of being maternal and other things...

If you ask me, the last thing I would ever describe myself as is maternal. I don't like kids, I think they poop a lot, cry a lot and just don't know when to shut up. That was me, a few years back. I am not exactly a kids person per say but the interesting thing is that kids just like me. With the risk of sounding like am tooting my own horn I am a baby magnet. Kids just love me. I don't think I do anything cute and cuddly around them but for some reason kids get along with me. I can't explain it but someone once told me it is a good thing because I am naturally maternal. I don't really know what that means but it makes me go to this place where I wonder how I will be if I ever became a mum. I wonder whether being gay will affect my chances of having a cute cuddly baby of my own. Whether the law will ever change to allow homosexuals to adopt. I wonder whether we will ever be recognised as having the same rights. The right to love whoever you want to love. I love this new trait I have discovered about myself. Who knew being maternal is a good thing. I am still not crazy about kids but am sure glad there is something in me that makes kids comfortable, loved and nurtured when they are around me.

Conflicted silence...

Doom,

Gloom,

No more boom!

No more screaming,

No more shouting,

When anger turns to sadness,

Then back to anger,

When your screaming and kicking,

Throwing things,

Cussing,

But its all in your head,

That's conflicted silence,

When I want to shout fuck you!to the world,

But silence be gets me,

When anger turns to sadness,

That's conflicted silence.

Expert advice for wanna be writers

If you want to be a writer, write. Write again, write some more, and even when no one has time to read your stuff, write it anyway.

                                                                                         -Oyunga Pala

Suits and boobs....

Am on quite the roll today, I think its something to do with the lack of lights, no woman in my bed, rain, beautiful weather, I love the cold  by the way...oooops!am side tracking. There is something about a butch woman, not any kind of butch, the kind who wears fitting pants not saggy ones, the kind who wears button-down shirts and not tee shirts, the kind who will put on bow ties and suspendors, the kind not afraid to throw on a three-piece suit tailored to perfection. There is something about a woman not afraid to play with masculinity but not loose her femininity. As I write this a certain butch comes to mind, woof!she is the kind of woman who oozes sex appeal just by the way she is dressed. Makes my panties a little wet.

I love a woman who is not into suits but will wear it because she knows you like how she looks. A woman with a surprisingly trashy bra under that suit.Three words. Ties. Cufflinks. Vests. Bow ties that can untie. French-cut dress shirts and cuff links.

. 

Ties, button down shirts, blazers, belts, shoes, watches. A good scent and am not talking about a man's cologne, a light fruity-musk will do, the kind that makes me want to eat you up. Last but not least well maintained hair. There is something about this kind of a woman...

Birthday people and not birthday people..

"Oh!my God..it's my birthday month...team Sagitarrius...legoooo!!!!...keep calm!it's my birthday week...can't wait...exciiiiited..." Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me...."

Over the years, through my different ages I have come to notice one thing...there are birthday people and not birthday people. Birthday people are those guys who cannot, excuse my French, shut up about their birthday. They will talk about their previous birthday all year round and especially bore us to death when their birthday month reaches. These are the kind of people who will fuss, bordering hysteria when it comes to this "special" dates. They will demand attention, gifts, time...you could think birthdays are an accomplishment. These types, for your information, annoy and irritate me...a lot.

"Uuuuuuum...what day is this? *checkscalendar*...holy fuck!I forgot...it's my birthday."

I fall in the not birthday people category. Maybe it's because I am slightly morbid with a splash of cynicism but mostly it's because I hate being centre of attention. People like me simply do not give two shits about our birthdays. Sure we will have a shot or the whole bottle but we do not make a big deal out of it. The hulla ballo and pretence surrounding the party is exhausting for us. We are better off celebrating with close friends, monkeying around and making memories with people that matter. As opposed to screaming through the rooftops "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY" the whole world will acknowledge it with a wish but roll their eyes behind your back. The whole world will show up for free food and drinks and gossip about how boring the party was. The whole world will show up just to be seen, to be said, to be heard, to Instagram that they came, but when real shit going down booboo, the world will be nowhere go be found.

Do not get me wrong, hulla ballo is a good thing...I just prefer mine dialled down a notch.

30-year old me...

People fret alot at the thought of turning an year older,

For most it is an uncomfortable unsure feeling,

Almost gut wrenching,

Not me though,

Something about turning 30 excites me,

Gives me butterflies,

A bitter sweet jittery feeling,

I am hopeful that by 30 I will be at the top of my game,

Cannot wait to see how much I would have grown,

Cannot wait to see who will have stuck it out with me,

Can't wait to look back and reminisce on my good ol' twenties,

Can't wait to meet the 30 year old me,

I bet she will be to die for.

Ignorance is not bliss

It was one of those days, I was lazily dragging my feet across the busy and chaotic town of Nairobi. I was secretly hoping that class is cancelled before I get there when I bumped into someone I know. After the very unnecessary small talk, he tells me that for the life of him he cannot remember where he parked his car. After a quick consolation he blurts out "ama ni A.D.D" "Hooooold!!!!up...what did you just say? Did you just attribute forgetting where you parked to having A.D.D." That was the first thought that crossed my mind.

Here is my problem, first of all attention deficit hyperactivity disorder is an actual mental illness that people go through. Excuse my French but what the fuck!! You think it is cool to throw around words because you think you are smart but with the risk of sounding like an absolute bitch, ignorance, me thinks, is not bliss. This guy probably does not even know what A.D.D stands for, leave alone the fact that it is no longer called A.D.D but A.D.H.D. This is an actual serious disorder characterised primarily by inattention, easy distractibility, disorganisation, procastination and forgetfulness not forgetting where you parked your car and people live their whole lives through medication to try and control it. It is not a funny disease, it is not a word you casually throw around because you think it makes you look smart. On the contrary, you come off like an ignorant prick and trust me that is not a good look.

I have come across very many people like this guy who simply do not give a rat's ass about what is going on in the world. It is of absolute importance that people realise that keeping tabs on the latest tweet is not cool, being cool is actually caring about what is happening around you. Being in touch with national and international matters. Real shit is going down in the world and I do not mean your next Instagram upload.

Ignorance is not bliss, read a book, your brain wun't pain...

of identity and other things..

  My first "gay" party was on May 17th, during IDAHOBIT, this was basically our pride day. We still have a long way to go in terms of acceptance and breaking conservative norms but what stood out the most to me is the fine line between butch and femme. There were girls in sagged jeans and boxer shorts with punk hair cuts and piercings. The kind of girls who look like they could punch you in the face for just saying hi. Then there were the girls with jump suits, lots of make up and 6 inch heels. Then there was little old me, khakis, a braided up do and purple lips. I felt like a kid on their first day of school, I simply could not fit in. This brings me to blog about identity and where you place yourself in the lesbian world. Problem is, my dear readers, that I simply have no idea which category I fall. I know for a fact that you would only catch me dead in baggy jeans and boxer shorts but at the same time I do not do dresses and heels. I love my mascara,eye liner and of course my pink lip stick  but I do not particularly feel like I conform to being femme. I am me, I ooze femininity but I think butch. I love my make up but I would never wear a dress. My jeans are always  very fitting but I love my converse too. Why can't we just be gay and love who we love. It is hard enough that I already identify as queer in a country which is plagued by social norm and heterosexuality.

Kiyomi Mcloskey, lead singer and guitarist for Hunter Valentine an alternative rock band said, "for me, I embrace them. However much I like being a tomboyish woman if I want to wear lipstick and show my cleavage, I will. I do not live by the definitions of anyone else's opinion of what I should be. I really respect the individuals who laid down the ground work for our community, but I feel like people should be open on any given day. The fact that we spend time and energy telling people they cannot be who they are is very surprising. We are meant to be open."

And with that my dear people, I am who I am. I love women, I love converse, I love my pink lipstick. Fuck labels, its never that serious.

Need inspiration...

Aaaaaaaaaaaargh!!!!writers block....:(