As a kid, I had a mild crush on a certain girl that I lived next door to. And by ‘mild crush’ I mean ‘severe obsessive infatuation’. I’d sit on the porch and watch for her when she came home and sit by the window in the morning to see her get in the car and go to school – pathetically smitten was I. One day I mentioned this to a friend who was slightly older and he told me that I should tell her something. So, after weeks of procrastination and internal debate, I told her to meet me behind a certain building that was under construction nearby. Heart beating, palm sweaty, behind a building, I struggled to get the words out. ‘I….I mean…uh…I…’ Deep breath, try again. ‘I really….uh….I…’ OK, maybe you’re saying it wrong. Find another way to say it. ‘Uh…well…do you like me cause I think I like you.’ Finally!
She replied ‘Was that a question?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Then yeah, I guess I do.’
Oh joy. I grinned with 50 teeth, pushing my ears so high up, I’m sure they were touching over my head. Then she pulled a sobering darkness that put an end to my intoxicating moment in the sun.
‘So what now?’
This story surfaced from the recesses of my mind as I read the debate on marriage last week: riveting stuff. I abstained from commenting because I had had that conversation before. Many times. Continue reading
Is it a headdesk?—is it a facepalm?—is it a handcheek? Heck, I don’t know what it is this time. You decide.
– [Read Part 1]
I should have just walked out. Except I couldn’t. I was going crazy wondering how much crazier this bunch of people could get. I had to know. So I opened my mouth. Again.
‘But these men who beat up women…what exactly is their problem?’ I asked. Continue reading
Is it a headdesk? Is it a facepalm? Is it a handcheek? No, it’s just the sourest of grapes. Apparently.
So when, for some reason, I am feeling rather uninspired and I can’t think of anything decent to write about, I walk into the nearest semi-public space and say something most people in there won’t want to hear. Something that will get them pissed enough to offer to kill me, even. Pissed enough to, say, get my number from heaven-knows-where and send me texts like, ‘OK. I have Hepatitis B pellets and a guillotine. What will it be?’
Thus, I walked into the adjacent room, mouthed a few hellos, sat down and applied myself to the task of reading the youngest-looking magazine I could find. Or rather, I pretended to apply myself to the task of reading. After about five minutes, I abandoned the magazine, affected a facial expression (and body posture) of supreme boredom and then opened my mouth.
‘Marriage is sooo overrated. Women can be alone without being lonely. It is not unheard of.’
I might as well have said, ‘Cue system prompt. Open floodgate 1. I’m asking for it.’ Continue reading
It’s a fact, humans are superficial beings, the degree of superficiality varying from individual to individual. When choosing someone to date, sometimes we’re too focused on the physical aspect that we fail to see what lies beneath the surface. Ask yourself how many times you’ve rejected someone simply because they’re too short, too skinny, too fat, too dark, “not your type” or they have a physical imperfection or flaw that you just can’t look beyond. We are all guilty of it. Just look back at your own past and think of that person you didn’t give a second look, only to realize much later that they’re actually quite a catch.
Boys in their late teens and into their early to mid 20s are generally very focused on the physical. All they want is a seriously hot chic to massage their egos and make them look good in public, personality (or lack thereof) notwithstanding. As we get older, we tend to focus more on what lies beneath the surface. We’re more interested in a chic’s intellect, character, principles and other qualities. Are we compatible? Is she someone that I can see myself with one year, two years down the line?
On the other hand, sometimes we’re driven to be superficial, not because of we want to be, but because we feel that we’re driven to be that way by the “expectations” of society.
Where’s this coming from? Well, I’ve had a crush on this chic for about a year now Continue reading
I should win an award for orchestrating the most ad-hoc, haphazard survey to ever yield sensible results.
What happened was: 3
friends guys that I consider social butterflies and myself began assessing our married peers when a girl in the group said something to the effect of ‘all men who don’t cheat are already married.’ Much as those are our boys she was referring too, we disagreed. We developed a two parted theory and swore to test it. It states that:
1. That all our boys who’d been married more than a year were cheating.
2. They were still happy with their wives.
Now we set out to prove this ludicrous theory.
One of the easiest things I’ve ever had to do in my life is oft considered unpatriotic. You know those things that make you inherently Kenyan? Well, I went against the grain and became supposedly unKenyan. I became a vegetarian.
This tumultuous journey started at the tender age of 11 at a dining room table. We were having a guest for lunch after church. This man passed up on all the chicken and meat that was dangled in front of him. Eyes wide, I asked ‘You’re vegetarian?’ He replied in the affirmative. When I asked how long he had been so, he said ’20 years.’
3 thoughts ran through my mind. 1, no wonder he was slender-ever seen a fat vegetarian? 2,why in the world?…and 3,how cool would it be if I could say I’d been vegetarian for x years, and watch people’s eyes widen in awe and amazement because of my iron will, my admirable self-control and my-albeit unpatriotic-lifestyle choice?
So I stopped eating meat. Continue reading