God must have a wife. A supernatural woman who actually knows everything. One that keeps him on toes, busy and whose nagging sends him to the bar on a few occasions. “Are you drunk again?R…
We first became friends at campus. We had been to the same high school, in the same class but we had never said so much as a hi to each other. Not that we hated each other, Not at all. She was just the new quiet girl in class and I was – well, I was Phyllis. Being Phyllis means, I wasnt exactly a celebrity but I was well known. First and largely for being a teacher’s daughter, and then bse I was the chief editor of our school magazine. (I know, I know)
So she was in her own quiet small world and I was in my own not so quiet and not so small world. I was part of a clique and – well, we just had our own jazz and stories. Stories we made together during holidays.
Fast forward to first semester at campus, we found ourselves in the same class both on gov’t sponsorship and as fate could have it our halls of residence were just 100 metres apart. We grew close – quite naturally considering we were from the same high school. We did everything together. We went to class together, dodged class together, covered for each other when one missed class. We became best friends. It was awesome. I had never been that close to anybody before.
But then campus ended. And our happy best friendship bubble was momentarily shaken. We still kept in touch of course but didnt see each other quite as often. We didnt hang out together anymore heck, I could barely move 2km without feeling I was overstretching my budget leave alone the energy to spend all night twerking my less than big ass on some guy’s crotch.
We knew things would be different after campus but we just werent ready for it. And then we got a small contract job where we were assigned to work together.Boy oh boy it was an amazing thirty days. I got a job and that kept me busy for the next couple of weeks. Meanwhile she got a job too and it finally hit us. We were growing up. Life was catching up with us. It was sad.I knew things could never be the same again. But we kept in touch over the phone. Constantly texting so i felt I wasnt missing out alot on her life and she on mine.
Gradually we both got permanent jobs. Permanency means more demanding and threfore less time for yourself. We grew even farther apart. Even the phone calls and texts were less frequent. It hurt. Alot. I felt so alone; I’d been feeling alone for quite sometime now but it began to feel so final and so official.
Until this morning when her reply to my text was you know how busy we all are. i dont know why but it sounded so final and deep inside i knew i had lost the one bestfriend i had ever had.
hehehehehe Who even starts any blopost like that? But its funny, bse actually I wasnt tagged to do this challenge but I did it anyway for reasons best known to me which will be revealed to you by the end of this post.
I have always lowkey wanted to show off my handwriting because even I crush on my handwriting…it’s beautiful undoubtedly. The curves of my d’s and b’s and p’s and s’s would make Nicki Minaj jealous. All through my school days I got presents for best handwriting (drumroll). A good thing too bse otherwise Idk what other gifts I could have gotten.
Trust me to make a big deal out of this seemingly small and silly challenge…but honestly its not everyday that a girl gets to show of her handwriting especially in this era where all forms of communucation have been digitalised. So when I saw Beaton’s blog about the handwriting tag, I literally jumped at the challenge and here I am.
P.s If you dont agree that I have the prettiest handwriting in the whole wide world, go argue with your elementary school teacher.
My blue bic pen has no cover b’se I am careless like that
Being human is hard. No, really it is. Your life is literally a rollercoaster of things that you have to go through, 90% of which you have no idea how to go through or how you even got there in the first place. You live your life believing all the things you have been raised to believe in, taking for granted all the thoughts you have, and ignoring all the little things that matter most in your life.
I mean we spend almost all our lives trying to better ourselves. Everything we do is just to make ourselves better than we currently are. The being born, going to school – and spending almost your entire childhood and teenage life among stangers-
And then one day, as you take that morning jog you have so often taken thirty minutes before getting ready to work, you run smack dab into a tree. A really huge tree. you stop and chuckle to yourself in surprise, like how could i really not see this big tree? Maybe you are at a good point in your life; you have a wonderful job, you are in great shape of body and mind, you have an amazing partner, and generally you couldnt really ask for more.That has a lot to say for your reaction.
But then again, you may get all angry and pissed and literally smoking at the top of your head and you start thinking; “what the hell was that tree doing right in the middle of my path? why would i run into a tree? what is wrong with these uncordinated body parts of mine? what the fuck is wrong with everything and everyone?” Maybe you’re in a really bad place atm. Nothing seems to be going right, money just slips out of your hands, your are fighting with the person you love most, your friends seem too busy even to spare thirty minutes for a chat, the pressure from your job is literally chocking you. If you are lucky to have a job. nothing seems to be going right. at all. That will explain your reaction too.
The whole point is our status quo more often than not determines our reaction to the varius things that life throws in our path. When we are generally happy, we find good in almost everything we experience. We laugh off the insults that maybe thrown at us, or any other misfortunes we may encounter. When we are unhappy on the other hand, we are mad at every little thing that crosses our paths, even the tiniest of things that don’t matter much are enough to piss us off. We hardly find any humour in anything and generally life sucks. Literally.
Therefore, while dealing with people, lets just cut each other some slack because you never know what the other person is going through and much as it is not your fault for the way they react to you, they are human before anything else. And so are you. Taking time to understand the source of their reaction or where they are coming from would be a very kind act on their side.
I know for a fact there is a writer in me. She is there, I know she is, I can feel her. Sometimes nudging to get out, and me surpressing her because I know she just isn’t fully grown yet, not for this. Sometimes I feel she’s growing, perhaps a teenager and I can feel her raging emotions all over the place. Sometimes she escapes like all teenagers do, in quest for new adventures, in the hope that she’ll fit in with others of her kind, trying to be recognised by her peers, trying to impress her crush who is as eloquent as they come, trying to show everyone that she too can do this thing; that its just a walk in the park for her like it is for everyone else.
But deep down she knows she isn’t ready. She admits it too, except she hates to admit anything to me. Apparently, she is supposed to disagree with everything I say, whether we both know its true or not. I know this bse I stumbled upon her journal the other day and I flipped through. I know it is wrong but I just couldn’t help it, because lets face it, she’s a part of me as much as I am of her. So somehow I deserved to know. And I am not trying to justify my breach of her privacy.
In said journal she also said she’s waiting for inspiration to strike. She said she knows she’ll know it when it comes. She wrote of the times she sometimes drifts off all of a sudden and falls in a writing frenzy, sometimes without enough writing space and so she squeezes words on a paper napkin at a coffee shop or ice cream parlour, or in a taxi and she types wildly away at her phone, sometimes exceeding her destination. Bits of many stories, ideas and thoughts that do not connect but make much sense, maybe only to her because no one else ever gets to read these.
Or how sometimes halfway through her workload she opens her wordpress draft and types away through the next hour or so, posts that never get published. I ask her about all this. I ask her why so much passion in her is still sizzling left un tapped, I ask her why she doesn’t let it all out, why she lets it bottle up in her. And she laughs in that little teenage way of hers, that way that quietly says ‘I am just fifteen, I have my whole life ahead of me’ but aloud she says its not my time yet, I’ll know it when my time is here.
But we both know what she leaves unsaid. And however much infectious her confidence is, I know she nurses a quiet fear. I know she asks herself, “what if that time never comes? What if it comes and it passes and I don’t even notice?” I don’t need to read her journal to know this. I know her as well as she knows herself, maybe better. And so she withdraws into herself in that little teenage way of hers and plugs her earphones into her ears grabs a book and heads up to her room, like she always does when we both know there is something we need to talk about but are not willing to talk about. And I am left there shaking my head and thinking how crazy teenagers are these days.
If we were having coffee, (which I btw hate so much because I read somewhere once that it is one of the causes of bad breath and beacause my first ever coffe date was an espresso instead of a capuccino), it would most prolly be a coffee I have forced myself to take because of one of the many reasons that I am going to list;
- If we were having coffee, it would be because I wanted something from you- something I wanted so bad to overlook my hatred for coffee because people are more inclined to help people they relate with and so professing my “undying love” for an espresso and sharing your sentiments about it and wondering how people who prefer capuccinos over any other coffee cannot be trusted is more likely to make you help me than if I professed my undying hatred for coffee – sweetened or otherwise. (I can in my mind eye already see you storming off bse of your belief that anybody who doesnt like coffee is able to poison you. or worse stab you.)
- If we were having coffee, it would be because I had a huge crush on you (you know the kind I had on Drew a few years back? Yeah like that one.) A crush huge enough to make me forget the dreary taste of coffee and turn it into the sweetest taste I have ever known, sweeter than a cold strawberry ,milkshake at Cafe Javas Kampala Boulevard on a hot sunny day. Why? Bse you my dearest crush thought so to. Because I worship the ground you walk on – technically speaking, and because…well I cant launch into all the reasons now. Thats a blog for another day.
- If we were having coffee, it would be because I was diagnosed with a deadly killer disease (yes, deadly killer) whose only cure would be a cup of coffee within 24 hours. And well, I figured medicine would taste less awful and even go much faster if shared with somebody else. Especially someone who thinks coffee is man’s greatest invention or God’s greatest creation (that rhymes; the Esther rhyming bug is quite infectious)
- If we were having coffee, I wouldnot even concentrate on any form of conversation however interesting it might be because my whole attention would be the dreary taste in my mouth and the effort i put in each swallow. That would pretty much take up my attention for anything else.
So, the only way we shall both have an interesting time and tell of interesting stories and escapades over a cup of coffee is only and only if you’re are having your cuppa b’se you obviously love your coffee like your whole life depends on it and I am having a cup of something else that tastes less…well coffeey.
I have every reason to believe I am not normal, but then again I do not think I am abnormal so I have come up with a new term to explain my peculiarity-is that word?- unnormal.(My dictionary grows by the minute). I do not think I am normal because at 22 and in an age where people find love as early as at 6 years old-for some even less (y’all have heard about kindergarten sweethearts right? smh), I have never so much as found a sweetheart of any sorts. And I am not exaggerating when I say this. I have never truly been in love with anyone. I mean there was that one time I had a severe crush-yes, severe is the word- on this hottie that I thought I loved him for real, but with time it dies out and you realise it was just like all the other crushes. You stop seeing in the guy what you had fallen for in the first place.
I was saying I have never loved anyone. No, that doesn’t sound right. I love a lot of people. Just not in that way. I suppose we all understand what I mean. But that doesnt mean I havent’t been in a relationship before; a couple of them actually, if you disclude (I couldnt find the opposite of include fast enough) those over the phone relationships that we girls from single school (I don’t know if girls from mixed schools had them too) where your friends from high school would introduce you to their brother or cousin and if you were lucky enough to have an older cousin staying with you, you would use their phone number because my parents didnot see why a high school kid should have a phone. So you used the cousin’s phone for your “relationship” with your friend’s brother whom you had never met. And most likely you’d never meet; but you had to make the most of the 99% mtn zone and warid pakalast calls, which were like the in-thing those days.
No, I did’nt count those relationships, but I had two of them as well. So, if I wasnt in love what kinda relationships was I in? Trust me to do things in a way totally different from everybody else. Well, basically it was peer pressure. You know going through campus without having dated anyone? All your friends be like what the hell is wrong with you? What stories are you going to tell your kids about your campus days? blah blah blah. And I am the sort of person to easily cave in to peer pressure.
So I dated. Not because I actually loved the guys, but because it was “abnormal” not to have a boyfriend at campus. Stupid me. Of course I felt guilty about this, even someone as unnormal as me still has a conscience. It was unfair to the other party, but I felt they didnt feel too strongly for me so that we both settled in a relationship of convinience not love. I was careful not to date guys who were really in love with me, because I knew how hurt they would be in the end. Besides, that bunch is always a clingy lot. So while people my age rave and rant and vent about broken hearts, and fuckboy qualities and how all men are dogs and etc, I honestly have no idea what they are talking about.
I don’t understand how you can hate someone that you once loved so much you’d cringe at the sight of their name. Or anything that reminds you of them. I don’t understand how your heart can break and you still continue to live. (Exceptionally strong people those must be). I don’t understand that kind of pain that supercedes any kind of physical pain. To me, the strokes of the cane on my bottom and slipper-slaps on whichever part of my body that left me limp and in pain for days exceed any kind of pain I have known.
But thats just me. Bse I donot know how it feels to give another human being your heart and they trash and trample and walk all over it until its left in very many tiny smithereens. And for that reason, I wonder how normal I am. Or I am not, for an average person.