Once Upon a Year Gone By

Oh 2014, I hardly knew you! Only one day to the very end of this year and I am just now tasting the shocking realisation that it has, in fact, been 12 months since the beginning of the year. It's been a blur. The 365 days have drifted by without my conscious awareness of their passing. I took the idea that the concept of time is man's creation quite literally. The distinction between night and day to me was not black and white, it was (still is) grey. I ate supper at midnight, I took vodka -sometimes- at two in the afternoon, I drank coffee at eight in the evening and eight in the morning became my ungodly hour. Time, after all, was my conception -the conception of my ancestors and, therefore, mine. And like the Idiosyncratic Hedonist that I am, I didn't follow the norm. It is no surprise then that 12 solid months have gone by and I feel that the year has just flown by.

It is not uncommon to look back at the years past and talk about something significant that happened in a particular year, for instance: school graduation; meeting a stranger who later becomes a lover; breaking up with the aforementioned lover; going through grief; moving out of the parents' home; starting a new job; these are just some of the major life events. I don't think I'll look back at 2014 and mention any of the above. However, I feel like I did grow tremendously in a short period of time and this growth has gone unnoticed by everyone but myself. I feel like in the space of 12 months, I have traversed so far from what I am used to. I find it difficult to put into words these bits and pieces of transition and transformation. The peace that I have felt, the wanderings -both imaginary and physical, getting lost and subsequently finding myself in a good book, being moved by great music, the magic of the night air, the stillness of the morning just before everyone wakes up, the letting go on my yoga mat, the sound of silence, the surprising emotional balance. These are things I might not be able to tell people in future, yet it is their combination that makes me feel completely and utterly metamorphosed. The abstractness of their very nature makes them difficult to explain.

Oh 2014, I hardly knew you, yet you gave me the time to know myself, and for that I am grateful.

The title of this post is from the song Paradise by Vanessa Carlton

What Kind of Paradise am I Looking For?

It's five o'clock on Monday morning and I am back at my place by the window with my first cup of coffee. I know, (because I have been told) that sounds depressing. I am not depressed. I am melancholic: I love sad things. Those of us with the melancholic disposition are inspired by misery. This is not to say I am a sad person. Quite the contrary, I am a happy soul. So, instead of sleeping, especially since I seldom get a full night's sleep -my sleep comes fitfully, with me dipping in and out of consciousness throughout the night- I find that staring out of the window is an interesting alternative, a better alternative so to speak. In this pre-dawn darkness, I find a solitary kind of happiness. I feel an illusion of aloneness, and despite knowing it is an illusion, or maybe because I know it is an illusion, I embrace the peace that can only be found when alone. I am staring into the proverbial nothingness, my mind's eye trying to form images the way I know them and with others, giving my imagination free rein as I form them the way I'd like them to be. But all too soon, in the light of day, I see everything the way it usually is.

I am a voracious reader. I devour books with a kind of hunger that I am certain can't and will never be satisfied. My Kindle, my laptop, my phone, my physical book shelves are all filled with books because the thought of ever lacking something to read scares me shitless. I spend more time reading than I do any other activity. It is in books that I make friends, travel around the world and acquire immense knowledge which translates to happiness. Every new book shifts my horizon. I find truths in books, especially fiction, because fiction is likely to contain more truth than fact. Books are my anchor: I read when I am happy; I read when I am sad. I read to experience everything across the full gamut of emotions. I feel emotions that I may probably never feel in real life; I become  someone I would never have become without books, and the best part is that I get to change the person that I am with every new book that I read. Someone once said, I forget who, but I agree with this fellow bookish soul, that my library is an archive of longings.

I am a dreamer. While pondering about dreams, Sile, one of the protagonists in Emma Donoghue's Landing, says that dreams pull so unpredictably on the fabric of time. She goes ahead to demystify the default, widespread yet misleading assumption that daytime is the real life. "In the night," she says, "people journeyed far from those they slept beside, they lived out infinitudes of time and in the morning,  they all behaved like adulterers, as if nothing happened." And I tend to agree. I have experienced so much in my dreams. I have been chased by indescribable creatures, I have traveled the world, I have interacted with people I might never meet in my life, I have attended international conferences, I have lived in my own house, I have experienced my worst fears, I have endured terrible pain and I have achieved my dreams. This other life that I have lived -sometimes stretching a whole lifetime and sometimes the brevity of it all makes me second guess myself- is only known to me. I might never experience all these things in my real life (whatever real life means) but I have felt them so strongly, it's as if  I have lived them. Fernando Pessoa says that life is fundamentally a mental state, and all that we do or think valid to the extent we consider it valid, the valuation depends on us. I find immense comfort in that thought.

In all these: sitting alone and staring in the dark; reading an inordinate number of books; and dreaming (living in my head) I believe I am looking for a paradise that is inevitably and eerily elusive. While on this other side of paradise -the preparadise- I try my best to conjure the image, to paint the picture of my paradise. I have imagined my paradise, made both minor and major changes and then done away with it. I am back at the drawing board, unsure of what kind of paradise I am looking for.

The title of this post is from the song Grey by Ani DiFranco.

Who am I to Dream?

I am at that point in my life where I am about to finally (gasp) step into the other side of the future. The future, up until now, meant after graduation. I am now in my second to last semester of school and my mind tells me that I need a new perspective of what the future would mean because I can almost taste what was my future. Like most people, I have dreams -probably because dreams give me a reason to look forward to the future; but could also be because I want people to see that I take my life seriously, I mean, everywhere I look I am surrounded by motivational speakers and books which tell me to dream big and this will propel me to a life of purpose(!)

When I was in standard seven, during a routine check from the Ministry of Education, the officer was fascinated by how lively our science class was. So at the end of the class, he decided to give us 'a word of encouragement.' He launched to the very unoriginal speech of how we as young kids were capable of everything we set our minds to and how we were the leaders of tomorrow. At that, he asked us who would like to be the president of Kenya. Out of the 46 of us, no one raised their hand, to his utter disappointment. He looked at us incredulously and repeated the question, and again to his disappointment, no one raised their hand. Later on that day, our class teacher came to talk to us about how disappointed she was that no one in class wanted to be the president. I mentally rolled my eyes as she continued with her monologue of how we should dream big, see ourselves as leading the country, and how it would bring her great pleasure to be a former teacher of a future president.

That little incident has always been at the back of my mind throughout the years I have been growing, changing and redesigning my dreams. I like listening to other people talk about their dreams. To gauge if they are passionate about the life they envision, and to predict the possibility of the realization of these dreams with regards to their life right now and their level of enthusiasm about the said dream. I think the line between dreams and fantasies is very thin and faint, unnoticeable to the people who don't look carefully. Fantasies are great, and in unguarded moments, I like to indulge. Dreams on the other hand require me to be realistic. But again, in moments of despair, I wonder if James Morrison was right in the song from which this post gets its title from when he said that dreams are for fools, they let you down. In these desperate moments, I don't see a bleak future. Rather, I see myself building walls around me that would withstand any amount of disappointment. In short, I prepare for when life's sometimes grim realities finally catch up with my perfect dreams. By preparing, I mean discarding my dreams for a little while because we know that's the safest way to avoid disappointment.

So, back to my present situation, even with the knowledge that some dreams don't come true, I can't help it. I am a hopeless dreamer. I am about to enter what people call the real world, whatever that may mean. My thoughts lately revolve around which companies I should send my CV to and what is like to plan my life outside of years characterised by semesters. I am anxious to enter this world, with equal part zeal and equal part fear. I feel ready to face this changes, but then who will I be after a lifetime of being a student? This feels like a point of transition, where my dreams should shift to reflect the person I am becoming. But I don't know that person (yet).

The title of this post is from the song Wonderful World by James Morrison.

The Moon Don't Hang Quite as High as it Used to

I saw the moon last night. That I am sure. Why, I had the lyrics ''She swears the moon don't hang quite as high as it used to'' from Matchbox Twenty's 3 am on my mind the whole night yesterday and the whole day today. So I am sitting by the window to look at the moon only that I can't see it. As I sit here, I remember the book The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros. In explaining her name, Esperanza says that she was named after her great grandmother. She, like her great grandmother was born in the Chinese year of the horse. This is apparently bad luck if you are female, because the females born in the year of the horse are strong. And in both the Chinese and Mexican cultures, strong women are not encouraged. Esperanza, the great grandmother, was a wild horse woman who wouldn't marry until a sack was thrown over her head by the great grandfather and was carried away. She did not forgive him and for the rest of her life, she looked out the window. Esperanza compares her great grandmother's looking out the window to how many women sit their sadness on an elbow. Esperanza is fine with inheriting her great grandmother's name but she doesn't want to inherit her place by the window.

I shudder just by thinking about the book. Because I am looking out the window just like, I am assuming, Esperanza did. I guess looking out the window at this other side of midnight is a little sad and lonely. That thought is a little bit disquieting, so I ask myself, what really is it that I am looking for. I tell myself that the wanting to see the moon is just an excuse my conscious self wants to believe and my subconscious is hiding the real reason. So I stare. The wind is blowing softly. This, I deduce from the fact that I see the leaves moving slowly, back and forth, back and forth, then a little more violently, then back to its slow rhythm. It's fascinating. It is quiet. Deathly quiet. I like it.

Esperanza may have been looking out the window hating how her life turned out. But I am looking out the window finding peace in my aloneness thinking I should sit here daily instead of every other day and knowing that beyond the horizon, beyond this tiny spot on the globe, the sun is rising.

The title of this post is from the song 3 AM by Matchbox Twenty.

Get into my Ear: Just Another Girl by The Killers

The Killers - Just Another Girl: http://youtu.be/3BwzP1laWkQ

If you know me, at all, you'll know that matters of the heart are not my forte. I fundamentally believe that you can get through this life without being romantically involved with anyone. I mean, if you doubt me, ask the monks and the Catholic Sisters, Brothers and Fathers. If you happen to fall in love,  well and good. If you don't, it's not the end of the world. I have been, or thought I was at the time, in love. But with the benefit of hindsight right now, I think I never was.

Given my take, it is therefore unusual, absurd even, to have this song on repeat. I tell myself it's because I find every song by The Killers, and Brandon Flowers while we are at it, very entertaining. The Killers would most certainly have a place in my mix tape, if I ever make one. Or maybe it's because the video features Dianna Agron, who looks amazing by the way. Whatever the reason, I have this song on repeat. So why waste time psychoanalysing myself and the absurd reasons behind why I love it. Why not share with the world? I know it sounds pathetic to hold on to the past, but this song gives the past a whole new meaning.

Favourite Lyrics

I could be reeling them in left and right
Something's got a hold on me tonight
Well maybe all of my friends should confront
The fact that I don't want another girl

Then why can't I sleep at night
And why don't the moon look right
The sound's off but the TV's on
And it's a great big world

All of my friends say I should move on
She's just another girl
Don't let it stick to your heart so hard
All of my friends say it wasn't meant to be
And it's a great big world
She is just another girl

The Light Outside the Darkness

I am in the mood of sitting by my bedroom window and watch the stars, see if I can make out the different constellations. But the sky is overcast, making it appear gloomy, so I sit staring into the vast darkness. In the distance, I see light from a second floor window of an apartment, and for no apparent reason, my heart goes out to the occupant(s). Out of this darkness, the light stands out as if trying to get attention, which it does. It's past midnight on a weeknight, so I wonder what the occupant is doing, they should be asleep. I chuckle at the hypocrisy of that thought, because I am awake. Then I feel angry at the occupant, for having their light on and marring the beauty of the night. More surprisingly, am angry that they are awake, therefore, am not the only one who isn't asleep.

I wonder why I have this anger but then I realise that the nights are private. The silence, the solitude and the darkness are things that I enjoy most about the night and I suddenly feel that my privacy is being violated by this person whom I think is studying or working or maybe even sleeping with the lights on. I am irked by this light -however distant it is from me. So I leave my spot by the window and wonder why I am even thinking about these things in the first place!

The title of this post is from the song Kill the Light by Lacuna Coil

When you Find yourself a Villain in the Story you've Written

On this fine, cold and unusual insomniac night, I sit looking at my phone waiting for the battery to charge because tomorrow might be long and I don't want to lose the convenience that my cell affords me. Tonight is unusual because whenever am insomniac(read most nights) I enjoy the silence that comes with the night, in fact, I find that I crave it. Silence in the dead of the night creates an illusion  of aloneness that is hard to find during the day and that is very comforting for my introverted tendencies.  Okay, granted, most nights I am reading and therefore meeting new people as it is. Tonight, however, the silence is both deafening and suffocating. So I have put some music on so I can finally breath.

My thoughts wander haphazardly,  as if seeking for something but never pausing long enough to explore what it is they are searching. I tell myself that after the day I have had, I should be damn tired, near exhaustion, but my mind contradicts this idea. That's why, in an effort to quiet the cacophony that is my thoughts, I try to put to paper what it is that I think I am feeling. I try so hard to show you my favourite part of me, because that's what us humans do, but I feel like a villain in this story that I have written, and it is safe to say that no one ever wants to be the villain, we want to be good people, we endeavour to be nice but sometimes we fail horribly in our attempts. Truth is, sometimes I am a heartless villain who unknowingly (and sometimes knowingly) hurts the people around me.

Sometimes I am unforgiving and therefore let meaningful relationships die because of things that could easily be forgotten. I pride myself in being very observant, taking note of things my friends do and most importantly listening intently to them during conversations. But when my being observant is not reciprocated and I find myself talking about the same things that I am sure I had already talked about to the same person, I get angry and let the friendship wither all so naturally.

I don't have friends. But I have a myriad of acquaintances. This was rightly pointed out by an acquaintance whom I have known for quite some time now. I was studying for my Communication and Gender paper and I read to her the steps of building a friendship and one of the key steps is mutual sharing of vital information about each other. She said that I am a good listener, and people easily share personal information and not even realise that I have not shared anything personal. She then confessed that she wanted to buy me a present on my birthday, but she was conflicted, she didn't know if I would like whatever it is she bought. And she is not the only one, so many people, some of my siblings included don't know even my favourite food(!) But instead of thinking that maybe am too secretive or mysterious, I felt a surge of anger, because I thought that people don't outrightly tell you what they like, it's your job to find out, by being observant, and I do that job so well. But she sensed my anger and calmly said that I am picky, too picky for that matter.

So I am unforgiving, very picky and mysterious, all traits that don't nurture good friendships. In this story that is my life, I am responsible for these villain traits. I picked these traits for my protagonist, who is me, and for as long as this story has been in existence, these traits have served me well. They have put an electric barrier between myself and other people, thereby protecting my vulnerabilities and in so doing, creating a cocoon that is my safety net without which I wouldn't recognise myself.

The title of this post is from the song You are a Tourist by Death Cab for Cutie.

Even when I'm Wrong I Tend to Think I'm Right

I have always disliked the word empowerment. Disliking the word was not a conscious decision, but a subconscious one. Maybe it's because whenever I heard the term being used, it was associated with women. I have also written many essays with the phrase 'women empowerment,' but I cringed everytime I did. In retrospect, I realise that my hatred for this word was because:

1. my understanding of the meaning of the verb 'empower' was limited to only two meanings; (1) to give power to someone and (2) to give official authority or legal power to someone; and

2. A quote by Roseanne Barr, author of, among other books, My Life as a Woman;
    "The thing women have yet to learn is nobody gives you power. You just take it."

Maybe, I should have prefaced this post by saying that I am a feminist, but then, I think, that would be stating the obvious. Therefore, Roseanne telling me, in no uncertain terms, mind you, that if you want power, you don't need permission,  you just take it, I had good reason to hate the word empowerment. Until today!

During my yoga class, the instructor talked about empowerment and how it means different things to different people. The thing with yoga, you have to come to your practice undone and unglued from everything that you believe in and just be. Therefore,  I was more than ready to hear the instructor's view on this loaded term. And from a yoga perspective,  she talked about empowerment as being the freedom to be who you are, freedom to do what you think is right and freedom to get the most out of the practice. That right there was new for me. Having harboured strong feelings towards this empowering word, no pun intended,  I didn't instantly change my view. Later, I consulted the good ol' Webster,  and while I was right about the first two meanings, I didn't know about the third meaning which is 'to promote the self actualization or influence of.'

I love this third meaning, yet, I fail to understand why I don't want to let go of my hatred of the term. I know the opposite of hate is not necessarily love and it would be too soon for me to say that I love the word. Having a change of heart is rarely instantaneous, it takes time. I don't want to be indifferent towards it. So, why do I have this anomalous obsession to think am right even when I know am wrong? Part of my idiosyncrasies, I think?

The title of this post is from the song Coming of Age by Foster the People

All of my Memories Keep you Near

Today is the 7th of July and tomorrow will automatically be the 8th, on a Tuesday. Ever since we learnt how to read the calendar, we would look at the calendar and think it was amazing -close to magical, really- that if my birthday would fall on a Monday, yours would automatically fall on a Monday. And so in April we would start the countdown to our birthdays, separated by a mere month. The eve of our birthdays was more important than the birthday itself. We would be extremely giddy and excited because we thought the eve marked a gate pass to a new year, a different year. It was the youngest we would ever be, so as much as we would will it to be over already, we savoured every moment of it. Throughout the day we would constantly remind each other to be in our best behaviour.  I would -or you would, depending on whose birthday we were celebrating- casually tell you, 'Look at me and memorise me, because come tomorrow, I will be a different person.'

The next day would come, as it always does, and apart from being one year older, nothing would have changed. We didn't have birthday parties, but we were aware that it was a special day. And in a way it was special; this is the day we were born.

2005 was bound to be a special year, come the end of it, we would be through with primary school, and we were excited. We were growing up. And we knew there was a possibility that we would go our separate ways when we went to high school, so to eliminate this possibility, we applied to the same schools and hoped, by some miracle, we would go to the same school.

It was on a Friday, in March. You were not feeling well, you slept the whole lunch hour and when we were on our way home later that afternoon, you promised to see me on Monday. I did see you that Monday as promised, but not the way I had expected, I saw you lying lifeless in your coffin. Your cousin had come to tell me, and a few others, that you had passed on during the weekend and we went for the burial.

It's 9 years later, and I don't remember the exact date you passed on. I have tried so hard to remember but I can't. I have read psychological texts on how the human memory works, and maybe I have repressed the date you left me. But your birthday has stayed in my memory. Every 7th and 8th of July finds me going through all the times we shared. My birthday, however, has become just another day. I wonder if maybe you would frown at how indifferent I have become towards birthdays. I also wonder if you would approve of the young woman I have become. I wonder what type of woman you would have become.  I wonder if we would still be good friends, inseparable as it were. I wonder if I would be more open with you, because the people I call friends claim that I am very private, you knew my secrets though; the childhood secrets, but secrets all the same.

You taught me more about resilience than life has taught me. You went through so much at a young age; I don't think I ever was or ever will be half as strong as you were. Most importantly, you taught me that life is short, any day could be the last, and whatever age one is, that age is still a viable, die-able age.

The title of this post is from the song Memories by Within Temptation.

I've Learnt to Listen through Silence

I have always found silence disquieting. It makes me nervous and anxious. But I have never paused to explore that important aspect of my personality. Don't get it twisted, I am not a loud person. I hate noise. Any cacophony will quickly shift my equilibrium and throw me off balance. I am a firm believer that every moment of silence should be filled with music, with words. It is no surprise therefore that all my nocturnal engagements are always accompanied by music. I could never sit alone with my thoughts, so am always scrolling on my phone, internet meandering on my laptop and almost all the time, I find myself reading one thing or another. 

With all my talk of desiring to be  independent, it is now clear that I never even once factored in the question of silence which appears to be focal in getting to know myself. I was at my weekly yoga class last weekend and after a power yoga session, the instructor had us on the tree pose. While on this seemingly easy yet hard to maintain balance pose -which makes it one of my favourite poses- the instructor told us to just try and push a little more until we could feel that we've reached our limits, only then could we revel in the pain or discomfort, whichever, according to our perspectives. I was home alone that evening and I remembered that bit about pushing until I was out of my comfort zone. So I decided to turn off the music and stayed in the quiet silence that comes with the night.

It wasn't pretty. For the first few minutes I was tempted to check my phone for messages even though I knew no message had come. I looked at my bookshelf and was acutely aware of the books that I've bought but haven't yet read, then I looked at my laptop longingly. But the absence of the music that is always ever playing in the background was what threatened to kill me. Through all these, I tried to ask myself why is it that I find silence so eerily uncomfortable. Maybe it's because I am afraid of knowing myself on a deeper level. Maybe I am afraid that when I finally get to know myself I won't like what I am, or what I am not. But when all is said and done, this person that I am so afraid to meet is all I have.

Since that evening, I've noticed a shift in myself, the self that I know, that is. I won't say that am finally comfortable with silence, but am glad that I can push myself to stay with the discomfort. And somehow I have become more perceptive, more aware of what is around me, I listen more instead of always interrupting during a conversation, I notice the facial expressions of people, I am making eye contact with strangers, I have reduced my phone charges and most importantly am spending more time with myself, listening to myself through silence.

The title of this post is from the song Between the Lines by Sara Bareilles

Get into my Ear: A Quiet Mind by Blue October

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zTT0pIcWZY4&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Someone of my acquaintance asked me why I bother telling people what I am listening to on my blog. My first instinct was to be on the defensive and told her that it's my blog I can post what I want to, I mean it is the Idiosyncratic Hedonist, there is no particular topic that is a no-no for this blog. Later I thought about it, and the main reason is that I don't have people to discuss music with. Most of the people I hang out with do not like the kind of music I listen to. So here is where I come to tell strangers what I am listening to.

And this week, what's playing on repeat is Blue October's A Quiet Mind. Maybe I should start by saying that most of Blue October's songs are not easy to listen to. Apart from maybe Calling You and Fairy Tale, most of their songs will bring someone to tears. And this makes them one of my favourite bands of all time. Don't get me wrong, I like One Direction, The Wanted, Capital Cities and Nickelback (I see you rolling your eyes) like the next girl, but it is bands like Blue October that remind me that music is more than having a producer come up with the right beats and all you have to do is come up with lyrics that you think are suitable. With Blue October, you get the feeling that they carefully came up with the lyrics, and then sang with emotion, and you are left wondering if maybe they knew you, because these are the same words that you would have come up with.

With A Quiet Mind, I have to say that they didn't disappoint. And this is why: I always feel that my life is a cacophony of different things going on at the same time. I have what the Buddhists call a monkey mind, I am bombarded with different thoughts at any given moment in time, pulling me in different directions. If you are like me, then you realise that, a quiet mind is something you do not take for granted. I will fall in love with you if you have the ability to quiet my self induced anxiety and sometimes out of this world paranoia. It shouldn't come as a surprise then that the people I fall for are almost always soft spoken, those people who seem calm and collected, even if it's just an act. At this time though, there might not be a particular person who gives me a quiet mind, and maybe that's the reason why I stay up late daily because when normal people are asleep, the hedonist in me finds peace in the dead of the night, where the cacophony in my mind meets the silence that comes with the night, that's my favourite time of day. I am at peace, all the troubles of the day having been completely forgotten.

Favourite Lyrics

I call baby up. Leave me alone.
I am in pain but I won't let you band aid my wound.
I am mad at a stage where I can't seem to handle my own.
Can't even handle my...

Still hearing voices from front...from behind. They are the reason I choose when to live...how to die...when to cast...when to reel...when to buy...when to steal...and when to fiend for the friends that taught you being inappropriate will.

Give me a quiet mind,
And I, I'll love you
You give me a quiet mind
And I, I love you
You give me a quiet mind
And I, I love you
You give me a quiet mind
And I, I love you
Until the end.

She is a Mess

Allow me to indulge your imagination as I vividly describe this woman that I have conjured up: She is that woman with a crazy sense of fashion, a unique hair style that makes her stand out in a crowd; she has 20/20 vision but  always wears geek glasses and sunglasses when the weather allows it; she works out at the gym thrice a week; she has a good job that she likes and which pays her enough and then some; she looks everyone straight in the eye when she talks to them; she drinks Barcadi in the morning till it goes to her head (I've just quoted Matchbox 20, guys); you can never miss a pack of Marlboro, a packet of gum and a bottle of water in her purse; she has several tattoos with very philosophical meanings; she is very comfortable in her own skin and sexuality; she is very sarcastic and has a wicked sense of humour. That woman, dear reader, is the woman I have always aspired to be, a bad-ass who kicks ass in every aspect of her life. I even read articles online which give tips on 'bad-assery'.

Unfortunately, we don't always get what we want. And such is life. This, instead, is what I am: I do not work out at the gym thrice a week; I do, however, attend yoga classes once a week; I am not hardcore enough to smoke cigarettes, I am addicted to coffee though, a less cooler alternative if you ask me; I do not have several tattoos, the single tattoo that I have is hidden underneath layers of clothing and is only seen by myself and the people who share my bed; I do not drink Barcadi in the morning, I am your typical beer girl; I do not have a unique or crazy hairstyle, I am looking for internships in several organizations and I do not want to be turned down on the basis of my hair; I do not have a wicked sense of humour, I think in terms of books and quote music lyrics; I do not have a place of my own, I do, however, have a room of my own in my mother's house which by the way is always in a mess (it is 'lived in' is a much better phrase to describe it); I do not have everything figured out, and this scares me shitless. In short, I am a good girl, and parts of me are just a mess; my love life, my finances, my relationships. But I have no choice but to love this messy me now as I work hard to be that bad-ass that I aspire to be.

The title of this post is from the song Dance in the Dark by Lady Gaga.

Now that we've Found Love, what are we gonna Do with it?

Ever since God was a child (translation: I don't quite remember the exact time period), I have always been cautious about the goals and dreams that I expect life would grant me. We are always told that we should set our standards high, reach for the stars and have dreams so big that they scare us. And I, just like you dear reader, am all about that life. Always optimistic, reaching for those dreams that are sometimes (most times)  inevitably elusive. And so we work hard and emulously hope that we will in the (not) foreseeable future achieve our hearts' desires.

This question of dreams and goals and resolutions has been on my mind for quite some time now. I have even had dreams about dreams, which goes to show how important this is, or rather how this is taking over even my subconscious. And my main concern is, what do we do after we have achieved our dreams? On the other hand, what do we do when our childhood dreams meet the grim realities of adulthood? And if we are lucky enough to achieve our dreams, what happens if we don't feel like we expected to feel?

It's the same thing with love - romantic love. We are always searching for that special someone that we will spend forever with. We are made to constantly feel like unfulfilled failures if we haven't found love, because apparently love is the most amazing thing anyone can have, the ultimate dream. And for those who have that comfortable-we-are-good-together kind of love are told that comfort is not enough, all we need is that head over heels, can't live without you and I will catch a grenade for you kind of love that brings goose bumps all over and makes the knees weak whenever you see your object of your affection. And that's where my question lies, after you have found this kind of love, what next? Because you can stare at your love's eyes and get lost in them for only so long before you see something else that will demand your attention. You can also get lost and lose track of time when in the company of your beloved, and in the mean time, the world does what it always does best, it goes on, unaware and indifferent to your finding love.

And so right now while still floundering in a sea of failed relationships, I can't help but wonder what I'll do with love once I find it.

The title of this post is from the song Now That We Found Love by Heavy D and the Boyz featuring Aaron Hall.

It's 2 Am and I am Still Awake

I made a conscious decision (yesterday) at 2300hrs to go to sleep. But I had a journal to write, a phone call to make and a couple of texts to reply which turned to several. An hour later and I was done with everything, so I could finally sleep, except that I couldn't. I didn't know that I would ever say this, but I wished that I had an exam tomorrow (today) because my mind was so alert I could understand astrophysics if I tried to. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes and tried  to sleep.

It's now two hours later and I have given up on sleep, you can only pretend for so long. I decided to wake up and read. But my mind has refused. So I am far too tired of counting sheep, but not tired enough to fall asleep. When everything fails, what does an insomniac do at 2 am?

I try to think about Kenya, and how maybe, just maybe I could come up with a solution to bad governance and corruption. I fail miserably. I tell myself that maybe that's too big a thought for 2 in the morning. So I decide that maybe thinking about my dreams- my dream job, house, partner and a dog ( I am not a dog person). But that's the picture of a perfect family and I force my mind to conjure up that image. But that is also an exercise in futility. Because no insomniac thinks about bad governance or hopes and dreams at 2 in the freaking morning.

All we do is think about the past. The mistakes that we made that are still haunting us. Hindsight is at its best, and we see that the worst mistakes we ever did were out of love. In retrospect, we analyze what we should have done differently, what we could have said or not said. We regret not doing certain things. We entertain thoughts that we've always kept in the dark recesses of our minds, those thoughts that we dare not tell anyone, yet they are the ones that make us truly happy. We relieve the happiest moments of our lives and wish we could have them back.

At 2 am, we think about our past romantic relationships. The texts that we didn't reply. The phone calls that we didn't make. The lies that we told. The secrets that we shared. We think about the wrong people that we fell for. We regret not having walked away sooner. We also remember the good souls that we hurt with our words, the time that we didn't give them yet they loved us to death.

At 2 am, we think about ourselves, we feel guilty, we laugh at our mistakes and sometimes we cry ourselves to sleep.

The title of this post is from the song Breathe (2 AM) by Anna Nalick.

Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning's End

This post is 19 days late, but I have an explantation for my lateness. I have been busy; I know it is vague, but it is true. I wouldn't have written this post but it is 5:30 am and I check my phone to see that I have an unread text that was sent at 23:36 from an acquaintance of mine wishing me a Happy New Year. Of course my initial reaction was that it is the middle of January so the year is no longer new, but after giving it some thought, I figured that what is new is relative. And thus I am waiting until when it will be a socially acceptable time to reply to the text. In the meantime, I have three options; to read Jostein Gaardner's Sophie's World, to watch back to back episodes of 90210 or to write a blog post. I go with the blog post, because it is 2014, and I haven't published anything yet. I have so many drafts that I am yet to publish because lately I have been extra cautious about what I publish online, so hopefully this one will get published.

So 2013 is over and I can't help but feel excited. For one, I am the type of person who gets super excited about new things, and a new year is no exception. Secondly, 2013 was a hard year for me, so when the curtains closed on it, I was on top of the world. I don't want to go to details but 2013 was a year that was full of faking smiles, pain that I totally refused to feel and had my time full of activities - I read, went to work and met with friends- all in effort to avoid feeling. But the thing with avoidance is that you reach a point where you can't do it anymore and that's when you have a breakdown. So 2013 was a cycle of avoidance and then a breakdown, and then being genuinely happy and then avoidance- you get the picture. Don't get me wrong, there were other things that 2013 brought with it, one being freedom. Freedom to be who I really I am and not apologizing about it, and the very vital financial freedom. 2013 was also the year that I got to build on my friendships and being a good person.

So with 2013 over and 2014 already here, I am excited about what the next 11 months have in store for me. This year, I take everyday as it comes and not waiting for a time when things will be better, because I realize that every now and then life begins again (yes, am quoting Breaking Benjamin). But here is a more serious quote that will guarantee that you have a kick ass year;

    Last year I abstained
    this year I devour
    without guilt
    which is also an art
      -Margaret Atwood

The title of this post is from the song Closing Time by Semisonic.