I try to be funny when I’m writing. Often, I ask myself, ‘How do I balance this sadness with some gangsta lines that will make readers laugh?’ Because I don’t want you leaving my blog feeling sad; I want you reflective, maybe even smiling, thinking she’s funny. So, am I hitting the mark? Let me know in the comments. I love hearing from you – real people with real feelings, who love avocados and are mad at their current prices. I hope it’s not just AI bots reading this!
Today, I’ve decided to take a different approach. I’m daring myself to be vulnerable. Eish! That word is a big word for us. Vulnerability often feels like letting someone see your sock drawer without first removing the ones with holes. So here I am, without my usual book of gangsta lines, talking about big feelings.
I’m happy that I’m here, writing to you after a year-long hiatus. Inspiration has been tough to come by. The demands of earning a living have weighed heavy on me. In the endless slog of battling Thika road traffic and exchanging ‘kind regards’ throughout the day, inspiration has been scarce. Life has felt… monotonous. These days, Nairobi’s charm has dimmed, especially when your life is just a cycle of office-home-office. The monotony eats away at your soul. Your imagination dims. It’s a bit like taking photos with an itel phone camera — everything looks so 2012.
Now, I look for joy in the little things. Like the babies who wave ‘hi’ on the matatu or stray dogs that walk me home, their silent company keeping me safe as they hope for a snack. I watch sunrises, at least for five minutes, before I rush off to Thika road traffic. I hum to myself when I am cooking and dance when I am cleaning. Twitter witches say you need to invite joy into your home through dancing — I think they might be onto something. I hug my friends frequently and we go for comedy nights together. We laugh a lot and there is enough joy to go around. Gratitude to my friends who make Nairobi worth living in. Thank you for air.
I am also sad. I was one of those delulu girlies who ate grapes and ran around with a suitcase on New Year’s Eve, hoping to manifest something special. But it seems like my wishes got abducted by the DCI or couldn’t pay KRA taxes at the airport. I blame Ruto really…because si everything is his fault, no? I even bought a year planner for 2024… but now, I think I’ll buy something else next year. My therapist (yes, I’m one of those people now) keeps asking me to introspect: how long have I been sad? What am I sad about?
Honestly, I’m not sure I’m sad; I’m just tired. Tired and in desperate need of a win. Life’s burdens are coming at me fast, one after another, sometimes multiple curveballs at a go, and I’m just looking for some respite. You probably want to hear more about these burdens, don’t you? I am not at that level of vulnerability yet. Maybe in the next post.
Fearful — that’s another feeling I’ve been sitting with. In my body lives this condition doctors call PCOS, and it has been relentless. I’ve had to quit my 8-year relationship with the gym, a space I loved. This year, I was determined to see some results, but PCOS had other plans. Again, I blame Ruto really, because si everything is his fault? PCOS hit me with a 30+ day period, my body laughing at the meds meant to stop it. But here I am, better now, thanks to a friendly doctor. Still, the malady has drained both my accounts and my medical insurance, leaving me with hope and prayers as my medical cover. Guys, nataka muniombee.
But I’m hopeful. I’m hopeful that I’ll write more in the coming weeks. Do any of you have vacation money to send me? I promise, inspiration can be found on a beach in Diani. Test me with your money and watch the magic happen! If not, send me one of those Nairobi lawyers — we all know heartbreaks are goldmines for creatives. I’m hopeful that the friendships I’m nurturing will endure and last through the hazards to come. I am hopeful that deals zitaivana. I am manifesting good governance for this country (God knows we need it). I’m also manifesting a wine-red Toyota Auris and someone to read poetry to me as the sun rises on a Sunday morning. I am hopeful that life gets better.
Flannery O’Connor once wrote, “Fiction is about everything human, and we are made out of dust. If you scorn getting yourself dusty, you shouldn’t try to write fiction.” Sometimes I look at the dusty life we’re living in Nairobi and think, maybe that’s the point. We’re all a little dusty, a little messy and maybe that’s what makes life worth writing about.
So, here I am, a little dusty, a little tired, but still hopeful. Because at the end of the day, we all need a bit of hope, a bit of laughter, and a bit of dust. And maybe, that’s what makes this story ours. And hey, if you have any spare vacation money lying around, I am ready to find inspiration on a beach in Diani. Just saying.