`TIS BETTER TO HAVE LOVED AND LOST, THAN NEVER TO HAVE LOVED AT ALL

‘Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all’. You know the feeling that you have when you meet someone you share the same joke with even when no one around you gets it? Yes, that feeling. I have recently met a person whom we share the same love for Mind Your Language. The 1980s comedy plays in the background as we laugh to the mindless jokes of Juan and Maximiliano. Daniella makes the class interesting with her adamant crush on Mr Brown. Anyways, we laugh at the episodes and all but one phrase makes its way to my cognitive memory. ‘Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all’. The famous quote of Alfred Lord Tennyson, ‘tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all’.

Every human being of age has undergone through a heartbreak at a particular time of his or her lives. The heartaches and sleepless nights makes you wish you were with that person. The constant pain in your heart and what ifs that repeatedly play in your mind.

“I broke up with my girlfriend whom I have been dating for 3 years. She had been a constant in my life, my partner and lover and I felt her absence when we split. I went out with my friends, had sixty days of crying my heart out with whiskey bottles. I vented, lamented and I was a constant source of ridicule from the boys. Two months later, I picked myself up, wiped my tears and continued with my hustles. I was done with the pain. Fast forward, it has been 5 months after the break up and she has come back to my life. She constantly texts and calls. She tells me of how much she misses me and wants us to be back together. She cries sometimes, reminding me of the past memories when we were happy. I am sure I don’t want her back into my life cause I picked up the pieces of my shattered heart and moved on’. This was a narration from one of my boys and I could not help but feel sorry for her. In my past life, I have been there and done that. 

Once upon a time, I was going out with someone I loved with all my heart. It was one of the most pure form of love, an innocent love. I had never loved anyone before, since I always shielded my heart. The soap operas I used to watch when I was in primary school scared the hell out of me. The heartbreaks in the programs were intense. Besides, ‘shielding’ my heart, this man swept me off my feet. He would take me out on dates; introduce me to fine dining and wining. He actually made me become conversant with good, expensive wines (that I can tell apart confidently). He would open car doors for me and drop me off at home. He was different. He made me feel special and like the only girl in the world, literally. Then I fell in love, deep in love. However, that love was short lived. I remember when he broke up with me saying that ‘I was too young to understand love’, and more genuinely, ‘I had to go to college’.  I was devastated after the break up, and I lost over five kgs from crying and lack of eating. 

Then came the denial part. I would call and text endlessly, begging him to take me back. That I would change and become the person ‘he wanted’ of me. I defended myself that I knew what love was and how it felt, blah blah blah. I messaged him everywhere, Facebook, text messages, email and worst of all, work mail. Then he BLOCKED me everywhere! I got agitated and sad and found other avenues to find my healing. Any chance my call would go through, I would say I needed closure so badly. Every time he would put me off, and tell me he doesn't want me back. He had already made up his mind to move on and i was only clinging to a lost hope that was non-existent. I was a wreck, at my worst point in life. When I recall the events after that break up I feel like an idiot and embarrassed of my actions. That was rock bottom for me. 

Therefore, when Mark’s (my friend) ex-girlfriend keeps on calling and finding ways of being with him, including proposing business ventures, I feel for her. I know how it feels to want that person back into your life desperately, to make things get back to normal. The frustration that exists because you can no longer call them and tell them about your ordinary day. The absence of someone to hug and tell you that you are going to be all right, just because you accidently hit your pinkie toe. The loneliness that creeps in and failing to have that person to send emoji’s on Whatsapp with when there is nothing much to talk about. That feeling of being alone, hurting and in constant heartache is the worst. And to top it up, being constantly told that IT IS OVER!

Her actions after the breakup is much more mature than how mine was. Including him in a business venture where money is flowing is a mature and strategic thing to do (I hope he doesn’t gets swarmed back into her life cause that's a fine strategy). Overall, heartbreaks are brutal. It has been many years since then but I can still recall it like yesterday. I wished for a long time that our paths would cross and I would be his again, but now am glad it never did. That episode in my life taught me that time heals everything and every bad experience, is a stepping-stone to becoming stronger. It made me handle future relationships better. It opened my mind to being liberal and accepting people as they are, accepting their opinions and choosing not to judge. It made me understand the feelings and emotions that come from people when they are angry, upset, in love or in denial. Now I can love again, and I can love with no fear. That heartache taught me to cherish the memories we make with everyone that crosses our paths. Instead of pouting over what is gone, healing and moving on is a sign of growth. In addition, what is the essence of life anyway? Is it not to live each day like the one it is the last one? I would prefer a million times over, to better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. 

HAPPY Easter Amigos!

METAPHORICAL SHOES OF A BIBLIOPHILE

For many years, I have always gotten that weird look from the people around me. They stare at me if I have an eye on top of my nose. I do not have any physical deformities, mind you. I am in a perfect shape and my physical appearance doesn’t make me stand out more than the next guy. However, what makes my loved ones and strangers to stare at me, all lies on what I do. A habit, a behaviour, a curse? Sometimes I feel like it is an addiction.  A drug like cocaine that needs constant refill. In my life, there is no single day that passes without delving into my desires/cravings.

My cousin never understands why I can spend hours, seated in one ‘state’, staring at words. She never understands why I would prefer to read a story instead of watching the movie. All right, I have said it. Books are my addiction! Sorry, any written document attracts me as light attracts a moth. When I walk on the streets, I sub-consciously read any word before me. ‘Househelp wanted’ ‘Doctor from Tanzania treats all ailments’ ‘Do you believe the butcher when he tells you the meat is soft’. In my mind, every word must register itself. My eyes can avoid looking at the person in front of me but will see the words spewed all over the billboards. Sometimes I usually feel like am a weird one. That I just come from another planet altogether.

 
My love for books originated from when I was small, in my kindergarten days. I would thrill at the prospect of opening a Ladybird book series. Rapunzel, Pinocchio, Three Little Pigs, just to name a few would keep me hidden from my mother or my cousins for hours. People used to think I was lazy, that I was running away from chores while literally, I was stuck in the moment.  Back then, Kenya National Library allowed individuals to borrow up to two books for two weeks. Therefore, when I was in class three I had my library card with me. It was my treasure, it was my diamond. I would borrow two books every fortnight, one textbook and one novel. However, if it weren’t for my mum, two story books would have carried the days. I remember I first read my big novel titled ‘The Hole’ (which I saw became a movie later on) when I was in class Five. My English teacher would be busy applying polish to her nails on her desk, while I was stealing moments in class reading my storybook.  

When I was in class Six, I read my first Grisham. I had seen my mum reading it and it got me curious when it was lying there after she had finished.  The Partner became my obsession after school. Despite the heavy legal terms, I managed it. However, I soon forgot 60 percent of the terms I didn’t search on my dictionary. The habit evidently progressed through high school where I would be among the first few individuals who would read ‘new’ books in school. We had our own club, Nesh, Mercy, Jackie and I would literally read all the new books in school. That is, if anyone came with a novel on opening and half-term dates, we were the ones to read first. I don’t know why, but we always got hold of most of the books In the whole school. It’s funny how we would wake up at 5 a.m and read a novel the whole day. Only during math class that you were obliged to put it aside. How? Simple. I would put my novel inside my exercise book and read it through the lessons. Being a backbencher helped a lot. One time my business teacher caught me, and all I did was to put it away as if nothing happened.

Literally, after high school my love for books had grown to another dimension. It was my life; it was how I knew how to live. Therefore, when years later on, I walked into a bookshop and bought a book for like Ksh 1300, it was not a big deal for me. I was thrilled when I smelled the book and I knew it was mine. However, my friend stared at me in the most horrific manner (I can still recall that look 2 years later). The look was why spend that much on a book that you gonna put away after reading it? I don’t know why. It happens!

Also, I have those impulsive moments when it comes to books. Every time I go to town, I will buy a book from Inama bookshops. Thanks Inama people! I have so many books that I cannot finish reading in over 4 months, but I will still buy. I got thrilled when I found a group where the love for books is mutual. Where books are in plenty, that it will literally take years to finish the online collections. So, am I crazy? Some will say yes. To some, we share the same sentiments. So, what am I trying to tell you?  

Always develop a reading culture, with your spouse, friends, children and yourself. Books have life; they take you to a different dimension. They improve your perspective of life. They increase your imagination. They help develop your skills, without my books I would not even know how to write.  Some people claim not to be a reading person, but reading is a culture. You have to nurture it. It starts with an article of 400 words to a book of 800 pages. It takes years to cultivate but will always keep your mind young.

Guys, please don’t look at me weirdly next time I get excited about buying 5 books with all the money I have. Buying those books gives me a thrill that a lover cannot give me. It also takes me to a different dimension, where the author and I are one. We understand the same language. We communicate the same language. He/she understands me more than the world around me does. So, when I see my nephew Kigen indulging in a book, I am jumping into a thousand sparks. Because I know, it will always make him a better person.

And thanks to Denzel, Patel and my book clubs, I know we are all communicating the same language. The love for books!

Nairobi Mums

For me, there is nothing as fascinating as a Nairobi mum.  The kind of mum I have seen roaming the streets of Nairobi and some in other towns as well. The kind of mum that I admire and wish that I would grow up to be them. Maybe not the whole bit, but just the right bit to make me stand out like them. I know by now you are wondering what I am talking about, who are these Nairobi mums. Let me paint a picture for you. 

On Friday, I was on my way to Mlolongo inside a noisy matatu with music blaring. There was a small girl seated on the right side behind me, next to the window. The mum occupied the seat behind me.  I noticed the small girl, since she was busy asking the person beside me to open up the window. This January weather gonna kill people. Anyways, while we were just leaving town, the mum mentioned to her caller that she is gonna be there in 20 minutes. I got curious since I could see traffic building up and Mlolongo is way more than 20 minutes away. I let it slide and became engrossed in my book. Later on, her phone kept on buzzing. ‘nimefika, hakuna traffic leo’,…sio mbali I will be there In a few….yes…so, are we guys buying wine and whiskey? ….sawa, I will buy at the supermarket…..nimefika.’ the whole conversation just made me curious. It is Friday at 12 noon and some mum is going to buy some booze with the daughter. I cannot help but imagine how the afternoon is going to be.

A young mama leaves her house somewhere not near Mombasa road and goes to her pals’/sister’s/brother’s/parents’ house to have a small party or get together. Since she is an okay mum, she tags along her daughter, probably four or five years old. She dresses her daughter in an amazing outfit. She does not fail to pull up the best outfit for herself. She looks like a middle-class parent. She has a good source of income, her nails are well manicured, her hairstyle is neat and stunning, and she has a beautiful body like someone who takes proper care of themselves. She dons it all with make-up, adequate make-up, and a pair of stylish sunglasses. She does not look like someone who is stressed up by anything. She has her life in order. If there is a man in her life, she might be happy with him. Either she avoids dramas or she keeps it in check. Although she does not have a ring on her finger.

She is going to have fun with her friends/family while her daughter is with her. She is not afraid of being who she is while raising her daughter plus being responsible. The daughter will play with kids of the other parents who are present and later on, they will go home. She is going to change her into her pajamas and kiss her goodnight. That is only my version of what I think is going to happen, which I think is the correct version.

But that’s not my final version of a Nairobi mum. A Nairobi mum will wake up early and take care of their daughters and sons. They will dress them in those tu cute Justin Timberlake outfits and roam the streets of Nairobi. They will walk into malls together and buy them a milkshake. They are the ones who will start make you crave for a daughter or a son. She will always be stunning, even at times you wonder if they are really parents. They will spoil their kids occasionally but they will always give you a perfect image. I don’t know if it is all an illusion, but a Nairobi mum is a mum I would one day like to become. They are just the aaaws pictures that I love seeing when passing outside Mr. Price on a Sunday and Saturday afternoons.

Happy New Year Folks!