Fire Child.
She is fierce

She is a child of the fire

Clothed in the warmth of the sun and the heat of it’s flames

She walks the earth 

She scorches the earth

Her feet leave smoking prints as she trudges on

She wanders

She walks the desert day and night – illuminating

Brighter than the sun itself, brighter than the moon

She lights the way for her own children as her mother – sun, lit hers

She is a child of the fire

She is fierce.


Conversations with my alter ego.

What you’re about to read is sort of an interview. A dialogue. A conversation between my alter ego(Queer) and I(Tess). It is just a page from my weird imagination in an attempt to know what happiness really is. If you get confused, don’t worry, it happens to many people when they try to decipher a way through the maze in my head☺
T: What is happiness to you?

Q: Happiness? 

Um, wearing a clean bra☺

Being gifted happy socks on any occasion, blisssss.

Eating ugali and omena and it’s not even my birthday, wtf ily!

T: Let’s be realistic here for a moment.

Q: And what’s nonrealistic about hygiene and multicolored socks and favorite meals? They seem pretty real to me.

T: Okay then. What “psychological” things make you happy?

Q: What’s with the air quotes? Well, not constantly over thinking about stuff would make me happy.

T: So you’re saying you are an over thinker?

Q: No. You’re the over thinker. I like to sit in the background, pour myself a glass of sangria and watch the proceedings. You can be quite a skeptic sometimes.

T: Back to the happiness bit. What makes you happy that isn’t vanity?

Q: Well when you put it that way…hmm.

I would say the little things in life really. A great panorama, moments I’m alone with my thoughts and we’re not over thinking, deep conversations with people ow, like that guy you like, what’s his name?

T: We can’t say that here!

Q: Oh shit! My apologies. But why not Tess? A blog’s purpose is self expression, isn’t it?

T: It is but that’s not why we’re here. And nobody cares about stuff like that Queer. You were saying?

Q: Ah yes. Being somewhere with my people, kicking it, listening to some great music, discussing our big dreams and sharing plans for megalomania. That makes me happy. 

Living in the moment, you know? Cuddling. Taking long reflective walks. When I write something awesome, that feeling is everything Tess.

T: Who are “your people”?

Q: Again with the air quotes…Weirdos like me are my people.

Also “non-weirdos” who get me. That’s how to properly use air quotes BTW.

T: What about family?

Q: What about them?

T: How do you relate happiness with family?

Q: If my mum is happy, I’m happy. If my family is happy, then I’m happy.

T: So what is happiness to you?

Q: Um, happiness is not one thing Tess. I can’t put one thing in a box and label it happiness. That’s just sad. Happiness is many different things which can only be put in a large space where it is free to burst out into different colors, bounce off walls, hang from the light bulb, play with the light switch, bang the doors, break some windows, draw on the white walls with crayons, rearrange the furniture, sing out loud, cry like a baby, stare in awe, wave frantically out the window at passers-by, do some cartwheels, run around in circles and sit down peacefully. That’s just it. It’s many things,some of which we have never heard of in our entire lives. Happiness to me is many things. You get?

T: Um.Wow. If I didn’t know better, I would say you just described a crazy person in an asylum. 

Q: I’m glad you know better Tess. So what about you? What is happiness to you?

T: Whatever makes you happy makes me happy. We are the same person after all ,aren’t we?

Q: I like it when we’re on the same page☺

(Q-Queer. T-Tess.) Why I have an alter ego is a story for another day. What is happiness to you though? Let me know in the comments.

Nice weekend peeps✌

Conversations with my alter ego.

Uploading…
What you’re about to read is sort of an interview. A dialogue. A conversation between my alter ego(Queer) and I(Tess). It is just a page from my weird imagination in an attempt to know what happiness really is. If you get confused, don’t worry, it happens to many people when they try to decipher a way through the maze in my head☺
T: What is happiness to you?

Q: Happiness? 

Um, wearing a clean bra☺

Being gifted happy socks on any occasion, blisssss.

Eating ugali and omena and it’s not even my birthday, wtf ily!

T: Let’s be realistic here for a moment.

Q: And what’s nonrealistic about hygiene and multicolored socks and favorite meals? They seem pretty real to me.

T: Okay then. What “psychological” things make you happy?

Q: What’s with the air quotes? Well, not constantly over thinking about stuff would make me happy.

T: So you’re saying you are an over thinker?

Q: No. You’re the over thinker. I like to sit in the background, pour myself a glass of sangria and watch the proceedings. You can be quite a skeptic sometimes.

T: Back to the happiness bit. What makes you happy that isn’t vanity?

Q: Well when you put it that way…hmm.

I would say the little things in life really. A great panorama, moments I’m alone with my thoughts and we’re not over thinking, deep conversations with people ow, like that guy you like, what’s his name?

T: We can’t say that here!

Q: Oh shit! My apologies. But why not Tess? A blog’s purpose is self expression, isn’t it?

T: It is but that’s not why we’re here. And nobody cares about stuff like that Queer. You were saying?

Q: Ah yes. Being somewhere with my people, kicking it, listening to some great music, discussing our big dreams and sharing plans for megalomania. That makes me happy. 

Living in the moment, you know? Cuddling. Taking long reflective walks. When I write something awesome, that feeling is everything Tess.

T: Who are “your people”?

Q: Again with the air quotes…Weirdos like me are my people.

Also “non-weirdos” who get me. That’s how to properly use air quotes BTW.

T: What about family?

Q: What about them?

T: How do you relate happiness with family?

Q: If my mum is happy, I’m happy. If my family is happy, then I’m happy.

T: So what is happiness to you?

Q: Um, happiness is not one thing Tess. I can’t put one thing in a box and label it happiness. That’s just sad. Happiness is many different things which can only be put in a large space where it is free to burst out into different colors, bounce off walls, hang from the light bulb, play with the light switch, bang the doors, break some windows, draw on the white walls with crayons, rearrange the furniture, sing out loud, cry like a baby, stare in awe, wave frantically out the window at passers-by, do some cartwheels, run around in circles and sit down peacefully. That’s just it. It’s many things,some of which we have never heard of in our entire lives. Happiness to me is many things. You get?

T: Um.Wow. If I didn’t know better, I would say you just described a crazy person in an asylum. 

Q: I’m glad you know better Tess. So what about you? What is happiness to you?

T: Whatever makes you happy makes me happy. We are the same person after all ,aren’t we?

Q: I like it when we’re on the same page☺

(Q-Queer. T-Tess.) Why I have an alter ego is a story for another day. What is happiness to you though? Let me know in the comments.

Nice weekend peeps✌

Gallery

Leo.

His name is Leo. He is in my Psych class. I like to pronounce his name in Swahili; today. 

Today. Now. The present. 

I would like him to be part of my present and my future. Sometimes I lay awake in bed at night and lie to myself that I’ll do it today. 

I pick up the phone, dial his number and say ,”Leo ni leo. Today I’ll let him know. Today I’ll tell him who I am. Asemaye kesho ni mwongo.” 

Of course I’m the liar because I never pull it off.  I never press the call button. I lie to myself everyday and I cower into the darkness yet again.

I dream of him sometimes. I can’t tell him that though. What would he think? We barely know each other. Actually , he doesn’t know me at all. I might as well be a spec of dust on the lenses of his glasses.

It doesn’t keep me from dreaming about him though.

I bet his laugh is the most beautiful sound I would ever hear. I would love to listen to him laugh at my bad jokes, again and again.

I wonder if his afro is as soft as it looks. It looks like a puffy black cloud. One that brings rain and  keeps us inside all day, to cuddle.

And his touch. What would that feel like? His hands are callused. Does he play an instrument or practice an art at his free time? Can he hold me in his arms like a Spanish guitar?

At this point, I feel like a stalker. I should stop before I become obsessed. 

Maybe he hates animals. Maybe he wears neon pink knickers. Maybe he is one of those people who are allergic to avocados (gasp!) . This is my way of unwinding myself from this downward spiral of obsession I’m heading into. 

But just when I’m starting to get over this feeling, just when I’m starting to put my mind into other things, the unexpected happens.

Planets align, the universe conspires to give me hope and fate sprinkles some fairy dust on us. Today, we made eye contact. It was slight but I felt a tug in my tummy. 

“It was probably nothing, just pure coincidence,” I think to myself. But at lunch time, he heads my way, sits next to me and says, “Hey Hannah. I hope you don’t mind me joining you today?”

Today, I found out he actually knows who I am.

~TheQueerPoet~

(Do you guys believe in fate by the way? I’m really curious to know. Let me know in the comments?:D)

With Victor.

I was feeling restless on Sunday night so I stepped out for some air. It was one of those chilly Eldoret nights with no clouds and plenty stars to stare at. I love these nights. They bring out the weirdo in me, like a full moon does a werewolf. So I took my weird self for a walk outside.

Victor saw me as I was leaving the compound and he followed me outside. We stood right outside the gate, along the murram road. Trees were rustling in the wind. It was slightly dark outside and all I could see were vague silhouettes of people passing by. Even on a Sunday night people are rushing up and down.

Victor and I just stood there staring at these busy humans. I was wearing this long pale green jacket I usually sleep in. I could only imagine how I looked in the dark. Awkward, suspicious maybe. This elderly woman with a flashlight passed me and slowed down to look at Victor and I. She was so close I could smell her. She smelled like chapatis. Seriously. She is probably one of those people who cook chapatis on Sundays. I know these people exist because my mum was not one of them. She would make us eat ugali and murenda on Sunday as my neighbors cooked chapos. Anyways, she shone her flashlight at me, then Victor, then walked away mumbling incoherent things. I giggled and looked at Victor. He looked at me and seemed to shrug. We probably had the same thought about that lady. 

I was wearing my glasses so the night looked as clear as day. Victor saw it before I did so he signaled me. “A bird? No, birds aren’t nocturnal.” It was a bat! Blind, winged, fanged mammal, known to be a carrier of rabies. It was flying my way. I couldn’t move. Not out of fright, just out of laziness. I didn’t want to move and disrupt the sense of oneness with the earth I had cultivated but eventually I ducked right at the last minute. Victor gave me a look that said,”SMH.”

More people pass and stare. All sorts of silhouettes of people. I swear I saw a man smoking a pipe pass by. Then this man who was going down the murram road stopped in his tracks and stared at us for close to 5minutes. We practically eyeballed each other. Then he started walking towards us. I couldn’t move again. This time out of fright and realization. I should have known a night like that brought out weirdos far worse than me. Crazies, psychos,…..serial killers  o_O  And my companion is a passive aggressive K9.

“The two of you paint quite a picture. The dark background, the stary sky. You could fill a canvas,” he said as he walked towards us.

Victor was on edge. He stood up and got ready for whatever was to happen next. 

“Um, thank you. I didn’t realize,” I said, trying to conceal my fright.

“What’s his name?”

“Victor.”

“It suits him,” he said and walked away. I think even Victor breathed a sigh of relief. 

I thought it was high time I went back inside. Victor looked like he wasn’t ready to go. As I walked back inside, I looked back at Victor. He was staring up the road at something. He set off at a trot and all I saw was his chopped tail, like a bunny’s, disappear into the darkness.

I shut the gate and walked towards the house, thinking of the strange man and what he said about Victor and I. He is probably an artist. 

We did make quite the picture , a girl and a dog standing in the darkness.

Ps: Happy birthday to Muthoni Maina♥ Lol( yaani Lots of love) brother,ha♥

WHERE DREAMS COME TO DIE.

This place where I was born and raised. This place that saw me come to birth. My parents met here. Their parents died here. In this place, not beautiful, just easy on the eyes. 

Once an oasis now an encroaching desert. Almost overpopulated, already full of pollution. All sorts of pollution. Forgotten virtues, praised vices. Yet full of warm hearted people. Kindered spirits. Beautiful souls. Kids with promising futures. Wisened old folks. Ride or dies. Friends for keeps. The realest  people are found right here. 

Dreamers too.

But this is not a place for dreamers. Nobody dares to dream anymore here. Dreams bring heartache. This is the place where dreams come to die. The pollution in this place kills dreams. Kills them slowly, like a cancer. And you have no choice but to let it die, watch it die, sit by it’s bedside and hold it’s hand as the light in it’s eyes go out and you too die a little inside.

You have two choices here :

  1. Don’t dream and stay.
  2. Dare to dream and leave.

How can you leave home? If it is toxic you leave. With your dream dead and your heart broken, it’s easier to leave this place where dreams come to die.

False tourist, sweet stranger.

I’m lost. 

Lost in a familiar place. It’s familiar because I’ve been here before,another time, another lifetime you could say.

I’m a false tourist without a guide and you are a sweet stranger. 

When I was here last time, I found a stranger just like you. And when I left this place, he was still a stranger to me. It was as if we never progressed in our adventures of this beautiful place.

And yet here I am again. And here you are.

Your smile is inviting. Your humour is lovely. Your laughter is contagious. 

I’m drawn to you like steel to a magnet. You call me to go adventure this place with you. To discover beautiful places with you.

I want to but I’m not quite sure. In the event that I leave this place again, I don’t want us to end up as strangers.

Could we? Will we? I am conflicted. My intuition tells me that we won’t be strangers at all. My intuition is always right so it’s what I will follow.