heat and sperm count. There is nothing on fire in a diaper, right?

The thing is when he wants it. He must get it. In case of being deprived, he will cause tantrums, and this gets me emotional. He gives me headaches that are not worthy of my time. But I have to abide by them. Sometimes my mind goes mush by his antics. I take a breather and leave him rolling on the floor crying like an only child. He is part of my future. I want him to be successful and someone who others can ape. I have carefully hid from him how important he is to me. What I know is that he will mature faster. It’s more of an instinct than a reflection. He will be the first to move out. Still I will have to take care of him because he is my baby. I love you baby.

Regarding the first born, he is the kind who will mature. Be in his forties, able to pay his bills but resort to live with daddy. He finds me addictive and the perfect semblance of what he would like to be. He hates that I have another child but would accept it. He wants him to move out like yesterday for him to have unmatched attention. But he is adventurous. If only you knew what he has done, you will pity me. He loves to explore a lot and his ideas are out of the ordinary. He does not know how to make money. Well, he will learn how to do it.

He still has a fledgling person in my opinion. He thinks he is a shadow of who he ought to be. He knows he has not made it in life to societal expectation but is not hounded by the fact that society expects him to come out and be a force to reckon with. Because he is not yet sure about his destiny. He can be a jerk, be hostile and is a stick insect who jells in with current circumstances taking a peripheral view. He does not let new experiences hamper his progress, instead he learns from them and tells me about what I need to give prominence. He is like my subadvisor. A person who takes me down the memory lane. But he has refused to let me tell about my other racy escapades. I asked him to let me do it, but he said no. I am going to abide by his rules. They are apprehensive.

Still, I have control over him. I decide on what he does. We have come from far with him. I celebrate him each day. I know he is also destined to greater heights. Sometimes, however, he wants to explore the outside world at the heat of the moment which I let him do. Provided he returns to status quo and does not exaggerate the deed. He is the inquisitive guy. He is an introvert. A shy extrovert. He is cautious and keeps to himself if he cannot express it in a way you understand.

Like a couple, he normally tells me his thoughts at the end of the day. Some are lurid, others creative, reliable and there is the good, the bad and the ugly. When I try to limit him, he rebels and hides in his cocoon. He knows when I have held him hostage. The sad part is that he intimates brilliant ideas that I am yet to materialize into something astronomical.

I know that this will just be the start of what I am going to say about my babies as they learn new things. It would be of interest to know that my last born has a focused regimen of abiding by things like exams while my first-born hates taking exams. He takes the exams he likes and those that don’t entail being graded. He loves real life exams. But I don’t want to say these kids will be the whole point of why I blog. I need to also do other things. I will work, chat and occasionally sip my Tusker Malt in loneliness.

I earlier on intimated that I am reading a book about artistry. It is dedicated to my first born. Then, there is a second book on the margin of safety dedicated to my last born. I should have finished both books by now, but I will probably do it when I am myself and not under pressure. You can tell that my first born is a reflexive guy and my last a reflective guy. I will call my first-born McCoy and my and last-born Spock. Tada, I have just named the two buggers. They have names. Oh, my goodness.

Judging by these unfinished books and other pending projects, you can tell that I am shaping the character of my two children.

I would love them to grow into adults so that one day we sit down and talk like men. At that point in time I will look back and say, ‘Spock, you gave me a hard time, I lost part of my life, but recovered. As for you McCoy. I have no words for you. You are just that guy.” Upon which we shall break into laughter with McCoy as Spock makes it up by being true to himself. Less of smiles and more of stoicism. I presume they will be better off than me doing very well in their spheres of influence. I am not leaving anything at stake on that precinct.

To sum it up, I am realizing that my legibility is going to the dogs. I have been on free flow and you know what, the lights are back. I am feeling like peeing because I had drunk about half a litre of water. I will take care of the latter once my thought process becomes turgid and the few neurons in my brain become barren to imagination’s coitus.

Last but not least, the best thing about free flowing in black and white instead of typing is that you feel more attached and potent over what to write. I have almost finished jotting down this free flow into a computer. In blogosphere, the computer is king over freehand.

I had to had write because Kenya Power ‘happened’ and my laptop being a PC that sleeps on power because of a dead battery that only fills an vacancy it does nothing about. Oh, I spent the better part of the day sleeping my body into laziness because of BALCKOUT. I work, study, socialize and get entertained on my PC.  I don’t remember but this ought to be the first blog post I have ever written first on a book then typed and editing done simultaneously.

Hasta La Vista Baby.

[Picture Source: Pixabay]

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FREE FLOW

A constricted mind does not create. Instead it rebels. It wants a way out. To explore the hoity toity that life can be. A constricted mind is like hot air in a balloon. It makes the head light. And when the head is light, it can easily float. Floating in this case does not mean lack of understanding or construing what is being insinuated. Floating means something else. Something totally different. Like it may become easy to think of stuff outside the box.

Thinking outside the box is hard when you are accustomed to what life has bestowed on you if you are rigid. It’s not easy to start deviating from that which you know. You become hardwired to think like a bobo. Imagine a bobo is a mythical creature and not a Bohemian. Maybe surreal. Out of the ordinary. It makes life what it should not be what it is. It does not allow for deviance. It only makes it easy when you stick to the rote. If you decide to think on your own in a creative way you become apprehended. A manner that is less cognizant of your current tidings, you risk it. You never go far because at some point, you will find yourself back to where you have started.

Trying to write without looking back at the mistakes has been quite a daunting task and a challenge. You think you will not correct it then you see the blue double line. Those that irritate the eye. They make you want to go to check what’s up. The red ones are really pesky. You look at them and they stare at you in the face pleading with you to act first and come to their aid. This all depends on how you have accustomed yourself to word in Word. If you are the kind who does editing after laying out the contents of you brain, good.

Words in Word never lie. They will tell you the truth. Especially an updated one. Looks like it was wired to read through as the words are being placed on its surface. The surface knows no evil. It only accepts the reality of correctness. And staying correct is not an easy job. You may want to stay correct for long but there comes a time when you will not be correct anymore. You will err and the reality about erring is that you will be forced to correct the mistake if a grammar Nazi. Whether you accept and do it willingly or not, you will recoil into your cocoon and realize that you had made a mistake later on while going throw the text again. Henceforth, you will try to amend the evils on your own through deep introspection.

Thinking is like taking medicine but not prescribed, but self-prescribed. Few can think without being influenced by something. Many put their thoughts in mental inertia and hibernate the best ideas that are supposed to change humanity. Thinking creatively is even out of the picture. The best times to think are those that you never want to. You may find yourself making castles about some etherical myths that will never see the light of day. Say, an ease to solve the problems that make life a pain in the ass. A pain in the ass can be a boil. The worst one is that which decides to lodge itself next to the anus ful of bacteria and debris. And you only notice it when it becomes ripe ready to burst. And you know what’s up when an abscess containing debris begins to grow creating an inflammation. It has that bitter sweet effect whereby you want to remove it but you are not willing to do so because it has held some cells captive. It/s like cracking fingers for some people. They want it but the pain is just unbareble.

You may try to squeeze it but as you try, you feel some pain that makes you want to leave it. Then when you leave, you have already triggered the impulses and nerves in that region so much so that they want to be squeezed again. There are those tissues that will be rid of the body system through agglutination of antibodies and antibodies in the form of the boils content so much so  that when the boil disappears either though force or self-cure, they experience that relieve that you get when you have finished a demanding task that got the better of you.

Then there are those cells in the body that hate to be disturbed. They never want to be touched or provoked. They are like the bourgeoisie who want the status quo to be maintained no matter what the circumstances they are in. They like it when the body is at ease even though it is not in good health.  Or even when it is ailing. So long as they are comfortable, they don’t care about others. And the worst thing about comfort is that it brings laxity. Laxity of laziness and lethargy. Not the one of feeling like going to download the contents of a failed digestion. Because a failed digestion process is the result of a person’s own making.

A failed digestion can be traumatic when you have both a boil and it is struggling for attention. It’s like two children seeking the attention of the mother. The mother never wants to accept that they have a favourite. All she does is to maintain a lukewarm stance. That neutrality that will not be viewed as an act of taking sides with the one of the children.

So, you fight like a soldier when you are experiencing two life threatening diseases in the body. One makes you feel like going to the toilet. The other makes you hate going to the toilet. And something that is pathetic is that a bad digestive process that may be a result of less water intake or lack of washing the hands or lack of the food you are taking not acclimatizing to the juices and amylases in the stomach to digest it may make you end up having a very tight moment.

Imagine you have to like to go to the toilet so many times and when you are trying to sit calm the boil starts to leta kichwa. Worse of all is when it is raptured by the sheer anal muscles that try to release the contents of either ingestion or undigestion.

That is how reasoning is. It just to try to stay on course without it being conflicted. It tries to ensure there is segue. Then there will be those things that try to interfere with the stream of flow, breaking it from executing what it really wanted to do. Making life a jerk altogether. But that is not the worst part. The worst is that you may give in and see the thing that you had started going down the drain because it is not worthy to fight for it anymore. You look at it and you want to wretch at the thought of why you started it. At that point, you leave it unattended like nurses and doctors who swear to take care of patients do when aggrieved. They go slow.

After some time. You realize that you made a bad, a really bad decision. then you try to go back to the straight to no avail. Things go haywire. While you had thought that they were going to be easy in the long run , the tumult that arises as a result of your own inconsistency and lack of toeing the line almost takes you into oblivion. A situation that is your own making and your ego does not want to let go. The ego wants an alter ego but it is bruised. And a bruised ego is not good for your soul. It is only good for a person on the verge of letting go. Obviously that person has nothing to lose. He has nothing to dream of other than bringing back his life into straight from the err.

But life should not be trudged with a fixated mind that is conservative to change. We need to break away from the intimacy of what makes us sane. We need to sometimes go haywire. Break a few rules and look at the net effect. If we consistently conform to the desires of the mother nature, we make life loose meaning. And for it to have meaning, there should be some menace and adventure. Just a little bit of menace to ensure that you are upright. Even the most ethical of all beings who have been brought up to eschew immorality know that it is sometimes human to be immoral. Just a little bit then you go back to being the ethical creature that you once were.

The tragedy of trying to go into the untested waters though is that you may end up sinking into the abyss and get addicted to the tenet to the extent that you may not be able to unentangle yourself from the seize. They say still waters run deep and deep they do. But also, they run deep for those who don’t know how to swim. Well, if you know you are a pathetic swimmer, just stick to the shallow end or the shoreline lest the tides and the waters become overpowering that you may not be able to handle with the ease of a Phelp (The olympic hero).

And there is nothing better than being a Dexter in matters pertaining to a sphere of influence. No one knows the trouble you went through. The dedication and sacrifices you make to make it to have the ease they love about it is unsurmountable. It is this state that everyone wants to be in. But it takes time and effort and toeing the line. Even boy and girl geniuses never get to that point if they never have the stamina to withstand the pitfalls of getting there. Which means that they must be rejected and like a chameleon, if nimble, they change colour only that the person remains the same. They have to outmaneuver the rejection and come out of it with such chutzpah that no one will realize the bad past or rival their new perception. Because they outplayed their former self in a convincing way. All they will be looking at is the light at the end of the tunnel.

Oh, light at the end of the tunnel. It may be the greatest misconception that there is in this world. It may be that there will never be that light altogether. That light has now been eased by the fact that human being invented electricity. So, the light at the end of the tunnel should be done away with because we can see while we are in the tunnel these days. But not so fast. What if there is a blackout and you don’t know the distance to the actual end? What if there is a calamity that results in a short-circuit or power surge  and there is no flow of power or is it current electricity to the other side where it is needed to ease life that become uneased every other day because we are complicating it for nothing.

So, there is no contest that light at the end of the tunnel is real. It shall just be that light at the end of the tunnel is a relieve that we cannot do without. And that is how the constricted mind behaves. It may try to deny the truth, create its own truths then when it cannot be able to make hay while sun shines, it will realize that there is no much amend s it is making. It regales and moves on with its situation.

Consequently, it will strive to think outside the box again, look at life in a different picture and try to come up with a notion that espouses a paradigm shift from the normalcy that it had been imbued. Well, that trial is all what it was looking for in the first place but it is now locked in a cage that it is not able to put itself out of without making amends with itself and  the alter ego.

After all, thinking freely is all we want in life. To be able to come up with new executable ideas without glitch. The ones that make the world a better place full of intimacy and wellbeing. But the more we try, the more complicated things become, and we find that we want to start a new altogether. Life can be a jerk at that point. Someone thinks you have solved it yet the reality is that you have not, you have only created a new problem that never existed. Only that you are trying but as you try to be consistent, it becomes impossible and then you leave it. From where you leave it, some other soul will pick from there, study it and then the circle continues. They call it karma, baby.

Yes, karma is real. It is not utopic. And when it is combined with dejavu, we are able to solve a mystery that knows how to metastasize into a more gigantic problem that is more difficult to tackle without any experience and knowhow. And most of the times when the thought process reaches a limit. That point of no return, it sleeps. Because a power nap is the best thing that has the best return on investment that is never contestable in any field. 

 Hasta  la vista baby 


[Picture source: Pixabayy]

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HARD-WIRED TO HERD

Few of us make decisions without being influenced by other people. We are like ant. Only that we dont know who exactly controls the decisions we make. As a result we are hardwired to herd in most of our actions.

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WATER THERAPY

I used to abhor the dry and sticky feel on the roof of my palate and tongue that was also characterized by a metallic taste which is nothing but disgusting. Of course, it came with dry and cracked lips that I tried to ebb by applying Arimis on them but reverted to Vaseline because I feel embarrassed going to ask for that in a shop or is it a ‘livestock shop’ now that it is a milking jelly. How does a guy in the city go to ask for Arimis? I cannot even think about how to start asking for it. Ladies can easily buy it and they know where to get the product. Beauty shops? The Arimis I applied was given to me by a female friend while we used to work as salespeople. Me, I don’t know where Arimis is found. So, I just enter a kiosk in the hood and ask for a small Vaseline jelly. The blue one that is odourless. It’s perfect for parched lips, I swear. This reminds me of the song ‘Napenda Vaseline’. Does it ring a bell? It does not need an explanation. Because, when I was in high school, a friend intimated about it and I was left perturbed because I failed to comprehend what he was insinuating. Given that we never had internet on our computers back then, I could not google to find the meaning of what the phrase ‘Vaseline’ meant. I guess he thought I was omniscient about such stuff, but I was green and naïve about it. I let sleeping dogs lie and I guess the bugger was also kind of disappointed and bewildered that I never knew what he was intimating. He was from Nairobi, a cool place, and I was from Eldoret, a semi-rural town that has lost its sheen over the years. I only got to know the meaning years later. Anyway….. I love the way cold water normally moves softly down my gullet, stealing the wry tissue-layer coating the surface of my oesophagus every time I have a burning sensation on my throat. Back then, I used to press a small glass rim against my lips to quench my thirst. The fact that cold water has been branded the efficient thief of heat and thirst in some quarters is not a fallacy but the gospel truth. These days, I have changed my drinking régime. By drinking, I am not insinuating the sipping of ale. No, I am talking about drinking water. Only that it cannot be compared to drinking ale. With liquor, you can down more bottles in one sitting without much ado. However, with water, I swear, it will take you more than an effort to drink the same. Which is totally healthy if you can manage to stretch yourself to drink water in quantity. Oh yes! The quality also matters man. So why water? Obviously, we all know that we need to take at least eight cups of water in a day which we forego because it is not necessary. After all, in our ‘parochial thoughts’, we think that drinking water is a thirst thing as opposed to tendency even if you are not in need of it. I know that drinking water you don’t need kills the thrill of why we drink water when we become thirsty. Plus, water is tasteless. How do you just wake up and start drinking water that you don’t need? You cannot stand it unless you train yourself to be drinking it even when you don’t have the urge. Let me liken it to peeing in as much as there is lots of correlation between the two. You only pee when the bladder is full, otherwise, you may try to release or even force, but nothing comes out. The same case applies to water among some people. You only drink it when the throat indirectly says, ‘Hey, I need some water men.’ Basically, I have changed my indulgence in the way I drink water. I remember reading that glugging water after eating had the effect of hampering the stomach’s digestive powers and interfering with digestion especially if you down more than a glass. And a macrobiotic expert even confessed that it can lead to “acid reflux and heart burn” if you are drinking lots of water immediately after a meal. I don’t subscribe to that school of thought. Me, I drink water even after I have finished eating because that is what I grew up doing. Nowadays, I drink water because I love drinking. I drink after a meal, in between meals and the result has been phenomenal. There is a woman who confessed that drinking three litres of water a day took ten years off her skin. She was right. What she never said was that it also a diuretic (a substance which promotes the production of urine). Read about her here. My journey with water as opposed to hers has been one that is erratic and lethargic. Sometimes I drink more water, sometimes I don’t. But the other day, I noticed that cysts and zits had resurfaced on my visage in full swing. Actually, they were starting to disappear, and I was loving it already. Then, I looked at the mirror and saw some infected hair  follicles on my beard and remembered that I had reneged on my word to at least be drinking two litres of water in a day. So, before I started writing this article, I decided to drink a litre just like that. Drinking a litre of water in one swoop is bad for health. I know. It was just a nice way to remind myself that I should be drinking water to reduce on the dry and scaly skin that I have been having lately. Oh! I also aim to kill the profusion of wrinkles and loss of lustre on my glistening dark skin. All in all, my kidneys got a big relieve in the flush that helped rid my skin of toxins looking at the bigger picture. You see, drinking water has never made me feel this younger than I imagined. My once shriveled lips are now fine and moist. Well, poor dehydration made me have cheilitis and unending cysts which have reduced in frequency since I started drinking water. The pores that were prominent have kind of become less visible. Now I look better than the way an old friend told me that I had aged. I bet the sagging skin is fading, and a jaw line developing. I still have blotches, but I am thinking that they will be a thing of the past once I stick to a good regimen which I have never because I normally leave the straight when I just start something. The best part is that the colour of urine also turns from dark, to light yellow because of consuming mother nature's own clear liquid in apt quantity. Again, the stench that emanates from the loo when unflushed subsides because of the reduction in urea which is broken down into soluble substance by the kidney when you hydrate the body. And when it comes to the skin, the tightness on the surface palliates and a certain kind of radiance starts to permeate on the epidermis. You start having a healthy, moist and younger-looking complexion that is enviable. You don’t become flaky, parched and rough like people of the same age as you. PS. I never intentioned to write anything. But then, the gremlins in my system told me to write something. Now I am writing about water, because water is life, right. Well, I got a scholarship to advance my finance knowledge and skills and the results have been quite remarkable. I had vowed to finish the course but here I am writing, call me a digresser. Men, writing is addictive and fun. Especially when you have no limitations. But I will complete the course someday. And when I do, I will write about it. Hasta La Vista Baby. [Photo Source: Pixabay.com]

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LET'S DO NOTHING

Ta-da. I have finally used this word.

I have resisted the urge not to give in to the demands of the flesh once more. Yes, the priest was right, I should repent. But hey, am just a man.

Procrastination. Only a thorough manager knows how to instill disciple and ensure you never succumb by constantly putting you on toes whether you pay him or he is paid to oversee you do your duty.

Digress.

 “I will tell on you.” My niece uses this phrase when she feels aggrieved and thus, will tell those nasty things to her mom when she comes back.

Me I was used to “Ntakushtaki kwa mamangu.” Well, the language gap is real. I don’t remember doing that but there was one time when I ate at the neighbours and my little sister decided that I was disobeying my mum’s directive of not eating food from the neighbour’s. You see, the traced me to where I was playing at my friend’s place and called me to go for lunch. I dilly-dallied and ate at my friend’s place. My food remained untouched.

Given that my mum had warned all of us not to eat anywhere apart from our house, she saw this as an opportunity to see what would happen to me by ‘foolowing’ me to my mum. She told me on my mum and the strokes I received though a caveat never materialized because I continued repeating the mistake clandestinely. I guess the lashing I received worked in sometimes moderating my appetite when am in a new vicinity.

I really don’t know what was wrong with our mothers during those days. To this day, I have never found a rationale for why they never wanted us to share meals with neighbours when we were around the neighbour’s house.

By the way, back then, the food that was being cooked in our house was never as sumptuous as that which was being cooked at the neighbours. Walai! It’s not that we never cooked good food in our house. But, the food outside tasted more delicious than ours when I was a kid. Hata kama ilikuwa ugali na mboga pekee.

My mum never used to store canes under her bed like some mothers used to do because being a cheeky boy I would sneak and steal the damn sticks and throw them knowing full well that I was the main target.

So, when she got wind of the fact that I had eaten “Kwa kina Steve” and she had warned me never to do that again. She resorted to her common phrase, “Thiom kedi.” And when you came back, she would then say, “Nind piny” after inspecting the cane. I don’t remember ever taking a substandard cane. As opposed to the conventional wisdom, she would beat the hell out of you asking leading questions which you had to answer while crying lugubriously vowing never to repeat the mistake again.

The last time my mum did beat me with a cane was probably when I was in class five or six. I cannot remember very well but when I officially became a teenager, she resorted to revile as opposed to the rod. But occasionally, being the terror squad in the house, she would slap the hell out of you unawares when she was feeling really irked or provoked by your behaviour. Which came once in a blue moon because during my last years in primary school, I became a boarder and that meant less stay at home. Hence, I never came into much contact with her because of the a must ‘holiday tuition’ and the normal school term.

But I appreciate her because she played her role decisively and although she spent most of her time in ‘shags’ just like she does nowadays, her role was pivotal. My old man on the other hand was this easy guy who never saw fault in stuff like eating at the neighbours. Having grown up in shags himself where eating was communal as opposed to the current state where it is capitalistic, he did not see any evil in you eating at the neighbour’s. And he probably did cane me less than three time if I can recall my childhood.

Once he caned me when I was probably six having developed tantrums by crying ludicrously but he was more of a gentleman. He would cane you not more than five strokes and then leave you there. The second time he whipped me, I had been frustrated that he was only buying my sisters clothes from Uganda and I was not being bought any. Being the only naughty boy, I decided not to take it lightly when clothes were bought three times and I was not having any. I pulled the cry card, unfortunately, it backfired. So, he did it because my mum kept pestering him to do it.

My mum was the savage type. She would cane you continuously until her arms got tired. Of course, after the act, she would be motherly and ensured you reconciled because she was not the type who liked keeping grudges. She would then sit you down and ask if what she did was right and you would answer in the affirmative. Plus, when she became endowed, she would buy you new clothes which to us was the best thing ever.

But me, I was like ‘Dennis the Menace’. I loved making trouble more than I loved sticking to norms. I was the kind who had overactive energy and loved engaging in fistfights whenever possible. Once there was a certain boy who did beat me and each time the hood boys who were at the fight saw me after the incident, they would comment, ‘Si wewe ndio ule kijana ulipigwa kama drum.’ The boy was older and bigger than me. Man ile kuchochwa nilichochwa nipigane naye, ni God tu ndio anajua ka nini nilipata kichapo cha mbwa. Normally, the little ones did face my wrath and I would beat them out of their senses when provoked. Even some unlucky bigger 'weakpoints'.

I remember going to play where I had beaten some two boys, and their mum on realizing that I was around came out with a broom stick which she used to give me several strokes because I was constantly beating her two young boys. I went back home crying thinking my mum would use her “lioness lethal force” on this neighbour but she ended up doing the opposite.

“Onyali,” she told me. I stopped crying and went to our bedroom where I did that snuffling thingy because my mum had warned me not to make any noise in her house lest she bring the cane for more dosage because she had also warned me not to go to play outside and I had sneaked.

I guess the phrase, “spare the rod, spoil the child”, was her mantra. Years later, when I interacted with my maternal grandmother, I realized she was the lenient type. She was slow to anger and never did I see her getting as irate as my mother ever does. To date, my mum still has that aura of ferocity especially to those she does not hold in high regard. Not that she does anything sinister but the way she addresses them just tells you how much she thinks of them.

I now wish that the very whips that I used to get from my mum would whip me into shape, to stick to the rote even when I am not feeling like. I err countless times I gave up on abiding by rota. I know the number of times I have departed from one in the recent past. It’s hard saying you will stick to doing some stuff because you might stray in the middle of it like I normally do. I have strayed doing many things mpaka huwa najiuliza kama ‘am serious with life’. But it’s never that serious.

Hasta La Vista Baby.

[Picture Source: My Own]

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STARTING AGAIN

We all spire to achieve self-actualization. A utopic world where things work for us effortlessly as opposed to us working through thick and thin to make ends meet to survive. Indeed, in that stage, all you need is to continue relishing the near flawless life people think you have hoping that you never destroy the robust reputation you have created hitherto. And that means influence and power. They come naturally and at that stage in life, you become a sage. Not just that, but also one of repute and admiration. That is what the few of us who know about such a state aspire to be in even though it may be boring. Because of the constant scrutiny that people have over your life.

Parents. They all have an aspiration to see their children doing well in life. Even deviant and runaway ones at some point feel the heat and sometimes find a way to be part of their kids’ life no matter how remote that association may be.

That said, there is a generation of parents who are really having it rough. Especially the proletariat ones who thought that taking their children to university was a breather once they finished school. Guess they overlooked the phrase that “quality matters”, when they were taking their progeny to campus. After finishing campus, they must now contend to seeing their graduates sons and daughters wallowing around jobless instead of taking a glimpse at a picture hanged on the wall, smiling exuberantly. That’s how folks from where I come from believe they should be seeing their educated and learned daughters and sons other than the possibility of being called every now and then when they are far.

It's like life has made them to start afresh. Albeit, finishing university would mean a good job, and hope for abundance. Hope that they will take care of their parents and outdo them once they come of age. But that is now a fallacy. Parents are still the ones who take care of their children years after completing university. There is a certain notion that they are people with the money because of their age. They give us pocket money, clothe us, and house us not forgetting that they feed us. Plus, a whole other bunch of stuff that only them parents know about. It’s worse when another parent thinks a proletariat parent has connections and the strings to aid his child secure a job when in reality he wishes he would nail his son or daughter a job. Skewed perception huh!

But for a bloke or lass whose folks never made it to be proletariats or one who is independent, it means fighting by crook and cranny for or to be what he wants in life. This is the individual who never fears anything in life. He takes what comes his way and moves on by horning the skills learnt into an incoming generating project. The degree of satisfaction varies among these individuals but one thing that remains is that they keep the spirit burning. The zetetic ones forget about employment and hustle hard in their own business. For the unlucky ones who think that crime is the ‘it thing’, hessy wa Kayole or Dandora or Githurai will use his metal, a small, discreet and deadly ammunition as perfect mechanism for dispatching these outlaws for good. Later, unethical bloggers will post the gory pictures of lads barely past their mid-twenties having bit the bullet on their blogs. Those reddened holes oozing with dark congealing blood in a lifeless body. Is this abetting or reducing crime? Sad that the trigger happy hessy feels that a gun is part of himself as opposed to seeing it as a tool of death.

Hard questions that I am not sure I can answer because I am not an activist. As an addition, kids of some nimble proletariats have made it in life and that only means that at times, parents can play a vital role in making their sons become individuals of societal admiration if they do things well.

Away from parents and feeling sorry for those who would wish to have jobs but end up sleeping most of the day because they have nothing to do, there is an elephant that I am currently dealing with. It has refused to get out of my house. It has stuck on me like a black stein on a white shirt. Until I finish taking care of it, my mind will be unsettled. So am starting it again after I had my chips. A situation which I had to chance my arm at even though I was not well prepared for the battle.

I am upbeat this time round that I will ace the test given that I am planning to do things the hard way as opposed to the more lackadaisical approach that I took in my intent to be a victor. Starting again what you have done before can be tricky. You feel like you know it but given that you never made it, you must have the conscience of a novice.

Thinking of redoing my CFA Level II exams was not easy. I had thought of giving up till some time in future. Now I am buoyed and confident that I will not let this chance go to the dogs. I want to make the best out of it. And that means starting early so that I am not caught up with the frustrations of the last-minute man. What I am sure about is that this will be a painstaking battle which am preparing for with the zeal of a warrior on oath.

I want to forget that I was having a hard time before. I want to remain focused on the goal. I am sure I will make it and it is not something that I am in doubt about. I will give it the best shot and aim like my whole life depends on it even though it does not. Even when hope seems to be fading, I will make sure I am committed to the course and be diligent. Lastly, I will increase the man hours and work on my speed and accuracy.

That to me is what I have learnt while being an online worker in what I do. That speed and accuracy counts a lot in whatever one does. And once you have aced the two, my friend.

Hasta La Vista Baby

[Picture Source: Google Images]

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