An empty shell
blown away by the winds
distanced from it's familiar shores
desolate, hopeless and lost
unsure of what the future holds...
A dry leaf
detached from the security of the tree
threatened by the harshness of the world
withered, crackly, almost rotten...
A frozen drop
condensed alone in eternal cold
away from the rays so bright and warm
hard, chilly, and frigid
thawing seems foreign a word
A dying flame
left without a hope rekindling
winds blowing, threatening to put it out
dying, dwindling, almost gone
forever perishing in passing smoke
...that is my heart...
From my poems pages
They called the heavens
It poured instead
It was to help me, they said
My heart turned as black as the ravens
They held endless meetings
To seek divine intervention
They said I needed redemption
They didn't ask of my feelings
They coaxed and cajoled
Wailed ululated and burnt incense
Claiming it was to return my innocence
They believed I'd been misled
They tortured my mind
Said I wasn't the child I was supposed to be
I think they were right, maybe
Maybe I had left the child behind
They have given up on me
and those were the sweetest words if ever
and now I plan to spend forever
showing them I'll always be the defiant me.
From my poems pages
I have been silent, for (a) reason (s). I have been learning. Both willingly and not so willingly. In a way that I enjoyed ii and in ways I wished I did not. I have been under anesthesia for a surgery that I kept putting off until I could not anymore. Then one day it dawned on me that no one is going to go and do it on my behalf. I know that is obvious, but it's until you have been there and only the sight of a coffin gets you thinking. So I went, had my cervix cleared, I hope. I had to work less than 24 hours later. And the following day, I woke up thinking, I should not go to work, but I still went. Why? Because sitting in the house is worse than being in pain. It's that bad. Bodies have minds of their own because an hour late, I had to stop and listen to it. Went on location few days later, was a great success and I could not ask for more.
Big titles come with responsibility. I have always wanted to be a Production Manager which I believe is just a fancier title for a Producer. I did not, however think it was going to be that soon. I mean, I always knew that I could get whatever and wherever I wanted when I put my mind into it, and truth is, I have... so far. I however feel like King Oyo of Toro, with the kingdom of Production being thrown at me and being conscientiously expected to perform with more rigor and maturity and up my game to compete and, sadly, prove myself to the veterans. If I had a penny for the shocked, disbelief looks I get every time people meet me for the first time after talking to me on the phone, I'd have long quit my job and bought an island.
Thing is, it has brought more money that I have no time to spend, which I think should be a good thing. My children will enjoy life. I cannot complain. My own-coined phrase is Production is my Hobby; Sleeping my Career. Works, very well actually. Thing is, Producers and Directors just never know how to quit. We just get more and more absurd with the requests we make on set and the production team turns a blind eye and a deaf year and jump hoops for us. We insist on Producing and directing from our death beds. That is when ideas mature, I guess. The Director is happy, everybody is happy.
I have, in the past couple of months Helven forbid (refer to previous blog for Helven reference) found myself being glad at the fact that DVP is miles away. I have this huge feeling that the closest we would come to a decent conversation is when I slip into bed at obscene hours next to his snoring form, only to leave him in the wee hours of the morning, still snoring. Nice talking to you Hon!
Now, for an in depth look into what I actually do for a living, what my career entails, here goes;
Come up with all the ideas
Praise the producer upon having the genius to come up with such inspired and practical ideas
Do all the graft and make the original, practical and achievable plans work once the producer has decided that it should change - again - ("but of course it won't cost any more will it" – statement, not question)
Agree to book all the producer's favourite crew on the job
Book your own crew who can actually do the job
Attempt to schedule sleep breaks into the 26-hour working day that has been agreed with the client
Hide as much bunce as possible in the budget and never tell the producer. (This has the negative effect of making the producer's margins look excellent, thus leading to promotion/pay-rise/directorship or, worst of all, thinking that they're good enough to go freelance).
Provide a shoulder to lean on when the producer can't take any more
Be onsite all the time
Wake the producer up
Smile at the client
Make suggestions to the producer when they decide to change everything - again
Say, "Of course you can," and smile when the producer asks if they can make "just one more call" on your mobile
Carry a big bucket and spade to clear up, cheerfully, after the producer
Carry enough beer tokens to dissuade the crew from mutiny
Look cheerful and alert on no sleep
Be ecstatic and appear honoured upon being invited to sit at the clients' table during the gala dinner
Provide a shoulder to lean on when the producer can't take any more
Congratulate the producer upon yet another successful event
Say, "It's alright, I'll deal with all the rest, you go to bed," and look as if you mean it
Be in the office first thing after an all-night get-out to reconcile the job
Take the blame for any overspend, even if it had nothing to do with you
Don't expect any thanks
Don't expect any credit
Don't expect to get paid for quite some time
Do expect, before payment of any previous invoice, to come in and "just do a quick costing for me, darling."
I don't intend to encourage people to blame everything on the way they were brought up, but then, that happens to be the root of my contention. Most of the beliefs and opinions that we embrace can be directly or indirectly attributed to our upbringing. I my case, it's quite the latter, indirectly. It's actually more of inversely proportional. I was brought up on a one-way highway to heaven; bible in hand, church the much needed tavern in the hard journey called life.
Now, looking back at that, I think I was on a one-way highway to being a clueless groupie. I moved further and further away from the (basic) teachings I got while growing up, which has made me a rebel… I like to call myself controversial. And now I advocate for things that are not 'acceptable', 'normal' 'conforming'…
Morality, homosexuality. Mmhh, tough.
How we act depends on what we think things are, and what things are for us depends on the idea of them that we share with other people and see followed in daily life. And sex for me is inclusive of that. It matters whether (men & women) view it as something that is by its nature has to be respected and has to do with love, marriage and children or as a feature their bodies happen to have that they can do with, as they will. Which includes having sex with whoever/ whatever you want, as long as both parties involved are consenting.
Every time I broach this topic, the question I always get is; why are you not gay yourself? My answer? I don't like milk, there is nothing wrong with milk, to the contrary, it is healthy; does that mean I should launch a hate campaign on milk? Should I spend my life looking down on milk, degrading it simply because it is not my preference? Merely because I choose (note the word) something does not mean that I cannot support it. It all comes down to self-will, choices and decisions.
Morality is a system (there is that annoying word) of principles and judgments based on cultural, religious, and philosophical concepts and beliefs, by which humans determine whether given actions are right or wrong. These concepts and beliefs are often generalized and codified by a culture or group, and thus serve to regulate the behavior of its members. Conformity to such codification may also be called morality, and the group may depend on widespread conformity to such codes for its continued existence.
The criterion that is used to conceptualize what is right / wrong is a product of a group of people's opinions. It is a consensus between a certain select of the society's best that comes up what to allow and what not to. Why do I not (and never will) consider homosexuality (that includes lesbianism) immoral?
First, for obvious reasons - I have my own ideas of what is moral and what is not, and I have to say, most of it is inverse to the universal 'code of conduct'.
Two, Lets look at the functions of sex, put aside the procreation purpose. It is also a legitimate involvement of bodies conveying love. If love/sex is based on understanding between two people / beings / things, rather than being centered on the notions of procreation, then the love of a couple of the same sex need no be lees than that two people / beings / things of the opposite sex. Neither is their need to express that love through what they deem a satisfactory channel to both of them need be less important.
Sex before marriage is wrong, so the society tells us. But it then becomes right (moral) if the two person (mostly of the opposite sex), get married. Justification of the sexual act is then possible due the fact that the two persons have made a covenant with each other, to be committed (before community and clergy). And that's the yin and yang of that, no two ways about it. But then, what about the selfish acts in the matrimonial bed? The lack of satisfaction, exploitation of sex by both persons, in the same covenant that moralized the sex? In that regard, I reckon it is only safe (not that I care) to say that it's actually impossible to make justification, classification and rulings as to when sex is right / wrong, acceptable or not. As long as both parties are consenting, then let them go ahead and bonk their brains out.
If that streetlight near your house was to make a pass at you…
I am a woman, a film producer, a sister, a daughter, and a girlfriend.
I tell myself that I can write, and the world seems to agree with me- the part of the world that read me anyway. I write my thoughts, some of which might note make sense. Scratch that. Most of which.
I live with the most incredible man; the best thing that has ever happened to me is having him in my life. We have two suicidal cats, Biggie and Blackie. Suicidal as they are always jumping off the window of our 3rd floor apartment. Biggie likes to remind us how much we love him by running away to the same house...we always find him.
I am obsessed with House MD and think Hustle is the most creative show.
I listen to anything that calls itself music.
Labels: Dark Angel
I did not know about the missing KQ flight until my b/f called me. And when he told me that it had gone missing over Cameroon, my mind backtracked. A couple of weeks before he left, we went out to listen to rock at Zeep one Wednesday.
It was one of those days when you bump into people you have not seen in ages, and you get amazed by how much time has passed and how people have not changed. That day alone, I had bumped into 3 of my high school classmates. To culminate my evening, I met one girl that I had not seen since we finished our exams, close to 7 years ago. Now, she is the kind of people one never forgets. She was tall for her age when we enrolled in Form one. She was put in our class on that first day. And on that very first day as high school students, she made us laugh so much, our class made history as being the only class to have gotten a punishment on their FIRST DAY at school!! But our class was different. Nicely different. It was class Form 1 K, and went head to be the most notorious, the rowdies, the brightest and the fun- est class – Class of 2000. The same girl, made me learn the whole of Peter André's 'Mysterious Girl' because we had to present something during Junior Talent show.
That girl I did not see until after 7 years. Almost a month ago.
She walked up to my table, tapped me on the shoulder, and when I looked up, I was excited. It was nice to see her again. Was nice to catch up. We talked about our lives since school, and she had, a few months earlier, gotten a job at Kenya Airways as a flight attendant. She had been on Domestic flights but moved to Francophone-Africa. She had, she said, seen me twice at the airport at the domestic flight departure lounge, but had been too occupied to say hi to me. We exchanged numbers and said goodbye. And that was as much a goodbye I would ever get to say to her.
When I heard about the KQ flight, I remembered her. But then I thought; what are the odds? She could not possibly have been among them. But when the names were released, it was a blow. Lydia Nyakweba was one of the flight attendants. And one more person, Shantabell Wakhu. Shanta was two years ahead of me in high school. Was in a group of seniors we called the 'Terror Squad'. She had the most beautiful legs despite her being one of the terrorizers of the form ones. Looking back, that was high school. People who knew her from theatre say she was a sweet girl. Me, I remember being scared of being in the same room with her.
I got a text on Saturday morning from a former classmate. Class of 2000 was meeting in town then proceeding to Lydia's home. I do not usually leave the house on Saturdays but this day, I had to. I met almost all my former classmates. It was a great feeling, despite the circumstances. I could not help, however but marvel at how tragedy brings people together. How all past grudges are put aside to deal with that one issue.
But at the same time, the other side of the glass being half empty, I could still see the pretentiousness. The being there because you want to see, you want to be seen, you want to analyze how the rest have turned out. the feeling that they are still better than the rest of us who went through the same system for four years, same classes, same teachers, same tortures and same homework. I could see that group of people that still think they are way better or maybe cut out for more than being in the same room with everyone else. It broke my heart with the same intensity it disgusted me.
But it was a day to remember Lydia, and I put all those aside and looked back at the four years we spent together. And I wondered, did she ever, a one point during those four years, think that she would not live to see her 25th birthday? If she knew that that would be the case, what would she have done differently? Did she accomplish the major things she wanted to have done by the time she clocked 23?
It might seem a bit selfish, but I sat there looking at he picture on a table at their house, I asked myself - If I'll never live to see 25, what do I want to do differently? How will I live so that if my end is then, I will leave the people in my life saying that- she lived a life well lived? That my friends will look back and not talk about the promising future I had, but about what kind a full life I lived?
To Lydia: You were the flower that He loved most in his garden. That is why he picked you.
I have always considered my self to be one forgiving person. DVP says he knows no matter how angry I am - I get over it 5 minutes later and usually, he is right. True, I find it hard to stay angry. It's like when I get angry, I get into this dark world inside of me, torturous and very unearthly. I hate being angry, but as I write this I'm fucking pissed.
Why I am pissed? I'm pissed at men. Men who are selfish, egotistic and self centered (probably I've just outlined the same character in three words…) you get the point though. I was talking to my ex boyfriend the other day, and it hit me – he is one of those. Now, I'm not going on about this because he is my ex. No. I loved him then and I did not see past my infatuation. As all women do, I saw of him what I wanted him to be and I cannot blame him. Fault is all on me, I'm the one who dated him, after all.
I am a strong woman, very independent. Been working since I was 17 years old and by 19, I was teaching Information Technology to students my fathers' age. Now, I'm 23 years old, and a Production Manager of one of the biggest Film Production companies in Africa. By the time my ex was done with me, I did not think I was that great woman anymore. I even doubted my sexuality. Now, for those who know me, I am the type of woman who fully exploits my sensual sexuality. I never wear polo-necked, as a principle. I have great boobs, and I don't ever hide them and I'm never afraid to say it. I love sex, enjoy it and I think an orgasm is the best thing ever to happen to humankind (and pigs). No once in that whole relationship did I experience that. Why? Was a frigid?
I am the kind of girl that gets wet just by thinking about sex. I would get wet just looking at him!! And he took advantage of that. There was never foreplay. Let me not say never, there was, which was basically him inserting his fingers to see if I was really wet enough. Which reminds me, the last time we met (Dec 2006), he told me that his then girlfriend (the 2nd one after breaking up with me in Oct 2006) could not get wet. I was so tempted to point out to him why that was, but I figured, I should not be so open, especially since he was soooooo in love. One thing that gets me in trouble is my honesty. Quite I few times I have said things that should have otherwise be left unsaid.
Few months later, he got bored. Now, this is what happened with his first g/f, me, the girl after me, the girl after the girl after me. Now he has a new g/f. and I pity her. Why? Because he is the kind of guy who gets bored. The kind of guy who says he wants a strong independent woman and then turns back and says that she is pushy and he can never say no to her. And whose fault is that I ask? You want a strong woman yet you are not string enough to handle her. Paradoxes!
So why I'm pissed? (this also means angry in Kenya)
Because he is gonna fuck up every woman that he meets. He is the kind of guy who will never take you on a holiday unless it has something to do with him working. No, he cannot spend his money on a holiday unless he is getting something from m it. Go figure what kind of a lover he is. He is the kind of guy who you will give a massage and when he is all done, he says he can't give you one coz that will make his muscles all tense again!! His g/f wants to go to school far way. He is thinking of telling her to wait a while coz of their relationship. He wants her to postpone it for one year coz if she moves away to school; their r/ship will suffer. Now, they will be separated by a 2 hour flight or less. Well, as you know, he would never fly there to see her. Now, there are men who I know I would let any other woman drop he life for, but not this one. I pity her. He thought it was a great idea for me to quit my job and work with him, when he broke up, he says he did not ask me to quit my job. Maybe, Maybe not. Now as I listened to him talk about her, I was taken back to when we had the same conversation about us. About me making more money with him than I was making, and the opportunity I had with him, and my heart ached for that poor woman. And any other woman who meets that type of man.
I never knew how true the saying that women should try and find out what happened in their boyfriends' last r/ship since it gives them a base on theirs, until I broke up with him. And I realized that he is always going to be that way. If his getting bored had happened with one woman, then that could be excused. But 4 women!!! I seriously doubt if it was the women's fault when such a figure is presented. All of them ranged from waitresses, to IT consultant, to Production Manager and many more. He told me he is scared of commitment once we broke up. And I thought. Gee, thanks, for letting me know. But don't you think this is the sort of information you should have told me when we met?????????
Well, it's done, some woman is going to get hurt soon and there is nothing we can do about it. Such is that nature of life.
And once again, another woman will hurt, hate herself and hope that she will have the courage to love again, if her self esteem is not so down trodden.
Everything has an end; especially those that you never want to. Like a nice long holiday in one of the world's most beautiful islands, or a candlelit dinner by the beach with the waves lapping gently on the reefs and the shores, like making love in the calmness of the ocean in the middle of the night, and seeing a shooting start just then…being so excited that you forget to wish on it.
I had promised a day to day update on what happened, and now as I think about it, it's flooding back as memories, and I'm tearing. Think lying snuggled in bed next to the love of your life, as the sun rays stream through the curtains and fill the room with tiny crisscrossing beams of light on the walls. And all you feel is magic. Your heart beating, beating for the love you feel then, that particular moment when nothing matters apart from the two of you on that bed. And you treasure each second because you know, one day, all that will be a memory.
One that you know you will play back over and over in your head until you can't stand it anymore. One that you know, one day that is all you'll ever have to look into. And one day is now; it is this minute, this hour, today. It will be tomorrow, next week, and the next months to come. I'm clutching at memories, even the tiniest. Those that I never thought would count. Like looking up from a book and finding those gray pools of love staring at me, then those fabulously full lips break into a smile. That lasted about 2 seconds, I forgot all about it 3 seconds later. Now, days, months later, I have dug into the deepest crevice of my brain and retracted that episode. That is what is putting me to bed every night; what is making me get out of bed and face the day, knowing that in the evening, I will have to go back to that lonely cold bed. I have gone through all the time we spent together. And I mean all. Fighting, laughing, talking, joking, crying, almost-breaking up, saying goodbye very early in the morning to Uganda, picking him at the airport, picking him at the bus station, traveling to a tucked away ranch, cooking our first dinner there, sunbathing in the natural pool naked, making love in the open, taking pictures, him attacking a tree stump, him injured, me having to pull out splinters from his blood-flooding leg, him to hospital, cooking together at home, diners at an Ethiopian restaurant, coffee, snuggling on the couch, watching movies at the cinema, drinks at the pub, football matches, bus ride to Dar es salaam, forgotten passport, first night in hot hot hot hot Dar, sweating profusely on the bed as we fought for air, making love in the heat and gasping for breath afterwards.
I getting sea sick on the ferry, overrated restaurant that took forever to serve food, which was cold when it arrived, fans switched off at 1 am in a hotel min Zanzibar and having to switch hotels at 2 am after 1 hour argument with the caretaker (one I should actually forget), trudging through Stone Town with our backpacks and him sweating so much that you could wring the sweat from the shirt. I rejecting one hotel after the other, him holding on the last possible shreds of his patience, getting to a cozy hotel, overcharged since the owner saw the weariness in our faces –worth it though. Drinking Funky Monkeys that tasted like shit (not that I know how that tastes)Being overcharged at the car to the beach, making love in the beach hotel for the first night, fighting about something I cannot remember, making love some more, pregnancy scare, diner by the beach front, making love in the water at night and during the day, him lying on the hammock- tanning, him looking at me from across the table, then bending ever so slowly towards me, kissing me so softly, so tenderly.
And my heart skipping a beat…just then.
Switching hotels since we loved the beach so much and had run out of money, and had to look for one which takes credit cards. Our last day in Zanzibar beach and Stone Town, our last night in Dar, and our 24 hour journey from Dar to Nairobi! Me in hospital waiting for my biopsy, him looking down at me after my biopsy as I struggle to fight the anesthesia as he kisses me ever so sweetly.
The last night before he left, making love- feeling like a virgin after the biopsy… me folding his shirts to fit into his backpack, crying all the while, crying some more all the way to the airport in the morning, crying too much I have to leave. I walking away, pausing, turning back, him waving, last memory. One that is to last me till maybe, December.
With many more that I have not included, not that they were not worth remembering, but because I simply cannot state all of them.
He is my Danish Viking Prince. My Gentle Storm. My Boyfriend. My Lover. My Bestfriend.
I miss him.
I love him.
It just hit me that I have never gone on holiday per se. I mean, I have taken few days off tom have fun, but to actually travel, do nothing, be unreachable, sleep in a nice hotel, shop and just lie around…not really. Well, now I'm, on one. In Zanzibar… because DVP decided that he love me so much , wants me all to himself, and wants a romantic holiday with the woman of his life.
And since I'm not supposed to be near a computer (not even supposed to remember how they work) I won't tell you more. Will give a day by day account when I get back…
I was supposed to have blogged these weeks ago. But things happened and I kept postponing it. And I kinda felt that I owed you, the reader an update of what has been happening in my life since I claimed that I was bonding. Claimed... not really, we really were doing that.
So I go for a shoot at the foot of the escarpment. Now for those who know the Great Rift Valley view point, you do agree that that is one of the most awesome sights in Kenya. We are staying in this Ranch where they bottle mineral water, a Garden of Eden Tucked away… See opposite image
I had mixed feelings about the place. One; anger. It is owned by colonialist. Now I have no problem with the British,, but after reading "Britain's Gulag", the las thing I want to see id a settler on Kenyan soil. But that a sentiment for another day. Two; romantic. Yes, so romantic that I took DVP there for a three day getaway. Now, the owners (grrr) have tapped the spring water into natural pools enclosed by water lilies and vegetation around that you can skinny dip in broad daylight without a fear. You do know what follows skinny dipping…
On the last day, after much sun and sex, sometimes not in that order, we sat around waiting to be picked up back to Nairobi. Now, the following story has different versions, depending on who you talk to. ME: DVP was walking going to bird watch, leaving me alone to occupy myself. The gods saw this not to be fit, and decided to halt him. He walked right into a tree stump, fell on a cactus plant and got almost 3 inches of a splinter into his shin. I had to drain liters of blood before I got the splinter out. Almost three weeks later, he is still nursing the wound, the stump still stands. HIM: I was trying to make my g/friend laugh, a cactus tree, the size of a baobab appeared from nowhere, attacked me, and I have o stay, I was not fit enough, but you should see the tree now. I'm way better…STUMP: I have been dead for 25 years, was just ling around, as usual when this human walked into me. I did not mean to hurt anyone; after all, I'm dead. He did, however, steal apart of my heritage, took it with him in his leg.
What can I say, everyone has different perspective of situations..
So i quit my job today. And i say that in the calmest way possible. It feels funny, not coz i quit the job, but coz I'm sitting in a cyber to type in this, a place i have not visited in the last couple of years... perks of working in an office. plus I'm sitting next to DVP. Yep, he's back, and no telltale feathers on his clothes, so I'm still investigating to see if he was really with the real birds!
Have not blogged for weeks , but that's coz i was busy. busy sorting my career, which seems to be what i do after a couple of weeks, but this time , it sorted for real.I thought i was going into advertising to get the challenge, to feel the rush. the only rush i felt came at around 5 o'clock... the one to go home. i think there is that rush in advertising, just not in the agency i went to. So now I'm back to production, which is what i think the reason i live..corny.. i know.
Meanwhile, DVP and i read an article that claims that we should communicate and spend lots of time together since we'll be having an LDR and he is taking it literally.We are doing that a lot.. and I'm not complaining . think of all the women out there who wish their boyfriends could say more than 'hi, where is the remote?' to them in the house! I'll be taking the remaining weeks of this month to bond and de-bond ( as he calls it when we are not bonding but heading the opposite direction...) who knows, i think I'm getting a well deserved holiday to some island...
I'm not so creative today, so I'll leave.
He has been gone for 31 days now. I'm not counting; I actually had to pause to look at the calendar... Well, I remember the day he left, and I know today's date…He is coming back before 15th March he says. I don't know why I've thought of him today, more than I have ever done since we met. And they were not only thoughts of him as my boyfriend, but him as a man too. The man who is not scared to go after what he wants, even if he had to sacrifice things in his life to get that one thing that he so desires. The man who is so loyal to his friends that when he promises to be there to pick up people he does not know just coz his pal asked him to from the airport and show them round Africa, he does that. Make no mistake, he is no doormat - he is loyal. The man who makes promises he will keep. So much so that he got in trouble with me for keeping a promise he had made to a woman he'd met before me.
He is a man all right, annoying yet superbly male. Maddening yet exciting. Exasperating yet stimulating. You know, the painfully evident maleness that we love and love to hate. Like letting out air from any possible opening and thinking it's all right, maybe, who knows, they still think it's cool. But at the same time, admire the courage and the confidence they have within them to be able to actually do that in front of us without blinking. The familiarity they have to be uncouth and still expect to be loved unconditionally and still want to wear the King of Our Hearts mantle. The coming home drunk and thinking that they have never smelt better and they have never been a better lover that them at that point in time, which happens to be around 3 am. Prodding and probing till they think they have hit bull's eye, which almost all the time is 5 inches away from the real eye.
Don't get me wrong, He has not reached this level yet, but I know a couple of years down the line, he is. How do I know? B'coz no matter how different they are out there, deep down, it's a male gene thing. We have jerks, bastards and self-acclaimed gentlemen, but a couple of years with the woman of their (wet) dreams, they trail a certain code of conduct that can be somewhat traced to The Flintstones. And the beauty of it all, we love to take care of these lovely crude princes in decaying behavioral armor and manners that would make 3 year olds cringe.
I've been thinking of all the other men I know and how much shyte I'd prepared to take from them, how much I'd be willing to stomach. Truth be told, not very many sniffed the finishing line. And that wok me up to the realization of what love (that strong feeling we have about a person) can make you overlook. I mean if a man farted in front of me that would be the end of any mushy thoughts I'd have had for him. But even when we meet them for the first time, and to your awe-struck minds they seem like the beat thing ever since sliced bread, at the back of our minds, we know that later, in the not s distant future, comfortability sets in and out goes the fresh air. I've picked farting coz it's uncouth yes, but it's the last in the group of crudeness.
Having listed the thing I admire in a man (ha ha), I miss mine. Badly.
I've had a week from Helven. That is that gray area where Hell starts and Heaven ends, where you cannot really tell if the Sulphur is burning you too much or the divine winds are calming you. I've laughed and I have cried. I've loved and I have not loved so much. I do get motion sickness, especially emotions motion. Those are the most horrible of all rides.
I've had to question my feelings for the most important people in my life and been through what I'd call the Litmus Test of Life. I've had to put myself in improbable situations, because that was the only way I'd make the crucial decisions concerning my life's direction and my innermost feelings.
Now, I don't regret things in my life, but of times like this, I strongly feel I do. Like joining MySpace. I joined it so that I could talk bout my life in a space that I did not feel I owed anyone the decency to try and be normal. In a space where I would rant and rave and not risk the probability of having the recipient turn me off or start avoiding me. In a space where I could say what I thought about people in my life, thoughts that I don't have the courage to express to them. Yet. In a space where I could open my heart for the world to judge, without necessarily having to sit through the retribution. Not that I fear retribution, criticism or judgment. It's the way that the world delivers it that annoys me. The backstabbing, the pointy fingers, the hushed tones, and the downcast glances…are what I can't take.
MySpace offered the chance to display Me(rcy). Unplugged. And now as I write this, I'm faced with the hugest dilemma ever. I cannot say what has happened through the week. Because it involves MySpacers who are very close to me. Not that I have anything bad to say about my friends, but I'm sure that some of the things would put some in trouble, me included, and some would tell them what I really think of them and well, that wont go down well. Not even with a cup of hot cocoa.
So, I'm just going to start sourcing for a new blogging page, where no one knows me and I don't get to spend time with my readers, lest I'm tempted to write about them. And hope that the man in my life does not know about lest I get out of line. For me now, MySpace is loosing its allure and its anonymity. No that they was much anonymity there anyway, but well, then, still.
Note: I'm moving all my blogs from MySpace
Haven't talked for a while… well, things been happening, and not really happening at the same time. I feel like I've been progressing, only to look back and feel like I've going under, and since I my eyes are still above the ground, I do not notice that my depth of field is getting smaller***
DVP (Danish Viking Prince) left for Uganda, for what is meant to be a month. Meant to be since he happened to mention in passing that he got himself 2 months visa. Now, I have no problem with the freedom he enjoys at being away (sounds like he is trying to get fresh air away from me… I swear it's not like that!!), but for a guy who is going to be gone from me for the next one and half or so years….
He loves the outdoors, no sweat, but Kenya is known for its great outdoor too!! And I'm always happy to relinquish the love-hold (mmmh) for my partner's hobbies and interest. I mean, he has threatened to leave me at the altar…. hold on, I'm jumping way ahead of myself here. Let me start well…
He is a birdwatcher. Not the 'Oh-look-what-a-cute-little-bird-that-is!' kind of birdwatcher. He is the 'That's-the – Seychelles-Magpie-Robin- (Copsychus sechellarum) -only-178-of-them-in-the-world-as-of-2005…' kind of birdwatcher. The kind that will leave bed at 5am to watch the birds, the kind tht will be kisisng you then whisper 'Beautiful' and I'll eb smilling with all the adoration and he will say ' Not you, the Rose-breasted Grosbeak on that tree' and even 'oh' will be too much a word for me to say then. The kind that once told me a story of a birdwatcher who left his own wedding to go see a rare that rarer bird that had just been spotted. The said groom had to choose between being in his wedding read- risk loosing his future wife, and go see some f-ing (personal feeling) bird.
The fact that he could identify with the said groom's predicament made me shiver… down to my last nerve ending! He could what? See what a tough decision the man had to make? Mmmh. So that's here the altar leaving threat came in. And, being the woman that I am, the one who does not let anything – not even a double breasted cuckoo (if that's what's it's called) get in way of my happyness (tells you I've watched a movie recently). So I vowed, to him, that if ever we get married, No one in the wedding hall (or whatever we get married in) will have a cell phone. If I have to pay a bouncer to perform a body search at the entrance and confiscate all cellphone..or any other type of communicating gadget, so be it! And if that is not enough, the wedding will be held in he remotest of islands where not even smoke signals, echoes across hills or even drum beats work.. He got the picture alright. And to drive the point home, as we watched Apolcalypto, I thought, ' couldn't get a more perfect setting for my wedding…if I indeed end up with the DVP.
I realize that I have talked a lot about wedding… funny. Thing is, I don't even know if I want one.. with him or any one else. I mean, every time I see a wedding dress (and I'm not talking about those that make you look like you're about to defy gravity and use it as an air balloon for your honeymoon destination) and look like the tailor had nothing else to do with all the yards of laces in his shop)
Gotta go now.. stolen enough company time.. not that I feel guilty or anything- I mean, who bothers when I spend my lunch hours working?
***depth of field: the distance between the clearest and dicern-able object and the eye. Used in filming. Basically.. how much can the etye see that is not blurred?.. that is your DOF (don't quote me though, I caught the teacher at the door when I was walking into that class.)
Being the liberal open-minded person that I am (claim to be), I set out to finding once and for all, whether I was all-the-way straight or half-bent… as that would be the opposite. Might as well before waking up one day, hubby, 2.5 kids, a dog and picket fence years down the line, only to discover that I love of the feminine body feel, apart from mine, of course. I do have my fights as to why one group that adheres to a certain sexual conduct is called straight. I mean straight, as an adjective, denotes perfect, upright, undiluted, neat, pure, and my personal least favorite, unadulterated. Which goes not so far as to imply that the other no-so-popular group of individuals have to contend with the antonyms of the above oh-so glorious titles. Anyway, that is a fight I'll pick one day…
Did I like it? Yes …and No.
Yes, I loved the exquisiteness and marvel of the female body. The susceptible dip below the jawbone; that tender spot between the collarbone and the shoulder blade… that yielding part that if you looked really hard at, you would see the rhythmical beating of the heart…the gentle rise of the breasts, the swell of their fullness topped by the leisurely hardening nipples, begging, craving for attention, beseeching the tongue to skim over the tops, if only to lick, or even to brush gently with the thumb…The persuasive way that the breasts mould up, defying the rest of the body, jutting forward to proudly declare that they need consideration. And then the deep sigh I elicit when my palms enclose their full mold, encompass them in my hand and gently fondle, caress, squeeze and stoke. As my hand plays havoc with the little of senses that the fabulous and exciting mold has left, if any, my tongue sucks, nibbles, blows, and flicks over the other one. The underside of the arms, those covert places that respond to that ever so slight feather touch. And then lower along her sides, by the ribs so lightly patterned. Then move lower to the stomach, to the ever so elusive but wondrous navel, to the side where the definition of femininity resides - the moderate curve of the hips. And as she bends he knees - probably to receive more, probably because she can't stay still, or probably because it is a conditioned reflex that is directly proportional to the amount of pleasure that she is getting – exposing that side of the thigh that is hardly ever seen. That silky-smooth skin that is kept hidden and secret, that which only the fingers, and sometimes the tongue knows the feel of. And then to view comes the sleek triangle, the invitation to veiled pleasures lower below. And past the triangle, draws closer the tiny bundle of nerves that by now is so hard it is on the verge of exploding. The legs that were bent are no apart, the pink opening leading to the dark delightful enclave, inviting, tempting, daring like the little mold, enticing, beguiling, appealing, engaging, tantalizing, and ah! wanting…I have not even gone beyond to the those places behind the knees, the curve of the calves, the supple skin below the ankles, the soles, the heels, the toes…
No, I still missed the masculine feel, the sinew muscles as they flexed with each move he makes; the swell of his arms as he stretches them forth to all parts of my body, catching every single cell unaware yet deftly pleasuring. Then the taut impression of his chest, those firm hard nipples that tighten with every touch of my fingers… the feel of him as he moves atop of me, his breath on my skin, taunting my pores to open to reception. The roughness of his chin as it scrapes on my chest, nipples, my stomach and lower still. His washboard flat stomach, down under to the aching maleness…and finally, as he pries me open, and drives home…not even a thousand dildo's and all other invented toys come close to the sensation I get when he feels me, as my muscles relax to accommodate the size of him alive inside me, then the contraction of the same muscles as he thrusts purposefully in and out of my warmth…
Have to go, will continue tomorrow...
Did not want to blog during Christmas just in case anyone felt sorry for me...not that you would have had time to read this that day anyway.. I think Christmas, like other 'love/romantic/ family holidays are overrated. I mean, everyone would rather stay indoors and just chill, instead of pushing through throngs of people to buy presents you can always get on any other given day (forget the fact that they at this time, they are overpriced), and having to cope with relatives who would rather talk about how much you've grown, changed, blossomed, grown rich.. blah blah and you feel like screaming...SHUT UP....this whole thing is a farce!! anyway, despite all that, no one wants to spend those days alone, and you always feel bad if you have to...look at this way, I do not recognize Thanksgiving, to me is any other day, but some American (woman) will wail at the fact that she has to spend (another) Thanksgivings alone...and its hard to ignore that day when everyone is all fuss about it..
Anyway, I spent the day in bed, with the most handsome, strongest men ever imagined. YES, imagined. I watched all Spidermans, Supermans..even the Christopher Reeve ones, X-men, then graduated (ha ha) to fairy tales...and to drive the point home to my heart, i picked the animated ones... Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast, Snow white...what more could a gal want???? and after watching all those, i actually did feel wonderful, blissful, kinda floaty...and a deep part of me concurred with my brain that i will forever believe in fairy tales and magic and all those things wonderful and the lovely surprises that make life a notch better. Which cames true for me few days after Christmas.
I met a man, and hit with an intensity that would shame the California fires!! And by new year, we were cooking together, watching the stars and enjoying the silence of the night...and in our own special style, we ushered in the new year.
A Danish Viking Prince, in all his glory (my knight in sleeping armor i call him, because he looks so good while asleep) i know, i know...
I'm still reeling from the whirlwhind of it all. I mean, can you believe that we even went for a HIV test ( annoying part of living in this century is that the Prince and Princess have to go through that little distraction in their fairy filled life or endure what i call Condomercial Breaks...
All in the same breath, i got a beautiful house (Castle) , which i gladly live in with my Irish Pal (mmmh, a twist in the tale) and my Danish viking Prince. I have to explain the Prince part. You see.. his father once did a family tree, and yes, he is of royal blood, though some generations removed.. (the lengths i wont go into!!) Then i began my new job in the Advertising Agency, which i have to say, cant wait to get my teeth into coz it is damn fun.
My lunch break is over, i have to get back to my job...and i have more to look forward to..the going home part of it. Not loosing any glass slipper on the way either!
Did i mention that the Danish viking Prince is around for four months...in which i get to savor all the delicacies Denmark has to offer... (and I'm not talking about Danish cookies ) do you think they like fat Danish Princesses??