Quick thoughts
quick feet
quick hands
slow minds
slow movements into the horizon
so much trust between fingers
Gentle hearts and beats in time
Month: October 2019
“Yes!” in perpetuity
Ok so I did this crazy thing and went to exhibit at the 2019 Nairobi Book Fair. I got the Judges’ Choice Award which was amazing… I felt embraced by the Universe. And so affirmed. I was so extra with the whole experience as I organized for a photographer to take beautiful pictures of the Booth… and me at the booth… and my many friends who came out to support me at the Booth.
I experienced magic in the many individuals I got to hug and be around. For me, seeing and being open to people I would never have otherwise met without putting on anything, was eve’thing.
I loved sharing and listening and being surrounded by other writers. There were so many different journeys that collided there and to witness it all was amazing.
You know, last year was the year of “Yes!” for me… but it seems to me that I have a year’s lag on this yes thing. I have been saying a lot more yes this year than ever before… Maybe it’s a yes in perpetuity thing… either way, I am loving the magic.
i hate dusk
it’s like the light can’t be bothered to fight anymore
my mind feels like that sometimes
and i could not be bothered
but to let the darkness roll in
When I read my confessionals
So a crazy thing happens… I first have to brace myself. I think it’s because I am never quite sure how reading what I wrote is going to make me feel.
Sometimes I shock myself and sometimes I feel shame. Shock – because of how much I reveal. Shame – because of how much I reveal. Most of it is mixed admiration and the early makings of an emotional hangover… probably because I am often surprised at what I am willing to admit when I am writing. How vulnerable I truly am.
I also read in between the intention of wanting to be clever… and perhaps, some trace subtext of relief… and just a tinge of satisfaction at being able to write it all.
I often say, many times like an old grandpa with repetitive jokes, that I think the best version of myself is the writer. I allow myself so many freedoms when I am in this space. I give myself lots of room to just be… and this is a gift I seldom give myself when I consider all the other versions of me that are running around.
I like the idea of re-reading what I have written because I have the courage not to be dishonest with myself. In this confessional, I think I am assured of at least one place where I can reflect my truths back. This is not all a bad thing.
I am mustering the courage
to run towards
the life I think I deserve
my step wobbles every so often
when I think of the million ways in which
I fall short and
feel small
I am mustering the courage
to love you in the way that your soul deserves
and my heart weeps to do
I falter ever so often
when I think of the million ways in which
I have failed to love me and
how I could possibly love you enough
I am mustering the courage
to run towards me
so that I can find a sure way to step away
from the hiding behind old habits
that make things faster but short lived
I want to love me
so that I can allow you to love me
so that I can love you
and possibly, maybe…
love us together
Crossroads Morbidity
The big blue bus with the rusted, dented front – brown and mangled – was headed for me. In a rush to get across the road, I had bent my ankle over my four-inch high heel, promptly landed on my bum in the middle of the road. Somehow, the shock of it all wiped out any reaction time I had. My head turned to the left, all I could see was blue, brown dents. The world was rather quiet too – I think there might have been some people screaming or shouting, waving hands. This guy, the driver of the blue-brown mass of tetanus potential couldn’t see me.
They say life flashes before your eyes moments before you face death. I am not sure that there’s much to see in my eyes. Life was just beginning for me. Finished school. Great job. Paying down my credit cards. I was standing outside my sorry deer-in-headlights arrested body, waiting for a colorful death.
Impact. Blood everywhere.
I think I felt shooting pain everywhere as the mass of liquids and squishes that I am was splattered across the black tarmac. Hot, melting, rusty bloody smells.
Looking behind me, the shock on the woman’s face – the lady in red holding a young baby in her arms, shielding her eyes. The gentleman in a suit who might have been running to pull me from the road, finally registering that I was not able to move. I felt the life suck out of me, ooze as the outside me was pulled to the dead me.
Zip. I was back and I was dying… blood was dripping from my eyes like tears.
What a painful, painful death.
Crossing roads have a weird effect on me.
I am approaching the road and these images flood my mind. I wonder if this morbidity is a sign of silent suicidal thoughts. I am crossing the road. Safe on the other side. I guess I didn’t die today.
Pictures of the Nairobi Book Fair
So this is my first test of creating an image collage… these are some of the beautiful pictures of the Booth that we took at the Nairobi Book Fair 2019
Of Book Fairs and reprises
So one of the gushy experiences I had during the Nairobi Book Fair was having my friends visit the Ema Tinje Booth. There was much celebration and talk about my love affair with writing and how it all led to the Book and the Booth.
As we were chatting, *nostalgically* about my early dabbling with short stories, one of my sister friends reminded me of one of her favs of my short stories. I laughed because I wrote this piece while trying to figure out what kind of writer I am… so I went hunting for it in the archives to present it here.
I must say that I am amused by the style and the premise of the story… it’s a short flash fiction piece… here have a read:
Naked Flashes
I moved to this particular gated apartment complex for the love of space, light and hardwood floors. The living room sprawled for what seemed like miles with awesome windows letting the light in from everywhere.The sun in the morning streaked in at dawn and stayed. It was the light that got me. You see, I love windows on principal. Dark rooms depress me. I am pretty sure it has something to do with
the four years I spent in a narrow, windowless office while I finished two excruciating masters’ degrees.In any case, the windows had me at hallo.
I also love being naked in rooms filled with light. I hate it that nakedness is considered some sort of taboo in most African cultures. Now, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate being connected to the earth and at least ten years behind postmodernism (which is just a major trip down depression). But I just long for the freedom to just be – no protocol, zero traditions that dictate behavior etc. And my little rebellion to the structure of my culture is to walk around naked in my house. It helps that I also live alone.
But my nakedness is secret so it’s all the more exciting.
I have to say that I don’t have a conventionally enviable body and well, most people wouldn’t expect a girl like me to be happy naked. But it is bliss. I like my short neck (that’s new for you too, right?)… I enjoy how my breasts fall over me, the bulge of my stomach, the dimple before… I like my tattoos (another symbol of my inner liberation)… I love the curve of hips, my strong thighs, and what I think are the sexiest legs. For a short person, I think my legs are rather long… I love my back, the smooth expanse of dark that dips into my waist and mushrooms into my ass. I have a nice bum. I have a tattoo above it, a lotus flower – a symbol of the life that I hold center. Yes, I know it’s rather cliché to have a tattoo right above my bum but I had so much fun getting it.
Most mornings, after a shower, I drag my near sheer curtains open and let the sun in. I bask naked in awe of the glorious light and let it seep into my soul, it seems. Then the window glass magnifies the open rays and my breasts heat up; there’s nothing like the sun.
Unselfconsciously, I opened my closed eyes only to find the daytime gate guard, mouth open, eyes wide, unable to move.
Earlier today, I felt eyes on my breasts in addition to the sun. I could feel them boring into me in awe.
My instinct was to scream, scream, scream, scream.
Instead, I drew the curtains, sat on my bed, and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.
I am definitely liberal now; my nakedness is no longer my own.
Still no urge to put on clothes though!
This still makes me giggle… there were so many questions I got on whether its really did happen. But alas! it did not. I just have a crazy imagination.