Blowing Fat Candles
You know my heart better than I do. I’m not afraid of dying. I’m only afraid of not completing the work you sent me to do. It would be a shame to come into this world to such pomp and celebration and to exit quietly having not made any impact. So I am here to remind you of my wish list as I have done every day since I was 5. Every breath out always feels like I’m blowing my birthday candle. In my heart I always make a wish that gets to you in a prayer. I know that I always ask the same things every time I pray, but I know it never gets boring for you. You’ve always listened and come through in the nick of time whenever I have needed something. I have developed a habit of asking you for the impossible because it is what you’re good at. Remember that dry dog year when I wanted to know if I should quit my job? I dared you to gather a storm and send down heavy rain only in the area where I worked, knowing full well that the whole land was experiencing drought. I was shocked and surprised in a good way when you drenched me in rain that afternoon. Quitting that job was the best thing I ever did. You have always stood by your promises even when I have bailed on you. I have done some bad things expecting to wake up in the absence of your eye but you never change. You always are by my side. By now you’ve already memorized my wish-list. Of course there are those items we have crossed out together over time but the list is ever growing. Sometimes I think I sound like a broken record stuck on replay. I ask for the same things every time; health, wisdom, family, friends, contentment and life. I want to be the best at what I do because it’s only then that I can pay you back and be sure to sleep at night. So far, you have given me everything I have asked or needed but I want more. I am at a stage in life where I need you to honor my list now more than ever. I need you make these, the first of the best days of my life. And for the record, I need you to respond urgently. I have always been okay with your ‘no and wait’ style of business but I would like you to make an exception this time. Just say yes. Show me my calling. My sleeves are rolled up and I’m ready to work. Show me the job and let me get my hands dirty. Put me on a wage per work basis. Let me work, see the results and get paid by you in full for it. A little heaven down here would be very welcome. That house on a grassy knoll would really make me and my girl happy. Help me to surprise and show her my heart every now and then. May we enjoy every moment with our families for many years to come. May we live to enjoy the blessing of old age and the miracle of watching the children of our grandchildren prepare for their first date. You know I love what I do and I am thankful for it. Please add more spark to it. You know how badly I would want to help those in need. Can you add that spice to this game too? I would sleep better. You created us equal and I would like to take care of your children. Like a spoilt child, I sometimes forget that you hold my future in your hands. I worry and I try to control everything in my life instead of letting you order my steps. I have tried to be a good person and I still do but you know how flat I fall at times. I still smell of the stench of my folly but that never seems to put you off. Guilt. I have hurt more people than I have healed. I have crashed many a dream and disappointed the trust others bestowed upon me. I’m not good enough but there’s peace in acknowledging weakness. I am stronger because I know I am frail. I am hopeful because every time I come across a challenge I know it’s just another fat candle I need to blow out. … I haven’t written in a long time and naturally, my heart would not sit still. In my silence, I have found my voice. In my absence, I found myself. I hope you do to.
Bin There. Dump That.
Last weekend I embarked on a general house cleaning that lasted from saturday till Sunday. I had no choice but to appreciate Carol, the woman who has been my house keeper for 7 years. How she has managed to keep my den neat and fresh with great dedication and consistence still surprises me. I also got to do some filling as fate would have it, I got to learn some very important lessons.
You see when you decide to clean up, you realize how much trash you don’t need. Name it, clothes, books and various other junk. You come across stuff you thought was valuable earlier but now lies useless taking up precious space. Junk. That’s what it is. Yet the process of an object becoming junk is hard to notice. It’s like watching grass grow. Have you ever noticed when re-arranging your documents how much of them you end up throwing away? It’s because now they just don’t make sense. They have become just mere records of done deals and dull reminders of the challenges that nearly killed your hopes in the past. Invoices. Hotel postcards for when you went for holiday with your now ex. Now useless instead of making happy memories. How about the bank statements you nearly framed just because you thought it was the fattest your account would ever get? Now they represent a younger you, when you were broke and humble enough to appreciate the little you had. All in all, there is the junk you get to keep but the largest chunk of it just needs to go.
My lesson? Friends. I think it’s time you trashed your 50/50 friends. They are not good for you and it is clear that they will never be there in your time of need. Go on, tell me that you’ve known them since you were young! Well, people change. Do you have an idea what they think of you? Have they ever proved it? Has anyone ever told you what they say in your absence? Do they rejoice when something good happens to you? More questions. If you had/have a family, would these ‘friends’ take care of it in the event of your demise? No? Would they put you up at theirs if you lost your job? Would they share the ‘little’ they have with you? When was the last time they declared their loyalty to you? You probably don’t have any idea what I’m talking about. I don’t blame you.
In the past one year, I have had to ‘clean up house’. I am still in the process. Results are starting to show. I have fewer worries and I care less. I am happier. I’m still the ‘good guy’ only colder , bolder and more calm inside. I play along to the music of my fake friends, all the while knowing what it means. I will hardly ever go out of my way for them unless of course there’s something in it for me. I’m a businessman. As I have said time and time again, I don’t have enemies in my life, only challenges. And to my true friends, I give my all. I might not make it clear to them but I prove it every now and then. These are the people I would die for. These are the people I would commit a crime for. They know.
So how many friends do you have? I mean seriously. Most chances are, you have none. What you have right now are just acquaintances. Very few people manage to have true friends. It’s time. To shed off the baggage. You have done everything for some of them yet they keep sinking your boat. Talking evil in your absence. Mocking you in your time of difficulty when you need them the most. They join your aggressors when they should be defending your name as you would theirs. You’ve tried hard to do well by them and for them but you’re met with those unsaid words. They go silent when you walk in. In their silence, their hateful whispers tower over your head. How is it that thugs and villains will be true to their friends to the point of making them family, while the rest of us rejoice in drinking and making merry with the hounds that would kill us for a price? I would like you to take a piece of paper and write down 5 friends that you can swear will come through for you when that time comes. 5 that you can die for. Trust me, I feel your pain.
This post is dedicated to my mother. Happy birthday mum. Through you, I’ve learnt the value of loyalty and true friendship. Now that you’re able to read my blog, please remember that my readers are still waiting for your post. I wish they knew how good a writer you are!
The Final Jack – Grandma And Her Two Cents Worth
I have no words to explain how beautifully Flo Mwangi has put everything into perspective. I literally feed from her words. She has mastered the art of making sense out of the melee that has become the tipping point of many a relationship. I believe that if she’s not careful, she could end up as an undisputed best seller or with me. I present to you my Final Jack.
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By Flo Mwangi
Every time I speak to her over the phone or pay her a visit, I am left reeling in laughter and with plenty of food for thought. This is why I cannot wait to see her over my vacation, plus she made me promise to anyway seeing as how she is in her grace years as she likes to call them; kind of like extra time where that whistle can go off any minute. And this she says with a hint of laughter. I tell her she’ll be around for quite a while. She is a tough nut.
My grandma; I don’t even know where to begin with the phenomenal that is this woman. I am overcome with emotion whenever I think of her; this woman who raised me and to whom I remain forever indebted, who shaped my ideals, who I feel a deep and profound love and adoration for. I am in awe of her sheer strength, her unshakeable Faith, her compassionate nature, her wit and wisdom and her charm. She has lived to see four generations; now that’s a fit and all generations through we appreciate and hold her in high regard. She has touched each of our lives in a special way. We all have a tale to tell as far as this wonderful woman is concerned.
For me it’s the first few years of my life which I spent with her. When my mum was off completing her undergrad studies, my grandma nurtured me. I applaud my mother; having me young did not stop her from pursuing her dreams, and achieving them, she made no excuses, expected no sympathy nor loved me any less. She took it all in stride and pressed on. I am truly proud of her. Those are some wonderful memories -me and my grandma- I still fondly remember this lovely little basket she kept in the living room, especially for me, filled with juicy oranges freshly picked from the garden by her, which I was treated to after a long day at school, and we all know school can be pure torture for a kid. I remember her dressing me up for church every Sunday and me sitting up next to her at the front pew. She has always played an active role in church; I admire her Faith evident in all she does and passionately stands for. She is an astute believer in God’s overall role in every aspect of our lives from creation, to our daily existence.
Her Faith inspires and rouses all around her and has remained unmoved by the changing tides of time and circumstance. And it has been tested no doubt. She was not bitter at the passing of Grandpa -if anything we all drew strength from her- and as he lay in hospital, those last painful days, no one needed to tell her he was gone. She knew the exact moment he had breathed his last. How many of us can boast of such a connection with their spouse? The love those two shared I’ll be forever in awe of. They were inseparable and in an age where expressions of love or treating each other as equals was not too common, I have to commend those two.
Submission as I have observed through her is not losing oneself rather it is appreciating each other’s role in a relationship and having mutual respect for each other. It’s not about yelling matches but learning to listen -difficult as it maybe- while the other is talking and then stating your case as you would to a friend and finding a middle ground, compromise. And of all else a lifetime partner should first be a friend, because for such a commitment there’s a lot more at play beyond all the temporary fiery passions. It’s not about who ‘wears the pants’ in a relationship it’s about recognizing each other’s strengths and building on them and collectively applying them to build something of value. It’s not about finding fault and playing on each other’s weaknesses but rather compromise; there’s what initially attracts you to your partner, the mistake we make over time is averting our eyes from these wonderful things and focusing instead on each other’s shortcomings and before we know it we no longer feel the same, we become revolted by the sight of each other, we begin to fall out of love. You need to revert your focus back to what drew you to that person in the first place, it’s all still there you just became blinded to it over time. In doing this you will begin to cherish each other more and rekindle the flame once again. We easily loose those that we love because we never take time to make it work.
She was always meek with grandpa; she let him hold the fort while she was run the show behind the scene. He adored her; his respect for her was evident. She was forever at his side, never behind him. He valued her insight. They’d claw at each other sometimes but the love was never lost and in no time they’d be laughing over a joke either of them cracked. They were a vision of happiness those two. Never did they keep in silence or let the sun go down on an argument. And when he was taken ill, she was by his side till the very end.
She is appalled at the sham we have turned the marriage institution into. Women no longer appreciate their role in marriage –we feel so liberated now we want to steer the family ship in complete disregard of the men. Men on the other hand appear to have lost sight of what their role is exactly. A marriage is a partnership, a union, not a power struggle, going about it as such beats the whole point of getting into one in the first place.
Dear enlightened woman -not all men are evil and they do like to be in charge and that’s unlikely to change. Let him reign, play up his ego once in a while. So what if you are more educated? Or make more money than he does? It doesn’t make him any less of a man and there really is no point in rubbing it in, making him feel inferior in the process, that is cold and uncalled for.
Dear man – excessive control over your woman is not how you assert authority, neither is aggression. Take care of your own, always, evading responsibility is a sign of weakness and just plain unacceptable. Applaud your woman’s achievements, complement her, support and protect her and please work in some romance while you’re at it, we dig that. Companionship is human nature. It is possible for two people to share a happy and fulfilling life together so long as they keep their pride and ego in check, and learn not to blow up trivialities. If there’s a problem, nip it in the bud; keeping it in only yields more problems that are even harder to resolve.
They upheld the value of hard work, respect for self and others, discipline, were virtues that were engrained into us from the minute one could walk. I remember we’d all get up early, my cousins and I, and join them as they set out to pick flowers, we just loved running in the endless beautiful fields; picking and laughing and playing our way through. Whatever the tasks we did them together making them less daunting. We might have been up to our necks with chores -that’s inevitable when you’re living on a farm- but we were all content because we understood what needed to be done and everyone’s role in all of it and the whooping one got if they failed to do what was assigned to them. I had quite an early start on all matters work. At the end of the day when we were all done we ran around in the grass (my grandma’s yard has the softest, forget carpeted) and played in the moonlight till she called us back to the house when it got late. One thing I admired about them is how they treated their workers; feeding them -on a daily- paying them well and on time. It was a valuable relationship they had, one of mutual respect and beneficial to all.
She is a fiery one my grandma, despite her diminutive nature. She needs no amplifier when she needs to be heard. She speaks her mind. She, just like many who watched as the country fought for and attain independence knows the true price of freedom. We should not take democracy for granted; we just need to look at other oppressed states and the turmoil they’re in to appreciate its worth. Allowing ourselves be influenced by our selfish so-called leaders who most times don’t see beyond their noses is truly a sad affair. Stay informed; knowledge is power. Love thy neighbor and seek divine guidance in all you do. On a lighter note she doesn’t get the logic of my prancing around in 7-inch heels which in her view are uncomfortable and worse still might leave me with a damaged ankle. I of course promptly remind her of the sky-high platforms that they rocked in their hey days 🙂
She still went and got me the loveliest boots though, and what do you know, they were high heeled -how sweet. She misses the point in walking around in clothes that are barely there, we might as well walk around naked “oh how times have changed” she mourns. “Didn’t they rock them shorter in the 60’s and 70’s?” I argue, “Well back in those days people were definitely not as blatant or half as wild as the lot of you is today, running around like all the blood done rushed to your heads” she quips. She’s not overly cynical, she appreciates that times have changed, yes, what she can’t stand is how our values have become eroded over time. And I don’t blame her, a shameful lot we have become indeed; self-centered, egotistic. It’s all about self-interest, the age we’re living in; success at whatever cost, self-gain in relationships. Whatever happened to extending a hand to one in need? Most of us have lost sense of direction we live as though we are of no purpose and are more of a burden than of value to those around us. Spirituality has become fourth nature to us; no wonder we’re lost. “God save us all” she pleads.
She is loved and cherished by her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. To live to see 83 and make light of the challenges that come with old age is a reflection of a self-assurance one can only hope for, an amiable strength.
She is blessed. In my eyes she is a legacy and I am proud to bear her name.
The Play Pen
This week I introduce to you Asaph Bryan Change, probably one of the most creative and sick minds I have come across. If you ever feel the need to have a disgusting conversation about mucus and bathroom soap scum he’s your guy. On a more serious note, I have to admit he is a brilliant writer on relationships and everything else. I just hope what he writes won’t land him in any trouble. Finally, I have to say that the opinions herein do not necessarily represent anyone’s belief in particular but just one of the major global challenges.
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By Asaph Bryan Change
A story is often told of love and the forever after that falls in place, and my question always seeks answers to why we are blinded from the false front of this ‘pairs’ I see around looking like they’ve been squeezed out of those love stories we read about. Another question that I at times ask myself is whether this two find full fulfillment in each other or do they individually face greed in the face and seduce it into eating them alive. Allow me to explain.
Men have for many years, faced scrutiny for being generous with their attention to the sometimes unaware and most of the time willing members of the beautiful opposite gender; but what has come to the attention of the current error which I regret to be identified with is the emerging population of women who have joined the sport men have been playing for a long while. It’s been called the pay-back-time retribution, what he can do she can do better; but what I strongly believe is that it’s a pure case of something that has always existed. She didn’t just wake up one day and decide to hit back, she has been equally generous with herself since memorial in time.
We have faithful men out there priding in relationships they think grow groomed in reliance, but what he’s subconsciously exposed to is the painful fact that his spouse reigns in the wide selection of men who don’t have to cater for material or emotional needs, she has them just for the aimless reason men see the need to look back into the toilet seat after a lengthy session just before they flash. Nothing.
Men, face it – she’s just more gifted than we’ll ever be in this thing here. We fail when it comes to those small things called guilt and recklessness. It comes in as soon as we get home and look at that ever-loving and welcoming face that has been doing the very same thing. We twitch in fear of her seeing what we’ve done written all over our forehead while the very same secret exists in her. We’ve done it for years, but what has been an unknown fact is that she’s done it for centuries. I’ll give you a pointer that I have noticed in the many relationships I’ve seen taking place around me. I won’t go all traditional and tell you of things you already know like she’ll stop looking you in the face when talking to you, or that she’ll start blaming you for the smallest things. Those are things she won’t need reasons to do. I’ll just lay it down plain and simple in one sad fact so you can confirm facts that I’m certain you’ve been suspecting but never quite came around to having the scrotums to confront.
The sad reality is that she’ll probably never be caught. She’s that good. I’ll give you a very familiar scenario to justify my claim, one that I once noticed some time back and got me astonished as to how closely related it is to this whole thing.
I attended my nephew’s fourth birthday party sometime last year, and as goes such functions, it was manifested by small adorable things that pleasure in junk food, toys, ample space to run around, urinating in sand-boxes and wailing uncontrollably after getting their heads wedged in the smallest of places. So there I was running after the few that I could while negotiating sanity with some that could actually stop to listen to what I had to offer, and what I noticed answered the question that has inspired this article. I stood in the middle of that play-pen with like five girls and three boys within my view, and as they went about their individual play I realized how neat these girls were compared to the boys who had dirt from their heads to their insides. The two groups clearly had different modes of achieving fun with the girls consciously opting to have their dolls within reach and surrounding neat while the boys ran round unaware of the mess they pleasured in. The way that picture bluntly resembled this edge of live left me in stitches.
Women and men both acknowledge the ecstasy of jumping into the playground every once more often, but what makes her get the upper hand is the fact that she’s neater, better planned out with her subjects within eye-view. He on the unfortunate hand is careless, handles all this ‘toys’ at once without consideration of where one will land once he throws it in the air or where he’s squirmy self is seated before he seconds later stands to resume his movement with dirt stuck on his sad behind.
You will never find out what dolls she has been dressing [and undressing]. But she will however often spot the dirt you stupidly bring home.
So call her up, ask how her day is, listen carefully to her reply because you will not pick any grime in her tone; but she’ll hear your evidently panting voice you try hold back after a time well spent on the swing.
This is what I think; she’ll never step out of the playground, for many reasons known best to her. She pleasures difference. So if you’ll seat there secretly justifying why you being the one with the acclaimed nuts to test your so called skill, take a time-out and acknowledge the reality that she’s very much in the game; only a couple of more rows head of you. She’s better at it; you’re not. She hides it best; you walk around with it under your nose. She won’t stop; you’ll always be vulnerable to being caught. In fact, you’ve been caught a couple of times if not many, right? And all this goes on while you have nothing on her. Face it.
Happily ever after to you and yours.
Things We Never Say: Part II
By Ahenda Anjichi
I remember the first part of “Things We Never Say”; I was thrilled to write something with such a playful twist to it, so when Michael told me about the readers’ demands for a “sequel” I was humbled-people actually enjoyed reading what Michael and I can came up with! So relish this second bit, I hope to meet Michael someday soon, perhaps we can have a tete a tete and work on something bigger-which would give such a gratifying buzz. 🙂
I will always be a devoted fan of this blog and I am indebted for the feature in it.
Again and again-thanks Michael.
– Ahenda
Panting.
Breathless.
My heart is beating faster and slower at the same time…
My thighs quiver and my mind races, I can’t seem to recollect my thoughts,
My head is floating in the cloud,
My skin feels warm and liquid, like melted chocolate…
I can still taste the wine at edge of my lips but my tongue holds traces of your passion bridled kiss!
I sit up a little straighter, taking in the familiar surroundings: the darkening creamish-off white walls, the dark mahogany dresser and mirror set, the bottles of cologne lining up and the ticking organza wall clock…the king size bed with the wrought iron and pine wood frame, low set so that my toes tease the floor as I dangle there, still mesmerized by the intensity of the feeling of having you throb inside me…
I am enveloped in wonder, the feeling in my body and soul seem to be in a chorus of your praises, singing out loud in awe of your touch, your skin against mine, your pleasure-tinged moan against my ear, my legs wrapped around your neck, the firmness of your grip on my hips…
A chorus of praise in your honor as I reached my peak, as this melody in my body came to a climax; I can only vaguely remember screaming, in between my tears, how much I had missed this…
How much I ached to feel you push against my delicate skin and let your manly pride erupt into me,
Oh dear Lord, how I have missed you. So much.
Thinking about you on the lonely rides to work,
Realizing as I sit before the T.V alone that a part of me was missing because nobody snatched the remote from my hand to switch to the Premier League,
Cooking and serving only one plate,
Getting the laundry done in an hour instead of two,
Having only one scent that lingers on,
Hugging pillows,
Going on meaningless dates decorated with tasteless small talk.
“I love you” I used to whisper in the dark, to an image of you etched in my memory…holding that dazzling ring in my palm, wishing it was on my finger.
Smiles: It does look good on my finger; pretty damn good…even more so given the fact that the wine has powdered it with such grace and color, it seems so much bigger and brighter.
You stir into my arms and we kiss…
It took a random night out with the girls, a whole lot of loud music and shoulders brushing for me to have spotted you across the dance floor, sitted at a table, your eyes piercing my soul…and my feet floating to you, my hand outstretched into a somber greeting and beautiful “catch-up” conversation for me to end up back home-in your arms, in this room we shared.
I am home. My heart is home. My soul is home. My body is home.
With you.
What was I thinking when I left?
I tap you to wake you, knowing the surprised look your face would have. (I kept the ring, hanging on my neck by a sterling silver chain)
“Mikey…”
You give me a sleepy, smiling stare.
With my hand held high to show off the finger that now adorns the ring,
“Let’s get married tomorrow”
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By Michael Ngigi
Last night at the club felt like christmas on February the thirtieth. I couldn’t help noticing when you walked in. For a moment, the music went mute and the only colors I could see were in your eyes. When you stretched your hand to greet me I couldn’t help noticing the ring on your necklace. A sign. A declaration that we weren’t over yet. Conversation. Holding your tiny waist. Your dress wrapping your body delicately as if by permission. It all came back. You still wear the cocktail ring we bought for a song. Diamonds would die to have you.
Our clothes became a nuisance when we opened the door. Heat of passion. Patience is a vice. The kissing wasn’t enough. We had longed for each other. Lusted shamelessly after each other. The feel of your skin in my hand ignited the rage I had stored up inside. And your stars awoke in orchestra when I kissed your breasts. Strawberry body mist. I felt you grow weak as I carried you to the bed that had been a bed of thorns only a few hours before. Now there you lay, as if on a cloud. Calling out to me in urgency. Threatening to strike me with lightning if I wasted a second more outside the gates of heaven.
Then everything turned beautiful. Colors. Sounds. The taste of hard work and sweet sweat. The crescendo of innocent lovemaking and the strength of your thighs wrapped around my waist like a spider. Your tears dripping back from your eyelids. A sight that weakens me. Finally, my tremor, eruption and then the long earthquakes that followed your surrender, came in pulses in the long moments that followed. Our hands intertwined and the hope that this wasn’t a dream. You were weak and so was I and as we lay back on the bed to listened to the music of our lives. I knew the ring was in the wrong place.
I can hear your breathing. I feel your gaze on me as I sleep. This time I know you’re not going anywhere. Our search has led us to each other.
Hey Ahenda, I hate myself. I hate myself for this fatal attraction that makes me hard when I think of you. I hate that all the while we went out searching for ourselves, I was looking for you in every woman I kissed. They were pretty but not beautiful. They were intelligent but not interesting and funny. Yes, they were attractive but not as magnetic and as sexy as you are. They came in all sizes but none was perfect for me like you are. I’d missed how you used to run around my house in your tiny underwear. How the hell would they ever figure that out?
Yes I hear you calling my name. I love it when you do. Wake me up with a kiss. Whisper in my ear that tuneless song you cook up to confuse me. Work on me and let me open my eyes just to see your face twisted in sweet surrender yet fully in charge. Strawberry body mist. A moan in a language that only my body knows.
This time the roses will be a true reflection of how I feel about you. Virtuous woman meant for me. The one who’s heart I’m after. For the son we planned to have. For the beautiful moments we have together. Life lies wide ahead of us.
The stones on the ring stand glittering in awe of your beauty. The silver band that holds them together, holds on to your finger. Just like I hold on to you. Strength to hold also needs strength to hold on to. You and I. Yes let’s get married tomorrow!
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‘Things We Never Say’ remains one of the most successful posts on my blog thanks to the exemplary skill of Ahenda Anjichi. My respect goes out to her. Most of our readers still can’t believe that I have actually never met Ahenda in person! I am however humbled and motivated that she has taken the time to grace this fast growing blog. I am optimistic that we will work on more projects together in future. This second part of ‘Things We Never Say’came as a result of huge demand from our readers who were protesting that we left them in suspense. Well there’s a happy ending! Please feel free to leave your comments.
– Michael
Stalker Diaries
February 8, 2011 at 11 am
In the dungeons below the city council building there is a man who has been locked up for the last twenty days. He has been denied trial and the council officials even deny that he exists. He has not been logged in the offenders book. He was accused of jay walking. That is, crossing or walking in the street unlawfully in disregard for approaching traffic. This man has not been charged nor has he been given access to a lawyer or even a phone call. The council refuses to consider his plea for medical attention.
January 12, 2011 at 1 am
It’s two hours since it started raining and she still has not showed up. She knows I’m waiting for her. I know she can’t wait to see me. I am a lucky man. What are the chances of a girl of this calibre falling in love with a guy like me? Thank God for small mercies. Thirty minutes. She’s probably held up at work. Let me head on home and wait for her to call me. No, I’ll walk to her house and wait for her at the door. It’s almost three in the morning. It’s not safe for a young woman to walk from the car to her front door all alone. I will wait. I wonder how she’ll react to see me waiting for her. She will be too excited! She’s lucky to have me love her. She knows it.
I’ve been happy the last few days I think. I think it was the meds that were the problem. The doctor says I’m crazy. I say HE’s crazy. I mean, don’t crazy people walk naked on the street? I felt insulted when he told me I had a psychological disorder. He says the voices in my head are not supposed to be there. What does he know anyway! They (voices) tell me things. Important things. I would die without them. I feared they had left me when I was taking the meds the doctor gave me. Now I’m convinced that the crazy doctor wanted to kill me. That is why I’m never going back again. How can my own family conspire with a doctor they hardly know to kill me? Their only son?
My life has changed since I met Sarah. You see, Sarah and I have a bond. We have never spoken but we understand each other. I like following her wherever she goes. I know every place she visits in a typical day. She likes the shawarma at the mall. Red is her favorite color. She owns thirteen pairs of shoes. She has two best friends who I happen to hate because they point their fingers at me whenever they see me near her. They also think I’m crazy. If they only knew how much Sarah and I love each other. One day, we’ll get married and I will propose to keep these vexing friends out of our lives.
The watchman at the building where she works doesn’t like me. Her workmates don’t like me too. They claim Sarah told them that she’s scared of me. They’re just jealous. That won’t stop me from waiting for her. It will not stop me from loving her. It’s the least I would expect froma beautiful woman. Every man would die to have her to himself. In the end, they will realize it is me she loves. You’ll see.
She hasn’t been picking her phone lately. But it’s ok, I know she’ll call me back when she gets the chance. You know how busy people in the media are. She must be working hard at the station. One more reason why I like her. She does her job well. I never miss the news when she’s on tv. I like how she matches what she wears with her underwear. Private joke. I think I’m the only one who knows the color of her underwear. I watch her laundry dry when she’s at work. Through her broken window, I have watched her dress and undress countless times. It is the reason why I quit my job. It is funny the things that love can make you do. Being a manager in the biggest software company in the country didn’t give me as much happiness, as falling in love with Sarah. The headaches were a sign that there was something else out there for me. Sarah. they voices told me that our love was pre-destined. They were right. I can see it in her eyes when she looks at me. Other people would say she looks scared but if you know her well, you’d know that’s how she looks when she is excited. I would lay down my life for her.
It’s been two years since I met Sarah. It’s been hard to keep up with her lately. She’s always walking with a man. It must be her brother. Why else would a man hold a woman by the waist? Then there are these city council askaris who keep chasing me from my spot. They say they will arrest me for loitering aimlessly. They should know I am a man waiting for the love of his life. She knows i am waiting for her. She’ll show up I’m sure. Then what will they say? Because I am a good man, I will accept their apologies. For now, I am willing to stick around until the day she talks to me. We’ll get married immediately and have beautiful kids. Dad will be proud of me. Mum will love her. I love my life. I love my woman. I hate doctors. I hate medicine.
I know she’s thinking about me wherever she is. I could be with anyone in the world but I choose to be with her. What a lucky woman!
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Erotomania: a delusion in which a person believes that another person (typically of higher social status) is in love with them. It is also characterized by excessive sexual desire.
As life gets harder in the third world, more and more people are exposed to mental challenges that prevent them from living as normal human beings. I thank my friends Kikata, Muba and Yoram for reminding me of these misbegotten people.
I dedicate this post to persons suffering from erotomania. We call some of these people stalkers. In a society where mental health has not been taken seriously, these people continue to suffer in obscurity. For most of psychological disorders arise in childhood. Maybe it’s time we raised our children better. It’s time you treated your siblings with care. It’s time you got your stalker some help.
A Day in a Dog's Life™ 