Love, and Things People Don’t Ask

Often, people don’t ask me what it is to love, and be okay with not being with that person. They ask if I’ve ever been in love, and I tell yes, but it seems adding that I didn’t like that person ceases the conversation for them. It doesn’t for me.

Every time love comes up, and the wonders of how can one live without their love, I think of the simplicity in doing so. Literally, just stay away. Don’t communicate, don’t interact; just don’t involve them in your life. Does this men you don’t love them? No. It means you don’t have anything to do with them beyond feeling for them.

Most people find this strange, and the opposite of loving someone. I have observed their ideas on this through their analyses of stories they read, or watch. They believe proximity denotes intensity of emotions; and ridicule the idea of someone being able to love someone else without using any of the five senses in regards to them, that is sight, touch, hearing, taste, or smell. But it happens. People love other people without seeing them, without hearing them, without touching. They do it through having love within themselves.

A lot of the time, people expend too much effort to promote an idea of love being evoked in someone, instead of love already existing in people, and only finding an object of desire when its energy crosses their path. They make movies, write books, preach it in religious spaces and life coaching seminars (which really are religions by themselves), Too many cultures have a binary, cause and effect approach to every aspect of life, which leaves a lot of things deemed unnatural as they can’t be explained for what they are when the mentalities of the cultures refuse to consider what they are as natural. So, ideas like love is inside everyone regardless of an object of desire or affection are deemed ridiculous, and dismissed.

Doing so doesn’t eradicate their existence, however. It doesn’t take the love out of existence. One still loves, one still feels for to whomever they direct their love. They can despair the feeling, or enjoy it, but they don’t have to interact with people to do so. It doesn’t mean that they don’t love the person; but it’s a good option, especially when being close to that person is dangerous in a tangible manner.

I prefer to enjoy the feeling. The warmth it brings, the headiness, the cheer. Despairing has such a lonely taste to it, and hopelessness. That isn’t what one should feel along with love.

When one is raised to believe physical proximity is the only way to experience love, it may seem downright invalidating to love from afar. Despite growing up with parents who were apart due to work commitments more than living in the same house, I still thought interacting with my love everyday was the only way to be in love. I missed out on 2 years of enjoying being in love because of it. I wasn’t supposed to interact with them, though. I tried to do that in the 3rd year of loving, but it didn’t work out. I hate physical proximity. Familiarity breeds contempt with me, and so, the love feelings started dying. I had to let it go for the sake of myself, and feeling good. It wasn’t easy. It hurt a lot, but accepting that was greater relief. It was worth it. A little practise, and a lot of resolve made it happen.

No title, just thoughts

All the intentions of writing regularly go out of the window when I find everything I want to write about is something negative. And I’m more tired, and incoherent than not when I want to. These feelings, tangible and intangible, make my writing suffer. Most times I want to care, but I don’t. Other times, I care, and try to write on paper, especially now with electricity outages occurring as if they’ve been paid to do so. Writing on paper is easy access, and reliable. It’s also less about editing and more flow. Even that, though, isn’t remedying the restlessness, the inefficiency in me. Exercising, long walks, music; nada. Meditation just makes me sad, and is always being interrupted by family. I want to return to gicagi. I’ll trade red spiders with smooth skin for non-productivity and feeling overwhelmed by anything. I’ll trade hot rooms, being awake at 2 am after sleeping four hours, I’ll stay in darkness and shower in a room I don’t like to write and write well. To put things out that feel like what I want them to be. To have space to feel, and think, and execute my plans. To ge back to writing, and writing well.

It’s Valentine’s

And with the obviousness set forth, I say I’m actually excited for the season. I’m thinking of doing it the way I did way back in 2010, and there’ll even be cake and sweets. It will be a sweet one, I hope.

I don’t do Valentine’s in a big, blatant manner though I wish I did. I wish I was the type to buy manila paper, and art craft equipment. To search online for do it yourself videos, and sit down to make cards, and banners; decorations to put up in my space; and give to people I know for the season.

I wish I was the type to have a device in which I can set up playlists for every day leading up to the end of the season, which is the end of February for me. Have themes like current hits with Beyonce, and Ellie Goulding, and Paramore. Old school hits with Stevie Wonder, and Charlie Pride, Aretha Franklin, and Chaka Khan. Erotic with The Weeknd, Tinashe, and Michael Jackson, and Nicki Minaj, Nickelback, too. Cuteness with Ed Sheeran, and Kelly Clarkson. Sexy with Aaliyah, Toni Braxton, Xcape, and Ciara. Enough to keep a smile, and the mood alive for weeks.

I’d like to be the kind to cook spicy, savoury finger foods; and wear lace, and satin, silk, and velvet.

I am not. I do t-shirts and slacks, slippers, and tea in the evening. It isn’t inspiring, but it doesn’t deter me. I’ve been making playlists featuring Sam Smith, Beyonce, Aaliyah, Ciara, Alicia Keys, Michael Jackson (cause the man had sexy tracks like give in to me, whoo!). I have a bunch of romantic movies to watch like Something New, Beyond the Lights, Jason’s Lyric, Rent, and Twilight. And I’ll make my favourite treats, read romantic novels like Jude Deveraux’s Velvet series, and maybe an erotica if I can find a good one. In between all this, I’ll be writing.

Valentine’s should be good, in the least. So far, it has had good moments.

Happy Valentine’s.

sKenyans, shame on you. Dishonour on you, your family, your children’s children, and your cow

Ah, some Kenyans (sKenyans) on twitter, and facebook; aren’t you lot just a terrible example of humanity? Not a reason have you to be terrible, but there you go sharing what has been unsolicited, and is harmful. I don’t know why these 4chan-esque posters are allowed online, but I have this deep desire to see them no longer. And for the most part, I have managed to avoid them; but with the ability for people to have multiple accounts at a time, and that thing called manual reposting, it’s not an entire success. Hence how I found myself reading tweets by unnecessary bigots regarding a kiss.

This kiss is heterosexual, and boring which in itself isn’t worth much furore if any attention. However, because sKenyans on twitter, and facebook apparently have to fill some quota on being harmful negatives, they pervade the kenya-twitter-sphere with their misogynistic slut labelling of the woman involved in the kiss.

If their problem was the man involved, I’d probably be less moved to comment on it. It’s not, however. It’s not that the man is a liar, a sexist, misogynistic, sycophant government official, who spends more time making the government look irrational than communicating effectively enough to manipulate people into seeing the government in a positive, or non-negative light. Because there’s no one working for a government’s communication department that isn’t manipulating people with their messages. Their problem is that the woman was pictured with a man who isn’t the man she was pictured with prior. Their problem is that she’s a female. And that’s misogynistic.

sKenyans are a shame; repugnant excuses of humanity. Exaggerating a kiss to sexual acts, and then slandering a woman as being irresponsible with her sexual life is revolting, and undeserving of any consideration that doesn’t lead to rebuking of their behaviour. Equating a promiscuous lifestyle to deserving of rape in the case of a woman is violent. Expecting them to learn different, to be good is a pipe dream. There’s more chance public money stashed in Switzerland will be returned with all the interest gained than the likes of @masaku will stop being hateful, spiteful persons committing violence against women for the sole reason that they are not him.

trigger warning, depression

It’s a day in which waking up is an inevitability, but unwanted. I can’t sleep for more than two hours this week, and getting to sleep is a struggle, although I am sleepy all the time. I want to hate it, but the effort is too great. So, I’m in this limbo where nothing is happening, and I’m whining because there are options I should take, but I won’t because I’m too tired, or apathetic, or watching a series and unwilling to turn it off for a few minutes to deal with the insomnia.

It’s a day in which the ground is firm, the sun is hot, the air is dry, and my hair is glossy because the sunshine warms the lotion in my hair, and makes it work the way putting my hair under a drier for a few minutes would if I tried to go near a hair dryer. My skin is dry, my nose bleeds, and my eyes water a lot because of the air. So, when I feel like crying, I have an excuse.

The world is going on with their plans around me. There’s a pregnancy, a loan, a renovation. People are getting jobs, and promotions. Income. People are doing things they want, or as close to it as they can get.

My world remains the same: try to sleep, try not to wake up and fail. Write the story, and keep writing no matter how much I hate it. Listen to music that doesn’t make me cry, or curl up in myself. Listen, and watch shows that will keep my mind from thinking that it’s a good time to google what types of drugs I can overdose on that won’t destroy my organs. I figure contaminated blood is a loss worth the rest of my organs being viable for donation. Or run away from home. Leave and say nothing to anyone. And never return.

It’s been a day; the kind that I will put down as one I found at its end with me still in existence.

Tying my lesso

Originally posted on chanyado:

What I remember about that night were the sounds. The scraping of the bed being dragged across the floor. The insistent pounding of fists at the door. The thudding of my heart echoing in my ears. The muttering of prayer tumbling out of my mouth in a stream of whispering.

They had come after me.

Earlier that evening the driver of the matatu I was travelling in kicked us out slurring, ‘nimechoka. Tokeni.’ Though we tried to protest, his erratic swerving had left us jittery and we felt we were safer walking than being at the mercy of this drunken driver. So several hundred metres away from Oyugis, we started walking. I was on my way to a funeral and was carrying a huge white box overflowing with flowers, stuffed with the wreaths I had been asked to bring from Kisumu.

The walk is a blur to me, but I…

View original 1,620 more words

Been trying to write something, anything to keep up with my intention of publishing more than once in a long while. The past fortnight has been of sadness for me, so it’s been difficult for me to keep motivation to write up. Especially to write something that isn’t frivolous. Then I read a reminder, that writing involves anything, no reason to be embarrassed; and even if you are, no reason not to just write until you can’t anymore. Hopefully, this doesn’t end up being unfinished.

And what is this?

This is me realising that I haven’t written a wedding scene in all but one of my stories since high school. And that’s saying something cause it’s been twelve years since the last wedding scene I remember writing. Then again, I haven’t written a barrage of books since then. It’s difficult to have a collection of titles when you find everything you write subpar when you’re halfway through. But, for someone who writes romance; isn’t that off?

I think it’s partly because I have a fear of weddings.

It’s not a phobia; no. I attend weddings with thrill, most of the time. I mean, I fear having to craft a wedding. Thinking up of things that best suit the characters, that is sweet, and encompassing of passion, love, and commitment. I dislike doing that. The best scene(according to friends who’ve read my work) I’ve ever written for a wedding was one between people who got married for money. It was cold, procedural; and hinted at malice. I don’t feel comfortable writing happy go lucky weddings, which is probably reflective of personal revulsion to commitment. That, I am phobic of.

Also, finding things to do with weddings that would appeal to me. There are too many dresses, so many great spaces; and even better types of cakes, and themes; I would derail myself from the story, and spend thousands of words on something that would in essence be of small significance to the story. I don’t how wedding planners do it; or maybe they do it cause they love the frustration, and chaos that comes with choosing things for a wedding.

Anyway this realisation is making me want to change that. I don’t know which story to write it on; or maybe I should do outtakes of presently written stories. But I want to be able to tell myself that I once wrote a fabulous wedding scene, and it was great for me.

TIME Person of the Year Reader’s Poll — Updating Results

Jaz is I:

Time for TIME’s person of the year. The list leaves much, much to be desired. For example, anyone but the white Americans, the Brazilian President, the Arab authority heads, and the Europeans. At this rate, Al Shabaab, and Boko Haram will feature next year. Yeesh.

Originally posted on TIME:

Read about our methodology here.

[pinnion-poll src=”http://time.pinnion.com/pepl/webWidgetVoteTotals.php?id=12836&key=NWI0MzRlZDEyYmEwNjhlOWVmZDBkYjk1NWNmMGYxMWI.&addlId=12833&filter=YES&logBase=0&round=10″ width=”838″ height=”2600″ title=”2014 POY Results”]

Vote Now: Who Should Be TIME’s Person of the Year?

Face-Off: Who Should Be TIME’s Person of the Year?

[time-brightcove videoid= 2866699201001]

[newsletter-the-brief]

Read next: Who Should Be TIME’s Person of the Year in 2014?

View original

Comfort zones

Jaz is I:

Very apt things. Good, and apt.

Originally posted on Cristian Mihai:

“Change isn’t easy… changing the way you live means changing what you believe about life. That’s hard… When we make our own misery, we sometimes cling to it even when we want so bad to change because the misery is something we know. The misery is comfortable.”Dean Koontz

A lot has happened in the past year. Good and bad. I laughed, cried, got my heart broken. I thought things couldn’t get worse, then they did. Then I thought things couldn’t get any better, and… lo and behold, they did.

And I changed. As a person. I began to see myself in a different light. I began to see the world around me differently.

View original 352 more words