Easter Thoughts. Every Man Needs 7 Types of Friends in His life

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Every man needs seven type of friends to see him through this life.

Jesus had twelve disciples but seven different types of men he encountered help illustrate the point here;

»One true brother

His name was Joseph of Arimathea(not his foster father,but half brother).

The Bible says that he was Jesus’ relative.

He is the brother who requested to have Jesus’ body so he
could inter it in his new tomb.

Every man needs one real relative.

Someone who is not there to cut him down, but cut him some serious slack.

In Hebrew, Joseph means, “he will add”.

This kin brings courtesy to his kith’s issues.

Joseph is not a fair-weather cousin.

On the contrary, he is there
when earthquakes and darkness engulf your world.

»One soul brother

Bible scholars opine that Jesus and Peter were age mates.

They were what you would call “do-or-die” comrades.

Peter is an everyman.

One minute, to defend you,
he gives the fuzz “ear surgery” minus anaesthesia.

Same manic midnight he bails out on you and tells pilate that he has never seen your face.

He was nicknamed Rock.

Remember?

Sometimes even the Rock of Gibraltar succumbs to
the vagaries of the weather.

Peter is blue chip type of friend here,
regardless.

And you know it.

That is why you hold nothing against him,even when he renounces you.

Every guy has some fear issues sometimes.

You have got an inner circle. Then you have got the
soul mate.

At your word, he will defy gravity and
walk on water… even if for only three exhilarating seconds.

»One sly guy

Judas Iscariot.

Byword for betrayer-in-chief.

We have all got at least one in every 12 in our circle.

He maybe your homie or buddy, but he is not your chummy.

Why,“true and trustworthy” are nonexistent in his
Language.

Judas means virtuous handle.

Popular name in Jesus’
time.

In Hebrew, it is derived from Judah, meaning,
“Praise Yahweh”.

Besides, he was the disciples’
treasurer.
Saintly monikers and status symbols should not delude you.

Your Judas has issues.

Beneath that devout veneer are drawn daggers.

Like Christ, do not just call him out.

Know also the difference between his brotherly kisses and betrayal
signals.

Or else, after he is done, you will need the kiss of life.

»One helpful gentleman

Help can come from the oddest of faces and places.

Like Simon of Cyrenne. Aka Simon the Black.

This guy was a black slave.

When Christ was staggering
with the cross, the centurions forced Simon to carry it.

God will lead you to stumble upon helpers when you are at a crossroads.

Listen.

Unimpressive CVs and humbling back-stories should not dismay you.

In God’s scheme of things, your paths are crossing for righteous reasons.

Simon needs second chances;
you need “transport” to make your appointment.

This nondescript character may get a mere passing mention in your Bible.

However, every good turn
counts for tonnes and causes massive good ripple effects.

»Two damned rebels

Once you are caught between these two extremes,you will realise that the distance between amazing
grace and eternal damnation are two outstretched holy arms.

Barnabas and the thief come to mind in this case.

When you are in trouble together with this two guys,one is pleading for God’s mercy.

The latter is demeaning your royalty and reprieve.

Do not take it personal.

That is misdirected rage speaking.

You are sharing these accomplices’ public
punishment, but not their destinies.

While you are the master of yours, theirs hang in the balance.

If only they knew what is up.

God has orchestrated it so you can give hope to them through your patience in this shared suffering.

So that, through your situation, folks can witness that
even last-second turnaround can save any damned dude.

»One ruler who condemns you

When you are in Rome, man, never do as they do.

Instead, do what Christ did.

Keep your faith.

“You have stated the fact.”

That was my Lord’s
answer when Pontius Pilate — Roman governor —
asked the life-or-death question.

Men face situations where they either buckle under or keep the faith.

There is always some ruler
involved.

Guys may be controlled, (and
condemned), by all sorts of Pilates.

Peer pressure.

Rat race.

Weaknesses.

Green-eyed envy monster.

In his darkest hour, Christ asked God that, if it was His will, to pass over the cup.

But look what drinking it bought.

If it is God’s will then, Pontius, bring it on and i will conquer all this innocent suffering that is in my life.

»One righteous Redeemer

I have not put this at seven by fluke.

Seven is the number of resurrection, Father’s perfection and
spiritual completeness.

With this Redeemer in your fore castle, you can sleep
soundly in stormy seas… and dream your
dreams while you are at it.

Disclaimer: Christ has not
said that you will cruise through life absolutely
stress-free, but he has promised that
He will come through for you.

Always.

Christ will never condemn or demean you.

He is more than a relative: He is your (protector) big
brother who will carry all your burdens.

Here is to an insightful Easter.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Oh My Lord,What a Morning!

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This morning,
I went down in the valley to pray,
My body is weak and sickly,
But my soul got happy,
and I could have stayed there all day.

And all the visions of rapture,
That burst forth during my earnest prayer,
Of God’s Grace and mercy,
His fountains of blessings that have showered my life.

O My Lord, what a morning,
when the stars begin to fall!

When the sun refuse to shine,
when the moon goes down,
to the calm lake in the colour of blood!

In this great-getting-up morning,
I see the stars all falling,
the potent-forked-lightning,
Splitting the graves of the chosen open,
And the righteous marching,
to the tune of a heavenly trumpet!

I got a home in that rock of refuge,
That used to be my Lord’s tomb,
But has now become the strong-room for my soul,
Sheltered under God’s love and grace-
don’t you see?

And God’s bosom gonna be my pillow,
The righteous souls will be my witnesses,
for My Lord’s everlasting Grace
I’ve done my duty;
I’ve got on my travelling shoes.

I’m done crossing the line;
I’m done with regrets of leaving
this world behind.

This world could be left behind in visions,
I’ve got two wings to veil my face
I’ve got two wings to fly away. . . .

I see a-table-setting down with Lord Jesus,
Eating honey and drinking wine
Marching round my Father’s throne
With Peter, James, and John. . . .
I’m gonna feast,
and be welcome at table on the throne.

Take it easy now,my troubled soul and my sickly body;
Heaven means rest for you!

And when i’m done,
with this heavenly feast at the throne table,
I’m gonna tell God all my troubles.

When i finally get home . . .,
I’m gonna tell him the road was rocky,
When i finally get home….,
I’m gonna thank Him for His Grace,
And always holding my hand, through this life I’ve led down here.

But as of now,
I better mind that sun,
and see how she runs,
when i’m still down on this earth,
And mind you!,
I won’t let her catch me with my work undone.

God has got my number;
He knows where i live;
And when the time is ripe,
He’s gonna call me up to his throne,
And my tired soul will finally rest!

Devil you are a loser,
You only got a death’s warrant out for this vain body,
But my soul is safe in the strong-room of my Lord’s throne!

Oh my Lord,what a morning!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Defeat and Victory

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When faced with uncertainty,
I pray to have the patience, endurance, and vigour to stay in
that place of tension, and the courage to be alone.

I may be facing
the prospect of humiliating defeat, but I only continue
to work for just victory and victory alone!

The will of God prevails—In this two great contests in my life
each of which claims to act in accordance with
the will of God.

Both may be, and one must be wrong.

God can not be for, and
against the same thing at the same time.

In my present life, it is quite possible
that God’s purpose is something different from
the purpose of either of these two parties.

His purpose, I am
almost ready to say this is probably true—that
God wills this contest, and wills that it shall not end yet.

By His mere quiet power, on these two contestants, He could
save or allow cancer to destroy my life.

Yet the contest began—And having begun
He could give the final victory to either side
any day—Yet the contest proceeds—

Until the day it is really over,and then there will be eternal rest and bliss for my sick body and my troubled soul.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Fear Only Helps Build up Regrets For The Good Life We Would Have Had

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Fear is a part of most of our lives, there being
numerous factors that threaten our existence.

We fear poverty and unemployment; we fear ridicule
and rejection; we fear disease and war; we fear bad
leadership, we fear making bad choices; we fear
loneliness and death; we fear-ironically- fear itself.

Many people are afraid of speaking in meetings
because they are curtailed by timidity, so they keep
their brainy thoughts to themselves.

We fear trying
things because we are afraid of failing at what we
want to attempt.

Then there are those of us who fear
marriage and/or parenthood because of the
responsibilities that come with it.

Many of us fear falling in love because of the
possibility of heartbreak that being emotionally
involved with someone carries.

Today many fear flying-what with the disappearance of Malaysia Airlines
MH370 not far from their minds.

They are also afraid
because of the threat of terror attacks that has been
in our midst for some time, and will not be seen in
church or shopping in malls.

But did you know that the benefits of living
fearlessly are more than those — if any — that fear
brings?

To start with, fear hampers all kinds of progress.

You simply will never know what the outcome of all the
things you have feared to attempt would have been.

That means that whenever you turn down an
opportunity out of fear, you only build your regret portfolio.

Is it not sad to look back and wish you had tried?

Why not cast that fear away by taking those
risks that will only make you a better person?

It must start in the mind.

You could begin by feeling
totally safe in the universe.

Author Lyanla Vanzat
said that at any given moment, we have the
opportunity to choose love or fear: “In moments of
fear, I remember the sun. It is always shining even
though clouds may obscure it for a while.

Like the sun, the one infinite power is eternally shining its
light upon me, even though clouds of negative
thinking may temporarily obscure it.

I choose to remember the light.

I feel secure in the light.

And when the fears come, I choose to see them as
passing clouds in the sky, and let them go on their
way.

I am not my fears.”

This may sound easier said than done.

But it is do-able.

It takes the presumption that you are a winner.

That you are fearless.

That you fear nothing.

It takes the belief that you will enjoy your days minus that disabling fear, for fear is for the spine less.

And the faithless.

For that reason, you will not be afraid of fear.

As human beings, we are given the spirit, not of fear, but of power and love and a sound mind.

Why not claim it?

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Honesty. The Only Two Way Ticket To A Healthy And Strong Lasting Relationship

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Sometimes it feels like life’s dominated by dishonesty.

What with politicians’ promises, salespersons’
stories and the endless lies lovers tell each other.

We all know how people will say almost anything to
get their new partner between the sheets.

How the clubbing culture positively encourages
cheating between partners.

The endless exaggerations and
deceptions and no thought of anyone’s feelings or a future together.

But lying is a really bad idea once you start looking
for a spouse.

Okay, initially you’ll still want to be cautious.

Maybe not telling your new date everything until
you’re sure they won’t spread it all over town.

But don’t tell any lies.

And straight away start
lightly slipping all your background information
into the conversation.

As you gradually swap more
detail about yourselves.

Because there’s no point concealing something
that might kill the relationship months later.

Like if you’re a single mother, for example.

Some men will be happy about your children, others won’t.

Better to know how your guy feels straight away.

Or you are a married man tugging your date along on false pretences of a single life.

It will all come to the open soon or later with disastrous consequences.

So if you’re looking for a permanent relationship,
tell the truth.

And expect your new date to do the
same.

That’s happening to you?

Then your relationship has started well.

But what if you feel you can’t tell everything?

Or you start detecting lies?

Or there are things your
date just never seems to tell you like where they
work, or who their friends are.

Who they’re with.

Or they’re forever texting people
you don’t know.

Leaving the room when their
phone rings.

Don’t pick your calls, or reply to your
messages.

Move on.

Because if you want to be a truly happy couple,
don’t accept anything less than complete openness
and honesty.

In everything.

Your money, your past,
how you spend your time, your friends, your phone
calls and messages.

That sounds awful?

Then you’re not ready for a relationship.

Because, in fact, honesty is liberating.

You won’t realise how wonderful it is until you find
yourself with someone where there are no secrets.

But often, however well a relationship starts off,
that honesty gradually tails off.

Why’s that?

Well, one thing’s for sure.

We’ll all lie if we’re
pushed. So even though you know there’s
something you should be telling your partner,
maybe that just feels too difficult.

And so you keep quiet or lie.

Why’s that?

Usually it’s because your partner gives
you a hard time, getting angry or judgmental over
the smallest things.

Attacking your opinions.

Endlessly interrupting to get the “facts” straight.

Bringing up things you did wrong in the past.

That’s exactly the wrong thing to do if you want a
really strong relationship.

Instead, you should both
learn to be good and sympathetic listeners, over
worries, great and small.

Building the sort of
relationship where you can both talk about
anything.

And one day you’ll realise you have something very
precious indeed.

A warmth and intimacy and
commitment that’s impossible any other way.

And which will last for ever.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Evil Friends

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The book “How To Fight Your Best Friend” has not yet
been written.

But the day it ever gets launched, there
will be a stampede for it in our part of the world.

Fighting an enemy has never been too complicated;
you find the quickest way to take him out.

Fighting your best friend of long standing who refuses to join
the enemy ranks is another matter.

If you tackle him like you would an enemy, it is
bound to scare the rest of your lesser friends off as
nobody will feel safe with you any more.

What to do now,about evil friends?

But this is now to you,my true friend;
“I haven’t seen you in a while, yet I often
imagine all your expressions.
I haven’t
spoken to you recently, but many times I hear
your thoughts.
Good friends must not always
be together.
It is the feeling of oneness, when
distant only works to prove a lasting friendship”

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

I’m just being me

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You Know My Name Not My Story
You’ve heard what I have done,
not what I have been through.

You see what I have become,
but not what I can do.

You act like you can sit here and judge me,
When in reality you are not perfect yourself.

You think you can put me down,
the labels you put on me sometimes hurt.

You love using the saying words don’t hurt.

Maybe that’s why you constantly hurt me with them.

You don’t go home with me everyday,
and have to deal with the fighting and hitting.

You don’t how much pressure you put on me to be
perfect.

Well maybe you do, but you just don’t care.

You don’t know what it feels like to be rejected and
lied to so many times.

If you did you wouldn’t be happy in my misery.

You see this smile on my face,
but let me tell you half the time it’s fake.

You always wonder why I’m so quiet all the time,
I prepare myself for destruction every time you speak.

You call me weird and crazy,
but I’m just being me.

You feel as if I’m superior over you all,
but I’ve never said that myself.

You think because I’m quiet,
that I think I’m better than everyone.

You don’t know how it feels to be tired of being judged,
or maybe you do.

So before you judge someone make sure you’re
perfect because,
you know my name, but not my story.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

I Forget

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{In memory of my lifetime mentor and a friend,who i recently lost to Alzheimer,Gerald Gichuki}

There is a place i love to visit,though i forget where and why it always sends thrills to my heart.

I remember now that I’ve taken all my lovers there,
Thou i forget who they were now or their names.

There are things I’ve heard that should never be heard by any other soul,
Though i forget exactly what they were all about.

There have been times when i was extremely happy,
Though i forget what it was all about.

I once had a lover who made my heart sing,
Though i now forget her name.

There were lines i used to woo my lovers,
Though i forget the words i used.

There were friends who used to rock with me,
Though i forget exactly who they were.

These are things i remember now,
Though i forget why they are important to me.

I’m an old man now,
Though i forget how old.
They even used to call me by a name that I’ve already forgotten.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Calm Under Pressure. My Soul GPS

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When I was just a little younger, i had great big goals and objectives and aspirations for every day of my life.

These days, my biggest ambition is to get through each day with grace
and peace of mind – to be unruffled and to
move peacefully from one task to another with
focused attention and a quiet, calm
energy.

Simple right?

Ok maybe not.

However there are steps we can take to at least increase how often we remain calm.

Why be calm?

Heck, because it feels fantastic.

Anger and impatience wear on our hearts and
our minds and our friends.

When we are in control of our emotions, we get
more done, we communicate better, and we lead
more productive, purposeful lives.

Here are some time tested tips for keeping your cool and
staying calm amid life’s situations – both big and small.

Strive to not catastrophize
It’s easy to dramatize and make
something a bigger deal than it is.

When you are relating the problem to yourself,
avoid the urge to magnify the negative.

Strike the words always and whenever.

It can really help to re-frame the problem in
your mind by saying things like “I can
cope,” “It’s not that big a deal,” and “I’m
bigger than this.”

Don’t describe or blog or tweet about the
problem.

Don’t talk it over with your friends
right away; let it stew a little in your mind so you can settle down a little.

Sometimes, well-meaning friends will sympathize too much,which may only add fuel to your fire and get
you even more upset.

Discover metaphors and visualizations that help you stay calm
Here’s one that helps me: I try to imagine my problem as a knot.

The more I panic and pull
on the ends, the tighter the knot cinches.

But, when I adopt a singular focus, a calm takes over and I can loosen one strand at a time.

It might also help if you can visualise yourself acting with patience and focus.

Lower your voice and try to move as slowly as possible.

Speak slowly and softly.

Become the calm, unflappable person you see in your mind.

Here’s another technique: Do you know anyone whom you would describe as unruffled?

Try to think of what this person would do in your situation.

Note your patterns of exasperation.

Are there any specific situations that cause you to lose your cool? Look at specific patterns —from time of day, to level of stress (or level of
boredom), to blood sugar levels.

Do you tend to lose it when it’s too noisy – or too quiet?

Knowing about your own patterns can go a long way in helping you keep your cool throughout the day.

Realize that you can control your
emotions.
Reflect on times when you were able to successfully stay calm in a frustrating situation.

Maybe it was a time when you
wanted to yell at your partner,but then the doorbell rang and you were able to instantly shift gears.

Consider that you might be able to do this repeatedly, as long
as you know your triggers – and some tips for keeping a calm mindset.

Create a calm environment with
peaceful rituals.

If calm music soothes you, use it.

If silence soothes you, use it.

Maybe you’ll play some
soothing instrumental music or maybe you’ll dim the lights and light some scented candles.

When you are coming home from work, give
yourself a few moments to calm your mind before you go charging into an evening at home with your friends.

Sit in the car for a few minutes
and take some deep breaths.

Kick off your shoes and sip a glass of water.

Rituals can also be tremendously soothing during the transition periods of your day.

I’m sure you are feeling calmer already.

Keep reading to get the rest of the tips on staying calm under pressure.

Take care of the essentials.

Make sure you are getting enough sleep and getting enough protein, fiber, vitamins and minerals.

I tend to lose my temper way more
often if I’m low on blood sugar.

But, get a little protein in me, and it’s (relatively)
smooth sailing.

Also make sure you are getting physical exercise.

A daily workout can
give you the physical release that can help you control your anxiety.

If I’m feeling particularly stressed, I trade my half-hour run
for a half hour of Rhumba dancing,alone.

This helps.

Stay away from too much sugar and caffeine and stay hydrated.

Drink a tall glass of water
and see if you feel better, more calm and alert.

Focus on the mind and spirit, too.

Depending on your spiritual tradition, engage in a routine of meditation or prayer.

Practice yoga – or just sit quietly for awhile.

Developing peace of mind is a skill that will serve you well your whole life through.

Take a meditation class, and learn techniques to help you get control over your monkey mind.

Distract yourself Instead of ruminating on a problem, find
something fun, engaging, and constructive to
do.

Try to laugh (or laugh at yourself.) Watch a funny movie or read a blog that always make you laugh.

When you lighten up, it’s a
lot easier to keep your cool.

Take a day off.

I always know I really need a day off when i fight like crazy to not take one.

If I can force myself to take an entire day away from my
work, I always come back more calm,
assured, and filled with fresh ideas.

Don’t forget to breathe.

Diaphragmatic breathing helps you alleviate
your stress in the moment and it gives you a
minute or two to calm down, often just long
enough for you to assess the situation and
help you regain your sense of control.

In a good belly breath, your belly will actually rise and fall.

To practice, put your hand on your
belly.

Inhale through your nose and see if your hand rises as you breathe in.

Hold the breath for a few counts and slowly breathe out.

Reflect on quotes that can help you
calm your mind

Here are a few that I find
inspiring:

~Im here,physical scars and emotional scars from my past underlines my fighter and victor attitude in life. i’m here because i’m a survivor,and i will survive and conquer this present and unpleasant times too!

Add on more of your quotes,and invite calm and peace back into your life!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Take a Leap of Faith & Live Your Life abundantly

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“Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t
see the whole staircase.”
~Martin Luther King, Jr

Have you watched or read the news lately?

Have you checked your pulse rate afterwards?

A good portion of news items can make you fearful, angry,
stressed and uncertain.

From the gang-rape of a schoolgirl, cases of
student deaths in schools, substance abuse, chaos
in our transport sector, insecurity and crime to the
recent terrorist attacks in Nairobi and Mombasa.

That’s not all.

Most of us are facing disturbing news
at a personal level, either first-hand or from family
and friends, including job loss, relationship
breakdown and illness.

Trying to make it through
the day, while handling our national and personal
news can be overwhelming and depressing.

The result is that our self-talk, the conversations we
turn over in our head when we are alone, becomes
negative.

As misery loves company, we end up
voicing our anxiety to others and generally
increasing the negativity quotient in our immediate
environment.

But what to do, you say.

Life is what it is, and if it is bad, it is bad.

The truth is that life is 10 per cent what happens to
you and 90 per cent how you respond to it.

I’ve been thinking about that lately, what with security
alerts on possible terrorist activities we have been
receiving and forwarding to each other.

Avoid crowded places, most of the alerts warn.

And so i have.

Problem is, those alerts have come in the way of
my life.

I have kept away from the supermarkets
until my pantry is at dangerous empty levels.

I have kept away from entertainment places and
gathering with friends.

I have even contemplated
keeping away from church.

I have looked over my
shoulder at everyone, wondering if they perhaps
have a grenade or wish me any form of evil.

And you know what, this is not the life I was born to live
or the one I signed up for.

It is not the life any
Kenyan should be living, yet it is what is happening
to us.

We know the government has a duty and obligation
to protect its citizens, even though we fear that
they may be too busy playing politics that they lack
the focus and resources to do so.

And yet we must not stop doing our part, insisting
daily that the government and its security forces
be accountable and do more on this issue, looking
out for our neighbours and giving up criminal
elements in our midst.

None of the above makes us any safer.

If anything,it seems pitifully small against the magnitude of
what we face.

That’s where the 90 per cent of how
we choose to respond comes in.

Consider this: most of us were chilled to the bone
and justifiably outraged following reports of an
attack on the Joy in Jesus
Church in Likoni,Mombasa.

The story of baby Satrine Osinya,
who lost his mother in the attack, gripped the
nation and galvanised churches and individuals
across the country to pray for him.

One of the dailies even had a prayer on its front page.

With their usual philanthropy, Kenyans began to send
donations.

That was faith in action.

This past week, baby Osinya underwent brain
surgery to remove the bullet in his head and we
heaved a sigh of collective relief.

The doctors had
performed a delicate surgery and it was successful.

A little bit of faith and just one piece of good news,
amidst all the bad, made the difference.

It was on that day that I made a choice to bid fear
farewell.

To respond to the painful circumstances
and harsh realities in this country with faith
instead.

To be vigilant, yes, but not to allow those
whose desire is to perpetrate terror win.

We need to return to our way of life, to Church and
the supermarkets.

We need to keep doing what we do to build the
nation in our little way.

And regardless of how
bleak the road ahead seems, when the choice is
faith or fear, I pray you take the high road.

Choose faith.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

To the Youth of the World. My Two-pence Worth of Advice

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It’s way too easy to let time slip by, especially when
you’re young, only to have huge regrets later
because things didn’t turn out the way you wanted.

So always live in the present because opportunities
only come once.

Be focused and alert, appreciate
every moment, and give all your attention to what
you’re doing right now.

Instantly, you’ll notice good
things starting to happen.

Do your very best in everything.

And make time for
what you love doing, no matter how busy you are.

Work so hard at it that you get to be amazing.

Better yet, turn it into your profession.

Follow your dreams instead of just hoping
something will turn up.

And get going.

Putting things off just means someone else gets there first.

Be happy with yourself.

Try much harder in school.

Brilliant grades change
your life.

And one day you’ll realise how cool it was
to spend all day learning.

Better yet, your
intelligence actually increases if you develop hard
skills like programming, or learning another
language.

Don’t spend your youth being self-absorbed:
unhappy with the way you look, obsessing about
your weight or whatever.

Stop comparing yourself
to others, and don’t let yourself be defined by
gender roles or cultural expectations.
Instead, believe in yourself, and be truly honest about who
you really are.

Do not pretend to be someone
you’re not, just to be liked.

Be braver in love.

And move on more quickly.

Everyone who leaves a bad relationship wishes
they would have moved on sooner.

Likewise quitting a terrible job!

And really make time to
network.

It seems pointless when you’re young, but
gradually you realise it’s how you get to the top.

Keep fit.

Don’t neglect your teeth!

And no junk food.

You’ll pay for it later with years of trying to
shift the fat.

Ask your grandparents lots of questions.

They can explain everything about where you came from but
only if you ask them in time.

And listen to your parents!

You may not believe it,
but almost everything they say about life is true.

No one ever looks back and wishes they spent more
time at the office.

They wish they’d spent more
time with family and friends.

So simplify your life,
play with your kids and be lots nicer to your partner.

Learn to cook one truly impressive meal.

And something brilliant to perform in front of a crowd.

Volunteer at something that will make the world a
better place.

A good life’s all about doing what’s really
important; things like teaching your children real values.

Dressing them in the latest fashions doesn’t matter.

And neglecting them to buy some flashy
car is even worse.

Because fancy possessions rarely add much to life.

And though it’s sometimes a tough call, happiness
comes from sticking to the straight and narrow
path.

I know some evil people seem to have made it.

But nobody really loves them for it.

Inside they’re lonely and
scared.

It’s better being honest, believe me.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Midlife Crisis. A Liberating Crisis

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I’m right in the middle of a crisis

The mid-life crisis.

The midlife crisis is great.

Actually, it is no crisis at all.

I am growing old, my friends are
growing old.

Everyone around me is growing old, so
I have taken an interest in the thing.

And, generally being the kind of guy who is not known to keep his opinions to himself, today I write
about growing old to (reassure myself and) comfort
those men and women my age who are beginning
to notice flakes of white hair and the horrifying
realisation that half their lives are gone, forever.

I thought that the midlife crisis would be disaster; a
hormonal overload and shrivelling gonads
accompanied by the smell of scorched flesh.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

The midlife crisis is great.

I would know because I think I am in
the thick of it.

Growing old, I have found, comes with an
impatience with being fat and slow.

I am taking an
interest in being fit now and I believe I am fitter
than I have been in many years.

What does it mean to grow old gracefully?

I have observed that nearly every Kenyan man over
35 has no hair.

They have wiped it out because
they are balding or greying.

Which is not necessarily a bad thing, if that’s what makes you
happy.

Many middle-aged men are grumpy, or bitter,
angry or sad.

They feel that they have misused
their lives, or they are failures because they have
been lazy and disorganised.

Or they feel they have had no luck, or they have
been fixed because of their tribe or race or
whatever.

Others feel that their families do not
appreciate them, they take their sacrifice for
granted and they don’t see how good they have
had it.

It is these feelings which make men who are
moving from being young to being old so violent
and disagreeable.

But it need not be like that.

We just need to understand what this process of
growing old means.

Growing old is the slow, progressive death of
pretensions and the emergence of the real person.

By the time you are 35, you really should know who
you are, as opposed to who you want to be.

By 40, it doesn’t really matter what the world
thinks.

If you are a scruffy, unkempt and creative,
the midlife crisis is an opportunity to stop trying to
look like an accountant and get on being
comfortable in your two pairs of shoes and looking
forward to your bi-annual haircut.

I presume that men, and perhaps even women, at
some point panic when they look back at half their
lives, realise that they are growing old and haven’t
achieved, in their estimation, that much.

Well, so what of it?

Being unsuccessful is no reason
to take an axe to the next person who looks at you
askance.

You can get back to the trenches and try
to fix things, or you can sit back and ask for
another beer.

An enjoyed life is a successful life.

I am informed that men fear ageing because it
implies a depreciation of their sexual abilities.

i never write about sex and I do not wish to venture
there.

It’s not something people can be honest
about, but those ageing guys who are having
doubts about this, perhaps it is a good idea not to
panic and go all over town with 50 schoolgirls.

If you are already seated at the banquet table, what is the point of
wanting more than you can eat?

And what is the
point of eating more than you need?

From my interactions with older guys, there doesn’t seem to
be any cause for alarm.

Finally, the way an ageing guy looks is also a
matter of choice.

You can go for the encased-in-a-
suit, age-lying, dyed-hair, pinched, bitter look
common with bean- counters and government bureaucrats.

You can relax, do the loose-limbed, fluffy-haired
Denzel Washington thing and bounce to the sunset
with lots of dough and big smug smile on your face.

Or you can apply the Jamie Foxx formula, hard
partying, spend-like-there-is-no-tomorrow,
frightened-of-the-future route, which is certain to
end in a broken, broke man.

If you don’t mess up, it is a liberating crisis.

So what if my sex-drive is plummeting? It is not like i’m trying for more babies in my now infrequent trysts!

What i like about this crisis is that i can be forgiven for all those awful sins of my youth,without having to apologise for them-and that includes my horrible clothes that don’t match my…..my what? What i’m i saying? Where was i,in this conversation?
Blame it too on my fading memory!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Gone Fishing

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No one in this town could catch
any fish except this one man.

The game warden asked him how he
did it so the man told the game
warden that he would take him
fishing the next day…

Once they got to the middle of
the lake the man took out a stick
of dynamite, lit it, and threw it in
the water.

After the explosion fish
started floating to the top of the
water.

The man took out a net
and started picking up the fish.

The game warden told him that
this was illegal.

The man took out
another stick of dynamite and lit
it.

He then handed it to the game
warden and said “are you going
to fish or talk?”

The warden had throw the lit stick into the water.

“Let’s see who gets booked in for illegal fishing no”,the fisherman said.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Pain All Over

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A man goes to the hospital and
says to the doctor:
“It hurts when I press
here” (pressing his side)
“And when I press here” (pressing
the other side)
“And here” (his leg) “And here,
here and here” (his other leg, and
both arms).
So the doctor examined him all
over and finally said…
“Come on,You’ve got a broken finger!”

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Pain All Over

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A man goes to the hospital and
says to the doctor:
“It hurts when I press
here” (pressing his side)
“And when I press here” (pressing
the other side)
“And here” (his leg) “And here,
here and here” (his other leg, and
both arms).
So the doctor examined him all
over and finally said…
“Come on,You’ve got a broken finger!”

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Travel Blues

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I was at the airport, checking in at
the gate when an airport
employee asked…..

“Has anyone put anything in your
baggage without your
knowledge?”

To which I replied, “If it was
without my knowledge, how
would I know?

She smiled knowingly and
nodded, “That’s why we ask.”

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

“I Speak For My Love”

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My friend is miser.

He really takes care of his coins.

Picture him doing his clever stuff in a dentists surgery;
“No fancy stuff, Doctor,” he
ordered, “No gas or needles
or any of that stuff.

Just pull the
tooth and get it
over with.”

I wish more of my patients were
as brave and as stoic as you,” said
the dentist admiringly. “Now,
which tooth is it?”

He turned to his wife…
“Show him your bad tooth, honey!”

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Mediocrity and Genius-Two of the same kind?

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I saw a policeman literally chasing some university students up a foot-brigde when they attempted to cross a busy highway by darting across 8 lanes!

And it got me thinking;these are knowledgeable university students-not primary school kids.

The widest gap in the whole world lies between
what we know and what we actually do.

This gap is where mediocrity lives,nay-thrives.

Insanity slumbers in there,waiting for an opportune time to show face.

I am sure you’ve had plenty of unfortunate situations
where you’ve wondered how it is that a well-
informed, educated, exposed and experienced person
could make some very pedestrian mistakes.

It is this very gap.

It is called the Knowing-Doing Gap.

We know better, but we ignore our knowledge and
act in the exact opposite way.

Why bother acquiring
the knowledge in the first place?

Sounds like the best definition of insanity, doesn’t it?

Its simply ignorance of how it is that we create the
situations in our lives (or deaths in this unfortunate
instance).

When we acquire knowledge or generate our own
ideas, they are lodged in our conscious mind.

Our conscious mind being objective, can accept or reject
any idea fed to it.

All our knowledge stays here, but is completely
useless to us until we internalise it.

Any information or idea that is accepted by our
conscious mind is then passed on to our sub-
conscious mind.

Being subjective, our sub-conscious
mind must accept any information passed onto it by
our conscious mind.

It has no ability to evaluate or
reject.

It is our sub-conscious mind through internalisation
of ideas that instructs our physical bodies to act
through our emotions.

We then proceed to do the
things we do and the universe —our environment
reacts back.

It is this action-reaction process that
results in our current circumstances.

Bear in mind that the reactions we receive from the
universe are always in direct proportion to our
actions.

You see; by causation, nothing just happens.

Everything must be caused.

I think the word;
“because” should no longer be allowed as a proper
word in the English language.

That said; those of us who dart across that busy road
in spite of the danger are plainly ignorant of how it
can happen that we get run over.

We refuse to take responsibility for having darted
across the road.

I’ve tried to reconstruct the kind of thinking that goes on in these young bright minds as follows;

“We certainly don’t cause those
unfortunate accidents.

How can you even suggest
that? No! These motorists are just very arrogant
people speeding in their fancy cars “because” they
look down upon us, pedestrians.

So as a lesson to all who may be thinking you have
right of way, be warned.

If you run us over while we
cross the road minding our own business “not
causing any trouble” to anyone “because” you have
cars, we will burn down your cars.

You must understand that we are running or strolling
across the road because it is shorter for us than overhead foot-bridges.

And if it turns out to be our shortcut to the grave, it is still
your fault, we really don’t give two hoots about what
the traffic laws say.

This is our position and we are
sticking to it.”

The above quoted line of thinking makes the young geniuses in our universities look mediocre out of their prestigious lecture halls-a simple choice they make in a brief moment of crossing a busy street with a foot bridge defines them as mediocre to the rest of the average population!

Today,choose to be at the cause of the effects in your life—
because if anyone deserves it, it is you.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

The Warrior Spirit

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It is rare for a tree to die.

Trees, like the proverbial
cat, live for countless years before they eventually
die.

That is why some trees are centuries old.

And even
when they die, they shoot up — to live again.

Like the cat with nine lives, a tree’s tenacity to
survive is great; it shouts to the world:
I love life
I soak it like a sponge and the life in me does not dry
up easily.

I thrive even after a bad experience.

I live and live, and will live on…

But don’t we human beings share the same tenacity?

The determination of the human spirit is simply
astounding.

I see it in myself, and I see it in others.

I will be crushed for one reason or the other, but
tomorrow, next week or next month, I will be up and
about — like nothing tragic ever happened; like I
never shed tears like a river; like I never walked
around with a wounded soul.

And the physical body is even more resilient.

Quick to recover, it takes its cue from the stubborn spirit,
and will heal with the passage of time.

Even when a limb, say a leg is cut off, we find a way
to survive without it.

We make use of those sturdy
crutches.

And life goes on like before.

Sometimes,the universe surprises us, and we live an even
better life.

The tenacious spirit in human beings comes-it must
come- from their absolute desire to live.

That explains why the greatest fear in most, if not all, of
us is death.

We are terrified by death, and will do
anything to live.

It is not surprising that when we
sense death, we run a mile…

Like the never-dying tree, we will sprout even when
others think we are about to die.

We will find new growth from our innermost being, and keep going.

We will pick up our broken souls and somehow
nurture them to health.

The unbreakable spirit of the human soul sees that
the drive to live does not easily die.

For even when we think it has finally subsided, and that we want to
stop living, we are just telling those around us that
we need help to live one minute longer, one day
longer… Because, the simple truth is that our
greatest desire is to live.

And enjoy life and thrive,
just like the tree does, regardless of what season it
is.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

This is how dreams die

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I have a friend called King.

Not his real name.

Just a pet name we gave him during our boyhood days.

King is a jailbird.

I won’t get into why and how he
ended up in jail right away.

King turned 50 in
February this year, 2014.

He didn’t blow candles.

He didn’t get a smashing birthday party.

Nobody toasted to his good health.

He didn’t get laid…I hope not, damn it! Not in that prison cell-it would break my heart!

He celebrated it as he had
celebrated the last three birthdays, in his drab jail
clothes, toiling in the laundry section of the jail
by day and sleeping on an ultra thin mattress by
night in a dark cell that he called home for the three
years (including the time he spent in remand).

He celebrated it by dreaming about freedom.

The first year after the judge threw him there I
often found some sort of morbid pleasure in using his
incarceration as a prop for humour.

When I was out
with friends I would make sure I mention I have a
Friend in jail and then pleasure in people’s reaction.

People look at you in a different way when you mention
something like that.

They imagine you come from a
Brotherhood of delinquents, beset with felony.

They wonder if those genes are embedded deep in
you, lying dormant, waiting for the right stimulus to
show face.

In short, they imagine I’m a thug too.

People often asked me why he was in jail.

And I constantly lied.

I had fun with it.

When I was in a good mood I
said he knifed someone.

“Did they die?” they would
mumble in horror.

“Only a little,” I would say, “the knife got in only a
little.”

When I wasn’t in the mood I would say he
car-jacked a priest.

Or held up a small bank in Kiambu,my home town.

Or stole a baby.

I got a kick from telling them stuff like this.

But such mischief grows old fast.

Soon it didn’t matter.

But what did he really do, I hear you asking?

The judge said he facilitated the loss of a truckload of
wheelchairs and crutches en-route to Rwanda.

I’ve never asked him if he agreed with the judge.

Last week king- together with a few thousand
inmates – was released.

Presidential pardon.

Word got round very quickly and I found myself at the
parking lot of Kamiti Prison with a fellow brother in arms.

It was headed to midday.

My other friend, King’s
older (and only) brother was also there holding court
and looking a bit bewildered.

The meeting party only
consisted of the three of us.

The rest couldn’t make it
because it was kind of sudden; The president didn’t send us
emails about King’s release.

We chatted as we waited for him to come out.

It was a beautiful day; it had rained the previous
night so the ground was wet.

The air, even the one in
the jail compound, smelled of life.

And the sun was out in a pretty dress,foggy and misty.

King walks out a few minutes before midday.

He walks hesitantly, like a man stripped of his dignity. Which of course he is.

He’s wearing blue bathroom sandals.

He has on a threadbare and faded blue shirt with the middle button
missing.

He’s in oversized beige khaki pants, no belt,
so he has one hand inside his pocket to prevent his
pants from falling down.

With his free hand he
clutches, under his arm, a black paper bag.

All his world’s possessions are inside that bag.

He’s been shaven clean, about a few millimeters from his skull.

He hasn’t lost much weight; in fact he hasn’t changed
much.

He’s limping slightly.

He stops and looks around then he spots us walking towards him.

He slowly shuffles our way, clutching his little black
paper bag, limping slightly, a faint smile playing at
the corner of his lips, a smile that looked like an
embarrassed smile from far but as he inched closer I
realized that it was a smile of trying to be brave.

It seemed to say, “I told you guys I would be out before
dinner.”

I wasn’t convinced.

He hugs my brother in arms first.

He hugs him the longest.

They were closest.

He visited him
more times than the two of us-me and his elder brother- combined.

He knew when he was sick, or when he was down.

They talked on phone frequently.

He hugs me next.

I have never hugged a fellow man like that; hands all around torso
and shit-

It felt right.

Then he hugs his brother last, a
small awkward hug.

They aren’t so close.

I can’t tell you why, family stuff.

Don’t act like you don’t have
issues in your family.

My brother in arms pats him on the back and says he looks
good.

“No you don’t, you look lousy.”

I joke.

He chuckles and says in his deep baritone voice, “Man, I
was the most handsome man in this whole
goddamned prison.

This place will never be the same
again with me gone.”

I can’t resist being cynical about his conceit, so I remark, “Oh
no doubt, I bet your toothless boyfriends that you left
back there would agree.”

Look, I was only trying to break the ice, I mean really I
was only trying to make everybody relax, the air was
too expectant.

We were all trying to act prim and
proper with our stupid chit-chat and all.

Thankfully he found it funny, like he really found it
hysterical.

We all have a laugh and act like it’s just
another day and we are all just shooting the breeze.

Which is fine.

After a few minutes my brother in arms asks him,
“What is the one thing you always wanted to eat or
drink when you were released, we will get it right
now. A cold beer or maybe some chicken? Vodka?
Hey even some tail-business with some girl if you so wish. What?”

He grins shyly, the sun shining off his scalp, he
finally says, “A very cold Fanta.”

“Fanta? Really?” my brother in arms echoes what perhaps we are
all thinking.

He nods.

We exchange brief glances.

There is a petrol station with a snack bar or something up the road. Galitos and what not.

My brother in arms says ok, let’s go, ride
with me.

He says he wants to walk there.

I hand over my car keys to our mutual friend.

I offer to walk with him.

He hands his brother the little
polythene bag and they get into the cars.

I really wanted to find out what was in that bag; I wanted to
know what a man leaves a jail with.

Did he have a book in there?

Did he have a change of underwear?

Or did he carry hope in that bag?

Or bitterness.

Or angst.

What does a man carry out of jail?

We walk out.

At the gate he shows some paper to the
security guy who glances at it briefly before handing
it back without a word.

Without a “good luck” or
“take care” or “don’t come back.”

Nothing.

Civility doesn’t live in our jails.

He limps straight out of the
gate without as much as a backward glance, holding
up his pants so they wouldn’t fall down.

Outside i remove my belt and hand it to him because him
holding up his pants like that is depressing me.

He belts up and we slowly walk up the road, jabbering.

Or rather I ask him questions.

He answers them
nonchalantly, distractedly while looking at passing
cars and at buildings.

He looks surprised at being
free, he seems to be getting his mind around
freedom, disorientated by it all.

My friend is not a bad guy.

He’s just a guy who made
some bad calls in his life.

He grew up in Christian home.

A family that emphasised about respect and hard
work.

Not a bad chap, my friend.

He’s no riffraff either if you want to know.

He went to school in the
UK, came back with a degree in Civil Engineering but he
never worked a day in his life because he’s a restless
chap, because he’s the kind of guy who is in a
goddamn big rush to get ahead of the queue.

Because he loves the good life but unlike you and
me, he wants it today and not tomorrow.

He wants it now.

He always had a plan; come back home from the UK, get into
the oil transportation business, work for three years
driving a truck, buy his own, drive it for another two
years, buy another one and start managing them
from an office with a brassplate bearing his name.

He was ready to push the boat out into the deep sea and fish there.

Only it didn’t turn out like that; he came back, started driving a truck,
only it wasn’t an oil truck,but one for charitable outfit, drove it for a year and then
ended up in jail the next year.

And now this is how it ends, with him walking by the
roadside from jail in oversized khakis and a borrowed
belt.

This is how dreams die.

But if you are those glass-half-full kind of people you would say this is
how it starts.

On a clean slate.

He orders a Fanta.

A cold frosty Fanta orange.

He downs it in three gulps then orders another one.

This one he sips slowly, thoughtfully even, like he’s trying
to distil the flavours of the damned ingredients.

This one he sips through a straw.

We talk and chaff about, watching
cars pull up to fuel.

He asks about people, who had a
kid, who got married, which club is happening now,that kind of
stuff.

He asks about our children.

He asks about our women.

But he never asks about our jobs.

Never.

I gather that’s because it will make him feel like a
failure, it will make him feel how much he needs to
work hard to catch up.

He tells us about the politics
of money in jail and how money will buy you
protection, how money will buy you friends.

How money will get you a bed in jail and soap and a good
meal.

The jail is the only place money can buy you sleep.

He tells us about how you’ve got to man up in jail
and learn to fight your own battles, sometimes violently.

He tells us how the reality of being
sodomized comes close if you don’t have the right
friends to buy, friends who stop being your friends
when your money runs out.

He talks about the nights
that you feel hopeless and desperate.

Nights that death seems like a friend.

He smiles a lot during our meeting.

But the smile always refuses to reach his eyes.

His eyes harbor something that I can’t put my fingers on, but they
aren’t happy eyes.

Although he sits there, upright in
his seat, he exhibits a certain vulnerability.

I could sense the fear in him.

The fear and uncertainty of
starting over.

At some point his brother asks him
what he wants to do and he says simply that he
wants to go village where his parents are retired and
tell his mom he’s out.

Only he says it in Kiikuyu,my native language.

And it touches me, not so much what he says but why he says it.

He never called his mother, mommy or mum or anything like that when she was alive.

His mom is dead.

Died years before he was sent off to jail.

He talks about wanting to visit her grave,and confide with her there.

And so for him to refer to her in
present tense was, I don’t know, real touching.

I’m a sucker, I know.

He orders fries and chicken.

And he cleans it off.

I watch him eat; he eats fast, just like he likes to lead
his life.

He isn’t going into formal employment, that much we are sure of.

It’s not for him.

He’s not the type to sit around for four weeks waiting for a
pay cheque.

King is not into waiting around and
perhaps that’s his Achilles heels.

Perhaps what he needs in this new chapter of his life is to learn to wait
things out; to take small steps, but even most important, to appreciate those steps.

King is one of those chaps who are embarrassed at being broke.

Terrified of it.

But I will tell you here that he isn’t a gangster, i swear he isn’t.

He doesn’t pull guns on people or
break into homes.

But he loves shady deals.

He loves deals that bring in big spoils and the difference between him and us is that he is not averse to risk.

I don’t know if our jails are corrective.

I don’t know if they instill a sense of reform or change of attitude.

If they do then they failed with my friend because
sitting there listening to him,watching him eat I
didn’t feel that he was a different guy, that prison had changed him.

I was looking at the hedonistic
chap who loved the fast life and who would pursue it with all his wit.

The girls who work at local Industrial area offices start showing up for lunch.

Girls in high heels and black
stockings.

Girls in fitting pants and short skirts.

Girls in weaves and glowing skins.

They stride-in, in twos and threes.

Laughing and strutting their thing, especially the ones who knew they got a broad african ass.

King stares.

Boy, does King stare at their asses!

He loses all interest in what we are saying and his eyes follow any hot chick that walks in the shop.

Hell,even the not so hot ones.

“Things changed while you were gone; girls are now hot-they all scrub up good now. All of them.”
his brother tells him with a grin.

He mumbles something incoherent.

I swear I’m not making this
up.

He practically zones us out, he stares at women like,well, a jailbird.

But it was a relief for us in a way, that he still found women appealing, that he wasn’t
batting (pun) for the other team.

He kept well away from the forced sodomy business common in our jails.

He may want a girl after this,hopefully get committed and marry her.

But that is not the King i know.

He will never marry.

Not after his girlfriend dumped him when he was in jail.

The day we visited him and handed him that dumping note from his girlfriend,we all cried about its cruelty.

But that’s life.

As of now,King can cry on our shoulders,lean on them for as long as he likes,until he up on his two feet again.

That’s what we,his bossom friends are here for.

Until he can dream another dream,that will carry him through his life again.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Most Times,I fail

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If you want to know your place in this world,you must meet a traffic cop in his worst moods during your motoring.

It will work much better if you have committed some traffic offence,it doesn’t matter how minor the offence is.

This cop who flags me down, the traffic cop who later
leans into my window, has a face that isn’t in the
mood for folk and dance. And he has eyes that have
been bled off sympathy.

And his chin, my God, his chin is so sharp
I bet he uses it to slice open envelopes.

And enemies.

I’m in the wrong, of course.

I have broken some
traffic law, the one that frowns on driving while
talking on phone, but in my defence, traffic was
crawling.

But when he raises his hand – a stiff defiant
and authoritative gesture – an image of a nude goose roasting and
squirming over a flame leaps in my mind.

My day too of roasting,has finally come.

He swaggers over.

Large girth.

He’s maybe 40 and
has a face that has been standing in the sun for too
long.

He looks like the kind of chap who has been
dealing with scum bags like me all his life.

But that walk of his: unhurried and resolute, a walk of
someone who knows exactly where his lunch will
come from.

There is nothing friendly about him or his
walk, but I’m not perturbed, I’m not even anxious
because I have since perfected the art of charming
my way out of sticky situation with cops.

He silently checks my insurance then deliberately
walks over to my window and without as much as a
hello, without any emotion or nicety he barks in my
face; “Licence?”

I hand him my driver’s license while
I chime happily, “Habari ya leo, officer?”(Hello Officer,how is your day?)

I’m dutifully ignored.

If I were a lesser man, if I was impetuous, I
would have broken down right there and cried.

But i didn’t, because I was wearing my lucky underwear;
it’s black; and old-colour denoting manly strength (obviously).

I’ve taken to wearing old presentable underwears for the nurses to look at during my now frequent physical examinations down there for my prostate cancer clinic days-mostly,they are black in colour for reasons i don’t want to detail in here.

My license is studied in complete and loud silence.

I’m let to sit there, to stew in and contemplate my
unlawful ways.

You’d think I had tried to run the
president’s motorcade out of the road.

Which would
have been stupid, but – admit it – fun.

Finally – after I have almost grown senile waiting for the longest time – he growls; “ Sasa
mbona unaongea kwa simu na unaendesha gari? ” (Why were you talking on the phone while driving?)

Don’t be fooled by the question mark at the end of
that sentence because it’s not exactly a question, but
a statement.

But if you choose to take it as a
question it’s one that doesn’t need an answer, it
simply draws your attention to your error.

I start talking fast.

I’m plying him cock and bull story.

I’m charming him.

He stands there, leaning his weight
on one foot and staring at me like I’m scum (and I
am), like he is a god (and he is, a traffic god who
needs to deworm) and he is beautifully unimpressed
and unmoved by my string of narrative.

And he doesn’t blink.

Now, I have this routine that I have perfected down to the finest print in my mind when I
encounter the law.

I have learnt that cops will let you
go with a slap on the wrist if you make them
understand that you know your place in the food
chain; that you are nothing before them.

So you don’t argue with them, you don’t challenge their opinion;
you keep your head low.

But most importantly, you
don’t ask to touch their gun.

So you smile and look
remorseful and say you are sorry and that you
exercised bad judgment.

Or you play to their
manhood or fatherhood.

I once told an obstinate traffic cop who had caught
me making a U-turn; “Look, I have that money you
are asking for but it isn’t exactly mine; I’m going to buy
my son a school bag tomorrow [I know, I’m
disgraceful].

Please don’t make me beg, you look like
a father, come on, let this one slide, officer.”

And he had stared at me for a while before saying
coldly, “I’m not a father.”

And for some reason I
found that funny as hell and I laughed, and he stared
at me before he broke into a broad smile, then I said,
“You might not be a father but you are a man and we
don’t kick each other while we are down,”

He shook his head and let me go.

But normally if diplomacy crumbles (hardly ever) I
use my tramp card; The Cancer Clinic Card.

That’s always my last ticket to freedom.

It’s gotten me out of some grim situations-people knowing i’m on my last legs.

So anyway, back to the cop.

Just as he’s ready to
drag me away to the station, I sort of play that last
card.

Only I play it to the wrong chap because for
one, he’s having a bad day and two, he felt like I was
arm-twisting him and lastly, I suspect he was just
having bad bowel movements that morning.

So much for my lucky black underwear.

What happens next, happens really fast.

The card, he feels
rightfully, was used to try to undermine his authority.

And so his ego is tested, not only as a cop but as a
cop with intestinal worms (his big belly seems out proportion with the rest of his body if you ask me.)

I stand no chance.

All bets are off.

As this story goes, will end up at Milimani Police
Station at some point and at the parking lot, I will
embrace my mantra “Only fools don’t
change their minds,” and I will hold his arm (not his
gun) as we walk towards the station office and I will
tell him, “It doesn’t have to go this far, I don’t want it
to, and I can tell you don’t either.”

And he will stop
and look at my hand on his arm like it will infect him
with foolishness, and before he says anything, before
he proves that I came onto his turf and undermined
his authority, I tell him something I should have told
him as soon as he asked for my license: “It’s too early
in the day to start it in this fashion. I’m sorry, officer,”
And lets me go without a bribe.

This post was to be about Kenyan cops but like most
things i did back in my High School days they always seem to turn to be
about my lack of sound judgment, or my fumbling
and unfawning (Word keeps underlining this damned
word) thoughts.

But I always intend them to be a
window into human nature, as I see them at least.

Mostly I fail.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

This Blog….

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I started blogging as a way of ventilating some of my innermost thoughts in an obscure way-a tonic to my restless mind.

I was diagnosed with prostate cancer back in 2009.

It has now spread into my thigh bone.

My jocular Doc asked me the other day during my counselling session-”do you still have some unfinished business you’d like to look into, just in case….

His voice trailed as a way of underlining his implication-in short,i should be getting ready for my eternal rest.

Yes-i said.

My will is in order and recently revised-i told him…but…

What?

There is the small matter of my blog,it means so much to me…it has been my self therapy-i told him;what will happen to it? I would have wished it to form my longest legacy after i’m gone.

What about handing it over to one of your family members-they could keep on updating it after you are gone.

I’m completely estranged from my immediate family-a long story-i told him.

Then you can open it up to other members in your blogging community who share your thoughts and world views.-there it is! A gem of good idea,but i only put down my random thoughts,not very specific subjects-i replied.

That’s much better then-they will put their random thoughts and it will still serve your cause!-hear him! Always so helpful!

I’m going for a long therapy session for four continous weeks.

Is there anyone out there who’d like to co-author this blog in whatever style?

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Environmental Disaster!

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ENVIRONMENTAL DISASTER!!

The saddest thing I ever did see
Was a woodpecker pecking at a plastic tree i have mounted in my compound as a decoration.

He looks at me as if to say-
“Sir, these things aren’t as sweet as they used to be.”

And i’m like-”get used to it friend,soon and very soon,wooded forests will be no more!”

Gloomily,the woodpecker stares back at me with a bleeding broken beak as if to ask-”Sir,are you aware of what day it is today?”

I laugh.

The woodpecker laughs too-too loudly for one with a wounded beak!

We are both laughing and asking ourselves;between you and me,who is the fool now?

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

A Day in the life of a minimalist-Sunday,30th March,2014

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Every day is a blank page, although there
are habits I act upon daily.

Presenting last Sunday as an example, this is
how I enjoyed the day:

I woke at 4:50am without an alarm, excited and
refreshed.

These days my habit is to wake when
my body tells me it’s rested.

But there is no
routine.
I ate a banana, drank a cup of coffee, then drew up business plans for my clients
from 5am to 11am.

I prefer working in my home-based office in the morning when it’s
quiet and I’m closest to the dream world.

My home office room contains only a desk, a chair, a laptop,
and my notes — the only things I need.

Nothing else.

There’s no phone, no Internet, no clock — no
distractions.

Just me and my habit, which I enjoy
immensely.

Each day I work until I don’t feel like
working anymore.

But there is no routine.
After my morning session of passionate work in my home office, I walked to the
neighborhood park and alternated between pull-
ups and push-ups under the midday sun.

Exercise is important for me, and I enjoy it daily.

But there
is no routine.

I showered, dressed (jeans and a T-shirt), and prepared my modest,
vegetarian lunch(i live alone as a matter of choice!).

I eat when my body tells me I’m
hungry, irrespective of the time (I don’t own a
watch).

Some days I eat lunch at noon; other days I
might eat at 10am or 3pm.

But there is no routine.

After my meal, I drank
my herbal tea, used smartphone Internet
connection to check my email and publish some
writing online.

There were 37 emails in my inbox, which was okay as I only
check email two or three times per week.

Sometimes more, sometimes less.

But there is no routine.

After two or three hours on the Internet, I walked to
a secluded forested part of my neighbourhood, and read a novel while the
sun set fire to the sky.

Some days this habit invites
me to devour chapter after chapter, hour after
hour; other days I read for only half an hour.
But there is no routine.

Throughout the day I made sure I was hydrated.

Besides fruit juice and herbal tea, I drank only water.

No alcohol.

No sugary drinks.

No soda .

I attempt to drink my
body weight,8 glasses of water each day, which
isn’t always easy — so sometimes I drink only half
that.

But that’s okay: there is no routine.

I own a car, but I didn’t drive it on Sundays.

I didn’t need to.

It was a nice day, so I walked
instead to a friends home-5 km away from my home.

Some days i need to drive to where I want to go; other days I
can walk.

But there is no routine.

Later that evening I enjoyed dinner and a
conversation with a friend, and afterwards we
walked to a local town centre.

Other days I might watch
a movie at home.

It had been a beautiful
day, followed by a beautiful night — a denim sky
illuminated by a waning crescent moon, a million
diamonds afire, and the prospect of a new day at
midnight.

The good news is my life is no different than yours,
minus the routine.

Sure, the details are different,
the circumstances are different, but we all have the
same 24 hours in a day.

We all have one life to live,
and that life is passing by one day at a time.

The only real difference lies within the decisions we
make and the actions we take.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Self Centered

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The more you help yourself get stronger, the more
you can help the weakest.

The more you help yourself get happier, the more
you can help the saddest.

The more you help yourself get relaxed, the more
you can help the most stressed.

The more you help yourself get wealthier, the more
you can help the poorest.

And if you become far stronger/happier/healthier/
wealthier than the average, then the more people
you will be able to help in the world.

You can’t help others from a weakest position.

An ill person can’t help us to be healthier; a hungry
person can’t feed others.

Be at peace with yourself when you are well-
intentioned selfish.

You might be thinking: Should I do things for
myself only when that helps others?

Does all this mean that I can’t do things just for myself
anymore?

I enjoy eating ice cream without remotely being
aware how my pleasure helps others.
I keep doing
what feels good for my senses and my being.

Maybe doing things for ourselves feels so good
because at the end, even if we don’t perceive it, our
happiness helps others.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

God of Old Lonely Men

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Fear lurks
In the dark corners of my heart,
Waiting to convince me
That love will fail.

Sorrow lurks
In the dark corners of my soul,
Waiting to convince me
That faith will fail.

Doubt lurks
In the dark corners of my mind,
Waiting to convince me
That wisdom will fail.

Teach me to shine
Into the dark corners of my mind,
So that I face my fears with courage
Redeeming them with awe and wonder.

Teach me to shine
Into the dark corners of my soul,
So that I face my sorrows with strength
Redeeming them with righteousness.

God of Old Lonely Men,
Teach me to shine
The light of faith
Into the dark corners of my mind,
So that I face my doubts with honour
Redeeming them with hope.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Indifference

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Some form of indifference in life is important so as to keep our sanity especially in potentially explosive emotional situations that can be full of unnecessary drama.

Staying rational and logical is a huge hurdle
for many of us.

When someone personally
says something that attacks our belief
system, we naturally want to speak up and
put that person in their place.

Don’t do that! Keep calm.

You have to keep an open mind and get
unattached to your opinions on the matter.

So this person thinks something different
from you — good for them!

Being indifferent is about
leaving our assumptions, our beliefs, our pride,
our emotions and our vulnerability at the
door.

In order to do so, our minds have to be
entirely open.

So when someone is talking ill of you behind your back-you will go like-

Hmm.

Interesting.

Wonder why he/she thinks like that?

Any reaction on your part should be merely
intrigued — never offended, angry, or
defensive.

When someone says, “Hey, ohmigosh, I really
have something I want to tell you — but I
totally shouldn’t,” they’re actually saying,
“Please give me attention. I have some
gossip and it would give me immense
satisfaction if you begged for it.”

Don’t give them the joy of pulling you into their gossip highway!

Instead,say something like-”you don’t have to tell me right now. Take your time and tell me whenever you feel comfortable to do so.”

In a relationship, Indifference is not caring what the other person does
in a relationship.

There are no arguments, so
everything may seem okay on the surface.

Arguing stops because you don’t care if you were right or felt
hurt by another person’s words or actions.

Trust isn’t
an issue, because you don’t care about earning or
having the other person’s trust (or trusting them).

You can cheat on them.

They can cheat on you.

No big deal!

You interact every day in a vacuum where everything
seems okay, because neither of you cares whether it
is or not. It’s a perfect illusion that you both have
silently agreed to live.

But it’s not a relationship at
that point anymore.

And it’s hardly living.

Beware of indifference in a relationship!

If your
automatic response to your significant other’s
question always seems to be, “Whatever,” that may
be a sign that indifference creeping up on you.

If you still care
about the other person in your life and the
relationship’s future, you’ll listen to it.

If you are looking for a way out this relationship,then it is a safe way of blunting the pain when the relationship finally dies like the death of a chronically ill close person-you have made yourself ready for it.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Success In Life Requires NO Previous Experience

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How many times have you let opportunities pass you
by because you said you lacked the experience?

While experience is good it should not be limiting.

What experience did the first humans to the moon
have?

What experience did the initiators of the
university system have?

Think of it.

They had no degrees but the strength of their vision,
conviction and passion set up a standard for the rest
of the world to follow.

The greatest use of experience
is when the future is exactly like the past.

However, if
you expect a future that is totally different from your
past then you really don’t have the experience for it.

Landmark breakthroughs are not the products of
experience.

They are the products of people who had
visions and who dared to experiment with their
visions.

They are products of people who took all the
information available to them and convinced
themselves that the experience that their vision
produced in their minds would see them through.

Landmark breakthroughs happen when people defy
the logic of containment which says you cannot do it
because you have never done it before or which says
you cannot do it because no one has done it before.

How limiting.

This is the kind of thinking that has
made leaders into followers, princes into peasants
and philanthropists into paupers.

The words stage of influence is reserved for those
who are ready to dare to be the first.

Nobel prizes are
not for the masses.

They are for people who dared to
step out and dare something new — people who
dared to challenge popular thought and culture and
not give the excuse of experience.

How many
presidents had been presidents before getting
elected?

No CEO was born a CEO.

No great warrior
was born fighting.

The experience issue has caused too many people to
disconnect themselves from possibilities.

We live in a
world full of possibilities — a world of abundance.

Yet so many people just pass through and remain
ordinary because they have convinced themselves
that they do not have the experience to be
successful.

What do you need to overcome the containing logic
that says you cannot move to the next level because
you lack experience?

First you need a vision greater than your doubts.

The voice of your dream needs to be louder than the
voice of your fears, your doubts and your lack of
experience.

The truth is that we all have fear from
time to time.

No one is totally void of fear but
greatness comes when people act in spite of fear.

When I see the number of unfulfilled people on the
face of the earth today, and I hear stories of the
visions that people had when they were younger and
how they regret not acting on them, I think I have
enough evidence to conclude that many people on
earth are ruled by fear and this is what contains
them.

What will you do today if you were not afraid?

The answer to that question may just be the
indicator to where you should focus your attention
and energy.

Once the vision is greater than the doubts and fears,
then you must begin to equip yourself for the vision.

Even though the first people to the moon had never
been there before, their preparation was faultless.

They were building capacity.

Adjusting their body
weight, adjusting their thinking, and doing
everything required to prepare them for the
expedition.

Don’t leave the expedition of your life to chance and
don’t let it be killed by your doubts and fears.

The truth is however that many people will really not
mind trying and failing if no one else would know
about it.

So, it seems like our greatest fear is the fear
of people knowing we tried and we failed and for this,
there is only one piece of advice that
I can give – GET
OVER IT.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Hotel Room

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I’m packing.

A nagging worry of departure.

Lost room keys.

Unwritten luggage labels.

Tissue paper rolls on the floor.

I hate it all.

Even today,when shutting drawers,and flinging open hotel wardrobe.

I’m aware of sadness,a sense of loss.

Here i can say,I’ve lived;I’ve been happy.

This room has been mine,however brief the time.

Though I’ve been in this room for only two nights,
i leave something of mine behind.

Nothing material.

Not a toothbrush.

Or a handkerchief.

But something indefinite.

Just a moment in my long life.

A mood.

Even stopping for luncheon at a wayside motel,
And going to a dimly lit washroom to wash my hands,
Pulling at a door handle of a door unknown to me there before,
The linolin wall paper peeling in strip under neglect,
A funny little cracked mirror above the washroom sink,
-for this moment,the washroom belongs to me.

This is the present moment.

There is no past,no future.

Here i’m washing my hands,
And the cracked mirror shows me to myself.

Suspended in time,as it were,this is me!

This moment won’t be lost.

Within the two nights in this strange hotel room,
i have advanced one step towards my unknown destiny.

My departure from the room is finished with snapping of the door lock.

It is like turning a page of a photographs album.

And finding that there are no more photos to see,
Until we take the next snap.

It is over for now,
Between me and this cosy hotel room,
Until next time.

But i hope the memory lasts me a lifetime,
Just like other relatively unimportant memories,
That add colour to my life.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Sweet Seduction

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I had no tact,langour or subtlety,
i had only read about those in books.

The challenge of pursuing her relentlessly,
The swift glance,the stimulating smile-the art of provocation was unknown to me.

I would at a picnic,a can of yoghurt on my lap,
Happy in silence,yet eager for her words.

She was older than me,
But i have never seen such unparalleled beauty in a mature woman.

Whether she talked or not,
Made little difference to my elated mood.

We drove east,we drove west-
i really don’t know where we went,
But small village,to us,was nirvana of our romance.

All i remember is the smell of polished leather seats in my car,
The texture of her smooth hand,
Now and then placed on my laps.

And how one day,looking at the Dashboard clock i thought to myself-
“This moment now-at twenty past eleven in the morning,
This moment must never be lost!”

And i shut my eyes to make the experience more lasting,
To capture the bliss of that moment and freeze it forever.

When i opened my eyes,
We were in a bend of the road,
And a peasant girl in a flowing beige skirt waved at us by the roadside.

i can still see her now in my mind after all these years-never mind how many-

Her dusty skirt.

Her gleaming eyes.

Her friendly smile.

-and in a second,we had passed the bend,
And i could see her no more!

Already,she belonged to the past.

A memory.

I wanted to go back again,
To recapture the moment that had just gone.

And then it came to me that even we did go back,
It would not be the same moment.

Even the sun had changed in the sky,
The casting of shadows was shorter,
And the peasant girl would walk alongside the road in a different way.

Not waving this time,having already done it earlier,
Probably not even noticing us the second time round.

There was something chilling in these thoughts,
That made me realise that we should cherish these blissful moments of seduction,
For in the next moment,they will be lost forever!

“If there could only be an invention”,
i thought impulsively,
“That bottled a moment like sweet fragrance in a vial so that we can relive these magic moments!”

And when one wanted to go back,
The vial will be uncapped,
And it would be like living the moment all over again,
Just like one dons a fresh fragrance,
After the one worn earlier fades in scent.

“What moments in your life would you like un corked?”

Telepathy.

She had read my mind.

I could not tell from her evenly levelled voice whether she was teasing me or not.

“i’m not sure”-i began and blundered on rather foolishly

-not thinking of my words.

“I’d like to keep this moment forever”.

“Is that meant to be a compliment to this particular day,
Or to my keeping you company?”

She said and laughed like a mocking elder sister.

I became silent.

Overwhelmed suddenly by the gulf between us,
And how her very kindness and love seemed to widen it,
Making me concious of her older status,

I knew i would never tell my friends about this magic moments with her,
They would only deride my dating an older date.

Their laugh would hurt me.

“I wish”,she said,”i was a younger than you-’cause that’s the way it should be-an older man,a younger woman”

There was a hint of melancholy in her voice.

“Don’t even mention it”,i started,”i ask you out because you are older,more mature,more experienced in the world-cause that’s what’s turn me on about you-and that’s what makes this thing a sweet seduction to me.”

Dusk was falling.

We had lost the sense of time.

When i said that,the whole world lit up-

She fed me on one of her sweetest seductive smiles.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

First Love Fever

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I’m glad it can’t happen twice,
The fever of first love.

For it is a true fever and a burden too,
Whatever the poets may say.

They were not brave,
Those days when i was twenty one,
And going through my first love.

They were full of little cowardices,
Little fears without foundations.

One was so easily bruised,
By teased rejections and slights.

So swiftly wounded by a callous word,
I always felt dejected by the first barbed word.

Today,wrapped in the complacent armour of middle age,
Small bruises on my ego and slights of day by day interactions with others,including my dearest, are soon forgotten.

But a careless word or whisper from friends and lovers still linger,
The stigmata of friendship and love.

An adult mind can tell lies,
With untroubled conscience,
Saying,”i love you” when i don’t really mean it.

But in those days,even a small deception scalded my tongue,
A man at war with himself-a war fought in the deep private recesses of my mind.

How things change!

How time flies!

I’m growing old now.

I have forgotten much about those days,
Of the conversations we had,me and my first love.

Of the places we went.

But I’ve never forgotten the nagging insecurities that besotted me,
Every time i was in the presence of my first love,

Trembling lips of my first kiss,
And the terror of my first ever sleepover at my beloved’s…

Those were the days-
Days of first love fever!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

?

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I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.

I kissed her so many times under the moonlit sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.

How could I not have loved her large, sexy eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

To think I don’t have her.

To feel that I’ve lost her.
To hear the immense silence of this night, more immense without
her pillow talk.

And this poem falls to my soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her.

The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That’s all.

Far away, someone sings.

Far away.

A sad love song plays in my soul,like words of a familiar song stuck in my mind.

My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.

My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

We, we who were in love once, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.

My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

She’s someone else’s.

She will be someone else’s.

As she once belonged to me.

Her voice, her light body.

Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps i still love her memories.

Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her,i perhaps don’t love her at all anymore!

And that is the saddest part of this poem.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Crumbs of Comfort

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How many sips of beer will dry my tears?
How strong would be the wind that blows away all my sorrows?
How many hugs would make me trust in love again,after my heart was broken?

But ponder this-the rich will never know who loves them for their wit or wallet!

How many fires will warm my cold feet again,so that i can move on?
How many assurances will i need to hear before i can trust again after betrayal.

But ponder this-the lonely hearts will never have their heart broken,untill they take a chance on love again!

How many nights do i have to sleep alone,’cause i fear letting in anyone into my life?
How many miles will i have to go,till i realise that this road does not end?

But ponder this-no one really needs company on a warm night!

I’m seeking to know,my friend,
If you can be my crumbs of comfort,
during this uncertain times in my life!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Relax….

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I am here for you-
When happiness finds its way to you,
And you want someone to share it with;
Someone to tell it to.

I am here for you
When troubles somehow find their way in
And you want someone to lean on;
Someone on whom you can depend.

I am here for you
When your dreams find a way of coming true,
And you want the support of someone
Who has always believed in you
I am always here for you!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Y.O.U

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I’ve never seen or met YOU,but
you are beautiful-

Although, you may not see
the person that I see
when I look at you.

And if the mirror you look into
could show your reflection through my eyes
you would see a smile so bright
it could light up the world
throughout the day and into the night.

You are courageous
Although, you may not feel
all that brave.

But I see, how strong you can be.

And if you could take a minute
to look back at all your ups and downs
you would smile with pride
because you made it through.

And then you would be believe
what I already know to be true;
You are incredible, intelligent
fearless and strong.

Life is beautiful, wonderful and fun
and all your dreams can come true
if you start by believing in YOU.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Very Strange,this Love thing!

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First, love confuses us.

We can look it right in the
face and not recognize it.

Love can be hidden by
disagreements and bad taste in music.

Love doesn’t
always smack us in the face, but it does sneak up on
us.

It likes to show up when we least expect it and
when we really aren’t ready for it.

Then, love excites us.

The tingly feelings in our
stomachs never go away.

We develop new ways of
thinking in which nearly all thoughts lead to love, to
those we share it with.

Love takes us by the hand and
skips around in a little circle, our hearts aflutter and
eyelids batting rapidly.

Next, usually, love scares us.

We offer our hearts to
people and trust them to care for our hearts despite
their lonely, tattered state.

“How will this ever work?”
we think.

The scars we bring with us have changed
us.

They have shaped us into who we are and to have
that shaken up again…unthinkable.

Soon we’re convinced that we can really, truly trust
our beaten down hearts in the hands of another.

We learn to throw caution to the wind and allow
ourselves the freedom to breathe in the presence of
our love, even though the air had once escaped that
sacred space.

Love satisfies us for just a short while, after we’ve
settled down and yet before we’ve really settled
down.

Love bores us.

We learn to identify our needs as the
needs of our loved ones and vice-versa.

We lose sight
of whom we were prior to love and we start to nest.

We start to dig a hole of self-pity and bury ourselves
beneath the soil of bitterness.

“How did everything
get so monotonous?” we ask ourselves.

Things used
to be exciting.

We used to be infatuated and now,
here we are, watching television on the couch and
peeing with the loo door open.

Love centers us.
We see the changes we’ve made
within ourselves and realize just that: we’ve done
this to ourselves.

We could have chosen anyone to
love and still transformed into a better human being
over time.

Love holds a mirror to our faces and forces
us to own our integrity and our shortcomings.

Love plants our feet on the ground and tells us, “You do
you.”

Love sometimes fails us.

Sometimes love is not
enough to push through the challenges that the
world places at our feet.

Love cannot actually melt
the rock hard ice.
However, it can warm the chilliest
heart, and it can teach a woman that a small waist
and pin straight hair are not what beauty looks like.

Beauty is the ability to love others in the way we love
ourselves: wholeheartedly.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Plan For a Good Day. Prepare for Trouble

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Life’s full of disasters.

Vehicular crashes, terrorism,
robberies, famine and floods.

The list’s endless.

You can’t pretend they never happen, or avoid dealing
with them when they do.

When your house is burning, or an accident happens
in front of you, you have to drop everything and do
your best.

But problems also happen on another level: those
small daily irritations that drive us all nuts.

The endless traffic jams.

Making your money last to the end of
the month.

Managing your weight.

Making time for
your family,or a relationship.

And sooner or later, something always goes wrong.

People are difficult, a tyre bursts, or you run out of
salt.

Day-to-day troubles aren’t exactly the stuff of your
dreams.

But the way you handle them says a lot
about whether you will succeed in life or not —
because it’s a sort of training, making you better able
to deal with the real disasters.

And being prepared
often means they never happen at all.

The little things
In fact, the ability to cope with trouble is one of the
biggest differences between winners and losers,
especially how you deal with those little things that
are so easy to let slip.

That’s true for everyone of us
and even for whole countries…

Those things are never dramatic or urgent.

It’s easy to delay spending time with your kids or neglect your
health until something serious occurs.

Think of administrators who always seem to ignore
the possibility of flooding when the sun’s shining.

Or never do the things that would prevent motor crashes.

Or a famine.

By contrast, successful people know that setback are inevitable.

That life’s complicated and can be
tiresome.

So they’ve learned to maintain their
strength, resolve and optimism in the face of
difficulties.

They know too that as they become more successful,
the size of their problems will increase.

So they prepare.

And people who prepare don’t panic.

They become heroes.

This is because difficulties are rarely ever a complete
and total surprise.

And life’s never fair.

So just get good at it.

Protect yourself by always having some slack in your
schedule, money in the bank, and keeping really fit
so that you can always handle the unexpected.

Plan for difficulties and be prepared.

Service your car.

Keep plenty of fuel in the tank.

Take a self defence course.

Keep your store cupboard well stocked.

View every difficulty as a learning opportunity rather
than as a problem.

And always be proactive, taking
care of difficulties while they are still small.

Preventative maintenance is a really good idea.

For your clothes, your car, your relationships, your
health…

Learn from every experience and try not to have the
same problem twice by making whatever changes
that are necessary to prevent a repeat before you
move on.

And gradually you become what you learn.

So expect trouble!

Take it in your stride, build up your
resilience, and you’ll always be a winner!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

My Battle With Cancer. A Personal Journal. A Small Book

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I’m battling and braving prostate cancer.

It is a very personal journey to go through a terminal illness.

People rarely share this profound experience about human frailty and mortality.

Wait!

I found a small book on cancer.

This will sound mad.

But do you sometimes wake up
in the dead of the night and lie there, anxious that
perhaps there is a book out there you will die without
reading?

A book that was “written for you”?

No?

OK, what about a play?

A painting?

A movie?

A small movie about a boy in Basra who dreamt of a life
beyond herding goats.

A boy who tried to wrestle free
of that life, but – tragically – never left.

Wouldn’t you want to be a part of that boy’s departed dream?

Do you think of those things at 3am, when the dogs
outside have out-barked themselves and the still and
the blackness of the night has turned into a cliché?

Aren’t you curious that out there exists some body of
art that shifts, albeit a little, your whole existence?

Well, I’m sure it’s out there.

An undiscovered author,
or musician or painter or, or, or someone who created
a piece of art so profound it seems to know you exist.

I think about things like that at 3am.

When I can’t sleep.

It fills me with a harrowing sense of foreboding.

This question about my existence and mortality and tasks
and experiences that will never cross my path.

It’s just me, right?

Say it.

Well I found that book.

Rather, it found me.

A little background.

For the longest time I read
books.

Then I stopped.

You know the way you pull
chairs for a chic you have just started dating then
after a while you stop, not because you don’t fancy
her anymore but just because you stopped?

That’s what happened to me and books.

Then, circa 2009, I started reading magazines,
because that was my new literary cool: GQ, Esquire,
Vanity Fair, Men’s Health, Time, National Geographic…Ate them
up.

Then early this year I stopped pulling chairs for
magazines.

My lasts obsession, Sunday Nation,
stopped floating my steamer too.

I became a literary
orphan.

Then last week I remembered Nick Hornby.

I discovered Nick way back in 2008 and he had a large
impact on me with the fluidity of his prose, his dry
English wit and his crusty sentences that hardly ever
went over 17 words.

So I went to that downtown Nairobi bookshop at Yaya Center to seek
nostalgia.

They didn’t have any of Nick’s books but
the book attendant recommended some chap called
Peter Biddlecombe, who sounded more like a
beekeeper than a writer.

But who was I to turn my
nose; I was a literary orphan as it were.

So I bought one of his books called Never Feel A
Stranger, which – I’m sorry to disappoint you – isn’t
creepy as its title suggests.

It’s actually a travel book,
funny-ish, and quite sarcastic.

And the clincher?

It’s written in the first-person.

I can’t stand books written
in the third-person.

This was the first book I was
reading in three years.

Excuse me, I’ve been busy.

On Friday I landed in Zanzibar.

I sat down with
this amiable tycoon who owns a one-month old
restaurant called Six Degrees South in Stone Town,
an elaborately snazzy eatery set by the sea.

Over wine and honey-glazed prawns I sat with this tycoon
(he’s called Saleh) and he rattled on about the
restaurant and the dream preceding it.

It always stems from a dream.

Then we talked about his toys- private plane and his
Range Rovers and his small three door Japanese job
that he uses in the island and all his glittery
trappings that come with boatful of dough.

Then,because I’m obsessed about opening people’s
“vaults”, I asked him what money hasn’t been able to
buy for him so far and he sipped his Sauvignon Blanc
blithely and said simply that he “has been very
lucky.”

The ocean groaned,a big tidal wave rose to greet his “Luck”.

Next morning, together with Mr. Biddlecombe and
his dry wit, I hopped onto a small plane to Dar es
Salaam.

When I got into a Wi-fi area, I saw this email, from a
pal of mine called Kijo.

She was enquiring about my
health and my miraa(Khat) addiction (jokes) and informing
me that she had found a writer who writes like me, a
John Green.

Have I read his work?

I wrote back and
said no.

She then emailed me this e-book called “The
Fault in Our Stars.”

Honestly, I didn’t really care to
read it.

But the moment I read the first paragraph, it
was like breaking my literary hymen and
immediately I belonged, to, uhm, something.

Like my literary bereavement ceased.

Am I making sense?

The book is about this extremely witty 17yr old girl
called Hazel, a stage 4 thyroid cancer patient, who
carts about this oxygen concentrate tank wherever
she goes.

She spends her time at the cancer support
group, movies with her pals and to visit this boy she
likes, Augustus Waters (Gus), who is also a cancer
survivor with one prosthetic leg and talks like an
intern at J.P Morgan.

This book is book about three or
so teenagers battling cancer with admirable humour.

It’s also about some book they are reading that they
keep talking about, a book written by an egghead
prick of an author.

Look, you got to read it.

In the opening paragraphs Hazel says:
When you read a cancer booklet or website or
wherever, they always list depression as among the
side effect of cancer.

But in fact depression is not the
side effect of cancer.

Depression is the side effect of
dying (Cancer is also the side effect of dying, almost
everything is).

I was sold.

I read it at any given possible opportune.

And it drained my emotions, that book.

I thought of
little else than Hazel.

I dove into her world full of pain
and bravery and disease and oxygen tanks and the
boy she likes- Gus, who in spite of his one leg, will
often make your laugh out loud.

Later, I, together with Daisy, went to this food fesyt thing, which was being held at the Southern
Sun’s garden.

It had stalls with lots of wine and food
and cheese and folk milled about clutching on plastic
cups of booze or soda and nibbling on something
greasy and making small talk.

The only thing louder
than the music there was the MC.

It was another
Grand event, brimming with the glitterati of Dar; the
fashionistas and all these folk who genuinely
believed they were important to the eco-system.

It was like Blankets and Wine rolled together with the
fashion high tea.

Certainly not my forte.

I feel lonely
in big crowds, in places where women wear those
extraordinarily large hats and large shades and the
men prattle about Formula One.

Through this entire highbrow hubbub, I thought of
Hazel.

And her oxygen tank.

And Gus and his
prosthetic leg.

Eventually I stepped out of the garden
area and sat under an umbrella and read the book
from my phone.

There is this point where Hazel is
saying:
There will come a time, when all of us are dead.

When there are no human beings remaining to
remember that anyone ever existed or our species
ever did anything.

There will be no one left to
remember Cleopatra or Aristotle, let alone you.

Everything we did and built and wrote and thought
and discovered will be forgotten and all these – she
gestures encompassing – will have been for naught.

Maybe that time is coming soon, maybe it’s a million
years away, but even if we survive the collapse of our
sun, we will not survive forever…and if the human
oblivion worries you, I encourage you to ignore it.

God knows that’s what everyone does.

Tell me you don’t love that kid.

I told Daisy I was leaving, going back to my hotel-
Slipway Hotel- some 25mins away in an area that
was supposed to be their Lavington.

I read the book
in the cab, and successfully – almost – ignored the
chatty cabbie.

He informed me – helpfully- that
Kenyans love beer, choma and women and asked me
if I wanted a girl.

I grinned and told him I have one
already, she is twenty five-my first born daughter,born out of wedlock,and now a clinical officer in Toronto,Canada.

He laughed and went back to the
road.

I went back to Hazel.

At Slipway, which is this mall by the waterfront, I sat
in this café called Classico Café and ordered this
thing called Chicken Saltimbocca, which is chicken
wrapped with bacon and fresh herbs then served
with mashed potatoes, baby vegetables and cheese
sauce.

TSH, 18,000. Best. Meal. I. Had. In. Dar.

Hazel was talking about a time when she was in
remission and the doctors had tried these drugs that
weren’t working and she had fluid in her lungs and
she was in ICU with pneumonia and waiting for her
death and his dad was standing by her bed, trying
not to cry and losing that fight and when he did she
describes his cries like “am earthquake” and his
mom is kneeling next to her bed, holding her hand
and whispering to her, “Are you ready sweetie?” and
she nods, saying she is ready to die.

Then the mother
breaks down in her father’s chest and whispers to
him, “ I will not be a mom anymore.”

And it kills her
(not literally), and she says she tries to let go, to
embrace death, but her cancerous lungs wouldn’t let
go, and it struggles for air…
I quickly looked up.

Because I felt this deep distress
and sorrow flooding my system.

Excruciating passage.

And I felt so sad, and I looked out in the sea,
at the small little boats bobbing in the sparking
midafternoon sunshine and I did something I have
been avoiding to think about since I stared the book;
My daughter.

And I think how I would handle if I had a sick
terminally sick child who was in pain and shit.

For the first time in my life,i was thankful that it is me who has this cancer thing,and not my beautiful daughter!

Now, that would literally create a crater the size of a
Football stadium in my heart.

And I feel a bit angry with
myself for allowing those thoughts.

Then I dialed my daughter’s number and it was off.

So I sent her a whatsapp message to her phone and it stayed
on one tick for ages.

It’s still on one tick.

Kids!

When Hazel goes to her cancer support group, she
often has to go up the light of stairs (she’s a very self
sufficient young lady), and I find myself wanting to
get into the book and helping her with her oxygen
tank.

Or her purse.

I really do.

I would carry Hazel’s
purse from River road to Riara Road.

And I’m anti-carrying-purses.

I finish lunch.

Then as I wait for the bill, I think of my
departed mom.

Nowadays thinking of mom doesn’t
strike me with that nauseating sorrow it used to, just
this inexplicably profound loss.

I get jealous when I
see someone with their mom.

Or when they look at
their ringing phone and go, “let me take this, it’s
mum.”

It sickens me up with jealousy.

Before I showered, I sat on the edge of my bed and
read.

I read slowly.

I try to soak in paragraphs.

I often
repeat pages and sentences that impress me, or I re-
read dialogues that I find sexy.

I take notes on my
phone.

I obsess over new smart phrases.

At some
point the sun started to set and from the hotel room
the oranges drown the room, so I Instagrammed the
picture.
Then I stepped into the shower.

I whatsapped Daisy
and excused myself to the rest from some plan to see
the town by night.

I wanted to find a nice bar to
review, and on recommendation I took a cab to The
Cape Town Fish Market along Msasani Bay.

No bar
comes close to this bar in Nairobi: set by the sea, it’s
done in whites and blues and it serves great south
African wine.

I sat at the bar, ordered this glass of pinotage called
Fat Fish then I bowed my head to my phone and did
some reading.

To my right was a gentleman on a first or second
date.

I know because he was trying so hard to be cool
and likeable and he was speaking too much English,
which in TZ is invariably bad English.

Most Tanzanians can’t speak English to save them from
gout.

But one would excuse him for really digging in
his oars if you cast a glance at his date; she was a
stunner.

To my left were three japs having Sake.

To my immediate right were two Amazon ladies who looked
like they came to Africa to fight Malaria.

Or Poverty.

Or both.

Since there was WIFI I Whatsapped Kijo and thanked
her for the amazing book and went on to enthuse at
how this was the best book I’ve read since Adam was a
boy blah blah blah.

I went on and on about it (I can
be dramatic) until I realized I was whatsapping alone
because she had either slept or passed out.

Back to the book: Gus’s best mate – a cancer survivor
too- loses his eyesight and his girlfriend and it gets
real teary in the book.

For me that angst is helped by
a breeze blowing through from the ocean and then
they start playing Big Yellow Taxi by Counting Crows.

When was the last time you heard that track?

Then they played John Mayer’s “Heartbreak hotel” and all
these songs followed, songs that you’d hear in One
Tree Hill and it set a spooky soundtrack for the book.

I would frequently come up for air, to find the
“English” Tanzanian guy has ordered another
cocktail for the chic, the chemical warfare was on.

Assad would have been proud.

He spoke more than
the lady, but I silently rooted for him, even though
his English didn’t.

After two glasses of wine, I settle the tab, climbed off
the bar stool and took a quick glance at how
“English” Man was fairing.

The tide didn’t look to
wash for him.

She was tediously supporting her head
on her hand, and not in that rapt attention way, but
that stoic tolerant way.

And the level of her drink
hadn’t gone down much.

English man was at sea
without a sail and as the cab pulled away into the
night I prayed he had an ace up his sleeve.

This book is a nirvana.

It’s a painful book – if you
open yourself to pain – because really cancer is
painful.

But the author makes cancer charming, he
almost romanticizes it.

Almost.

It has many laughs,
but it’s a different kind of laugh, like when you were
a kid and you knocked your shin and it hurt like hell
but people were watching and you didn’t want to cry,
so you laughed.

A pain-peppered laughter.

But a laugh nonetheless.

I’m on chapter 11.

I dread finishing it, because then I
will feel like an orphan again.

Here is something
Hazel wrote, that struck a chord:
…. Sometimes you read a book and it fills you with
this weird and evangelic zeal and you become
convinced that the shattered world will never be put
together unless and until all the human beings read
that book, and then there are books so special and
rare and yours that advertising your affection for it
feels like a betrayal.

That kid is talking to me.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

My Past. My Pain. My Glory

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Like everyone, I’ve had my share of unpleasant,
difficult, and down right heart breaking
experiences.

For the longest time I was angry at the world
because I’d experienced them.

I hated the mistakes
I made.

I berated myself for my screw-ups and
stupid choices.

I felt defined by them—
embarrassed and soiled—like I should be wearing a
T-Shirt with the words “Damaged Goods” on it.

One day, a very wise person said these words to
me:
Everything that has ever happened to you is
the perfect preparation for the person you’re
destined to become.

And everything clicked;

Those things that I had regretted so much, had
shaped me.

What’s more, I had a choice in it.

I had inadvertently used those things that had happened
to me as things that drove me forward.

Many of the things I’d become interested in, my passions, and
my values were driven by those very experiences.

Don’t hate your past.

No matter what it contained
or what it did to you, the past shapes who you are,
not just for the things you felt damaged you but for
the lessons you can take from it.

I love working and making friends with the people I call the world
shakers.

They’re the people who want to make a
difference in the world so that they leave it in a
slightly better way than they found it.

I love these types of people because they’re so
driven by their heart and passion for others.

They’re kind.

They value people.

You know what else these people have in common?

They have empathy for others and a desire to make
the world a better place.

Not in a showy, “give me
the Nobel Peace Prize” kind of way (although a bit
more showy-ness wouldn’t go amiss!) but in a
gentle, modest way.

Do you know what really amazes and inspires me
about world shakers?

They’ve had their own hurts,
challenges, and heartbreaks but instead of letting
those things harden them and make them brittle,
they’ve allowed themselves to stay open and
vulnerable.

They’ve taken those things that have
wounded, battered, and pierced them and
transformed the experiences into fierce
empathy for others.

They can’t walk past the person who’s struggling
because they know how it feels to struggle.

They have a way of recognizing the human condition in
all of us.

They turn it outward and use it as a learning
experience, one that enhances their ability to
empathize and drives their conviction to change
things for others.

It could be the mother who refuses to pass on the
cycle of abuse she experienced to her own kids, or
the teacher who bans the world “stupid” from his
classroom because he can remember how much it
crippled him to hear it as a child.

It could be the man who gives coffee to the
homeless guy every day because he can know
what it’s like to feel like no one cares about you, or
the recovering addict who works with troubled
teens to try and save them the pain of his
experiences.

World shaking is often driven by a need to
make things better because of the pain
we’ve suffered ourselves.

Still, I still have to catch myself when I bemoan the
things that have happened to me over the years.

I realized that resilience is a practice, not some
innate skill that you either have or you don’t.

I learned how to develop my own resilience and that
made me immensely driven to help others do it,
too.

My dark times also forged my sense of empathy, a
key skill I bring to my life.

If I’d had the
“charmed” life I’d originally wanted, would this
have been the case? Somehow I doubt it.

All of the lessons I’ve learned led to wisdom that
can only be gained through experiencing life’s ups
and downs.

Hard lessons learned are deep lessons.

They shape us.

Most of us are familiar with the
term post-traumatic stress, but did you know
there is also a phenomenon called post-
traumatic growth?

It’s the ability to grow through adversity—to come
out the other end stronger, clearer, and with a
renewed zest for life.
I think that’s what many of us fail to recognize in
ourselves, that those dark times, far from
diminishing us, can give us the most profound of
gifts—the gift of recognizing human life in all its
messy, painful, courageous glory.

We can take those gifts and use them to be a
beacon to others to say, “It’s okay. I’ve been there.
This too will pass.”

And that surely is a real gift worth giving.

My past,my past pain,has become my glory-my leading light into a bright self-conscious future.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

The Fool I AM.The Fool I Will Be. Love Dirge

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You call me up at five to five, and you ask me if I’ll
drop by,
that you need me, tonight you’re all alone.

Like the fool I am and the fool I’ll be, I drive there
anxiously
But when I got there, you were not alone….

When will I ever learn that you’ll never care about
me?

You only build me up to bring me down again.

When will I ever learn that you’ll use me and abuse
me?

Tell me; when will I ever learn?

When will I learn, when will I get wise; you never
apologise.

I swear that this time I’m through with you.

But i know,like the fool I am and the fool I’ll be, the next time
you need me,
Once again I’ll give in to you!

I love you no matter where you spend the night,
You can always come back to me,
After you are through with this sad betrayal.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Africa Shall Be Gay!

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Let me put matters straight right in the beginning;
In matters of the bedroom,i’m a straight guy.

You can call it my “finally coming out of the closet”.

After all,Africans are being encouraged to come out the closet about their sexual orientation,mostly by western countries.

But you just can’t wake up on a sunny beautiful morning at breakfast table and announce that you are gay and you are tired of living a lie.

This Africa!

You must “think like an african”!

You can be jailed for coming out of the “wrong closet”!

Let me tell you two very personal stories that brought me face to face in my personal life with real gay situation in Africa;

STORY ONE

Stella-not her real name-called me one Friday evening after about five years of no contact.

She is my former girlfriend.

We need to talk-she said.

That raised bits of my hair.

Saturday date.Deal. Afternoon is Ok.

No. We are not going to re-live the past by meeting in our past familiar joints-she assured me.

Not necessarily on any of the venues we both used before.

It is serious Ben. More serious than our former relationship.

I eased my mind.

This was not going to be about alimony or child upkeep.

Stella was now happily married to a former colleague at a former work station.

In a way,her husband and i have remained friends and we are very civil about us both trying our luck on Stella.

Eliud won her.

I honourably lost the game.

So comes the Saturday afternoon date with Stella.

I’m still single after divorce in my first marriage,but careful about any rash commitments from my past escapades.

Stella had been my sounding board after getting back on the dating scene. I used her to hone my moribound seductive skills after my divorce.

We both have no hard feelings about how it ended.

She’s got my boy,a product of our former relationship.

There was no marriage.

I never claimed the parental rights to the boy after Stella married Eliud-not his real name.

But i can attest to two things;both of Stella’s children are mine. I’m their biological father;the one before her marriage,and the one after her marriage to Eliud.

Don’t ask me how it happened.

These things happen.

Anyway,back to my date with Stella-after five long years of absence.

She was distraught.

Her husband is gay!

He has finally told her in a moment of weakness during a fight.

She is now worried about her children,technically our children.

She can’t trust her gay husband with the boy;

She can’t trust her gay husband to be a male role model to her daughter,sorry,our daughter.

The worst thing is that she can’t tell just about anybody about her husband’s gay status. He could be jailed for having unnatural carnal acts under our country laws.

Declaring her husband’s gay status would almost certainly dissolve her marriage under law for having been solemnised on false pretences.

That may mean loss of property and inheritance for her two children after marriage dissolution.

What was she to do? She asked me.

Live it out. Pretend that all is normal. For your own sake. For the sake of your children. For the sake of your husband. For the sake of our pretentious society that does not confront this problem in the open.

I told her.

It felt inadequate.

But this is Africa.

We don’t talk about such issues.

Even in whispers.

STORY TWO

Tom looked both amused and confused.

He was a bit agitated.

He had just had a very long discussion with his wife and her long time female friend.

Tom always guessed there must be ‘something’ between his wife and ‘her friend.’

‘Her friend’ likes sleep overs in Tom’s home,especially when he is away on duty.

Tom is a fast consumer goods salesman.

Today,he arrived home unannounced and found his wife and her friend in their matrimonial bed,sex toys and all!

Tom’s wife is a lesbian.

They have three lovely children.

It is a perfect family.

What can possibly go wrong in such a family?

Only a taboo.

Tom can do nothing about his shocking discovery.

It is too embarrassing to even tell his closest friends.

Tough it out. We tell him. Act normal. Don’t throw away your marriage on such a trivial issue. And please don’t embarrass us by coming out in the open about your wife.

This is Africa.

Africa shall be GAY,but no one is allowed to talk about it.

Don’t even mention the vile things that gays call rights!

Or even come out the of closet about it.

Africa is one vast continent.

Taken literally,it is one big closet that can hold all gays and prudes comfortably inside.

No need for any one to come out of this big closet!

Not in this millenium. Not in the next one!

Our laws-and we shall make more stringent ones if the ones we are making are not sufficient-will effectively protect us against the gays in our society.

We’d rather be hypocrites about it,but we must never admit it!

We are Africans!

We must think like Africans,even when our dear Pope says-who i’m i to judge?

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

The Black Man. A Child of a Lesser god?

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I had looked forward to my flight to Toronto,Canada with glee,my first intercontinental flight from Africa on a tour of duty.

But in a sea of white men and women,i realised that i was no more than an object of curiosity and ridicule,like a long forgotten relic from pre-primate Africa.

Every time I sit on a crowded street car, bus, or
subway train in Toronto, I know I will have an
empty seat next to me.

It’s like a broken record.

Sometimes I don’t mind having the extra space,
but other times I feel awkward, uncomfortable, and
annoyed.

I know I have good hygiene, I dress appropriately,
and I mind my own business.

However, recently, I
finally became cognizant of why people might fear
being around me or in close proximity to me: I am a
black male.

Although Canadian society presents
the façade of multiculturalism the truth is Canada
has a serious problem with the issue of race.

I didn’t realize it until a black sister said to me:
Ben, people are afraid of you. You are a six-
foot tall black man with broad shoulders!

That sister is right, people don’t sit next to me on the
street car, the subway or on the bus because they
are afraid.

The issue of black self-hatred is something I am
supposed to pretend does not exist.

However, the
great French psychiatrist Frantz Fanon wrote about
this issue in his groundbreaking book Black Skin
White Masks, in a chapter called “the Lived
Experience of the Black Man”.

According to Fanon,
the black man is viewed in the third person, and he
isn’t seen as a three-dimensional human being.

The way a black man internalizes the perspectives of white
society and its negative thoughts about blackness certainly
affects his psyche.

In the chapter, Fanon discusses a
white child calling him the “N word” and how he
becomes cognizant of how he is different and
viewed as someone people should fear.

There is also a fear by some black people that
discussing the issue of self-hatred is a sign of
weakness.

There is a discourse that black people
engender: that black is beautiful.

But the truth is,
the image of blackness is ugly –or at least it’s
perceived that way by the rest of human race which is not black.

There is nothing special or
wonderful about being a black male in a white or oriental society – it is a life of
misery and shame.

The issue of black self-hatred is usually depicted
from a female point of view.

There are
documentaries such as Dark Girls which aired on
Oprah’s OWN network earlier this year, in which
black women discuss their feelings of self hatred
for having dark skin.

There are numerous books,
articles, documentaries, and essays published by
black female writers describing black self-hatred.

Black women are not afraid to speak out about
their self-loathing, yet for some reason, black men
are silent about our own contempt for what we are.

A lot of black men don’t want to acknowledge the
feelings of disgust we have for ourselves.

It is
considered emasculating to even admit the
existence of such thoughts.

I think my own self-
hatred manifests from the exterior, from the
outside world.

It is born out of the despair and the
unhappiness I see within a lot of young black men.

I cannot honestly say I hate being a black male.

Although black people like to wax poetic about
loving their label I hate “being black”. I just don’t fit
into a neat category of the stereotypical views
people have of black men.

In popular culture black
men are recognized in three areas: sports, crime,
and entertainment.

I hate rap music, I hate most
sports, and I like listening to rock music such as PJ
Harvey, Morrissey, and Tracy Chapman.

I have
nothing in common with the archetypes about the
black male.

There is so much negativity and criminal suspicion
associated with being a black male in Toronto.

Yet, I
don’t have a criminal record, and I certainly don’t
associate with criminals.

In fact, I abhor violence,
and I resent being compared to young black males
(or young people of any race) who are lazy, not
disciplined, or delinquent.

Usually, when black
male youth are discussed in Toronto, it is about
something going wrong.

Honestly, who would want to be black?

Who would
want people to be terrified of you and not want to
sit next to you on public transportation?

Who would want to have this dark skin, broad nose,
large thick lips, and wake up in the morning being
despised by the rest of the world?

A lot of the time I feel like my skin color is like my
personal prison, something that I have no control
over, for I am judged just because of the way I look.

Not discussing the issue doesn’t mean it is going to
go away.

In fact, by ignoring the issue, it simply
lurks underneath the surface.

I believe a dialogue
about self-hatred should be brought to the fore in
the public sphere, so that some sort of healing and
the development of true non-label-based pride can
occur.

Of course, I do not want to have these feelings, to
have these dark thoughts about being a black man.

However, I cannot deny that this is the way I feel.

I don’t want to be ashamed of being a black man; I
just want to be treated as an individual based on
the content of my character, and not just based on
the colour of my skin.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Freedom from Shame. My Life. My Own Terms.

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“Some people will lose all respect for
the lion unless he devours them
instantly.
There is no pleasing
some people”.
~Will Cuppy

For me the notion of worrying about what other
people thought of me got killed off when I
got arrested on allegations of malicious property damage instigated by close family members.

I also got expelled from
my parents home.

Those were rough times, and my actions
pretty much killed my reputation among my friends
and family.

It formed the biggest scandal in my life and accompanying defamation and character assasination helped seal this devil’s deal.

But something interesting happened after those
events.

I felt free — more free than I’d felt in years.

Suddenly no one expected anything from me at all…
at least nothing positive.

And so I felt no pressure
from others to be or do anything for them in particular.

I had no reputation left to defend, and so there was no
need to pretend to be anything other than what I
was.

This reputational death gave me the opportunity to
fully be myself. I felt no need to position myself as a
good man,lover,husband,parent or a friend to anyone,anymore.

I felt very
content being “just Ben,” whatever that meant at
the time.

And so I lost interest in wearing masks to
present myself a certain way.

I think a lot of people feel that if they drop their social
masks and be truly themselves, some people will
judge them harshly or won’t like them.

And you know
what… that’s basically accurate.

When I let go of my
social masks, I did indeed find that some people
didn’t like me as I was.

But I was okay with that
because I had already disappointed so many other
people in my life that one more disappointment
added on top of that didn’t make much difference.

Somehow I got comfortable with the idea that I was
going to be a perpetual disappointment to certain
people, and there wasn’t much I could do about it.

The damage was done.

I really didn’t think there was
any way to redeem myself in the eyes of others, so I
didn’t even try.

I did, however, go through a period of self-
redemption.

I had disappointed myself most of all,
and I didn’t want to keep wallowing in self-pity and
self-criticism.

So I began setting goals that mattered
to me, and I worked to achieve them.

I started over at
a new school and graduated, and then I went on to
start my consultancy business.

I noticed that even when I succeeded and lived up to
my own standards, some people judged me for it. I
came to accept this as part of life.

I didn’t think it was
possible to live in such a way that everyone would be
mostly pleased with me.

I assumed that no matter
what I did, someone would likely have a problem with
it.

I saw that when I hit bottom, and I saw that when I
was succeeding.

No matter what I do or don’t do,
someone out there will have a problem with it.

And so I came to an acceptance of this, and I didn’t
resist it.

I didn’t see it as something to worry about.

It was just a fact of life.

Consequently, when I blog about anything (not just
the controversial topics), in the back of my mind I
automatically assume that some people out there
will hate it.

I figure that for each of my 300+
articles, we could find at least a few people who hate
it, no matter how banal the article seems.

Even as I write this article, I figure that some people
will probably hate it.

Or they’ll have some kind of
issue with me for writing it.

Whether you think this is a positive or negative
mindset to have, it’s something that’s been
powerfully embedded into my thinking for 20+ years
now.

Overall I think it’s a good thing because it
leaves me feeling free to choose my actions without
worrying so much about what other people might
think about them.

If you accept that something is
inevitable, it’s hard to worry about it.

If you feel it
could go either way, then worry kicks in.

I can still empathize with what other people are
thinking and feeling, and their reactions seldom
surprise me.

It’s just that the potential negative
reactions don’t convince me to avoid doing certain
things that might otherwise interest me.

Social resistance to my actions isn’t a significant piece of
feedback for me since I regard it as a background
constant that’s always present no matter what.

I wouldn’t say that I don’t care what people think of
me.

I still care, but I accept that some people will
react negatively no matter what I do.
Even if I do
nothing at all, some people will complain about that.

So with the acceptance that this is a constant, it
doesn’t matter all that much if that complaining
surges at times.

In the battle for control over what other people think
of me, I surrendered decades ago… completely gave
it up as a hopeless cause.

By surrendering I stopped resisting, and when I
stopped resisting, I felt free.

These days I feel free to publicly share whatever
interests me.

I don’t worry about my reputation; I
gave that up years ago.

The odd thing about this is that when I surrendered
my reputation, I also gained some things, such as the
willingness to be very open.

I wasn’t like that before
I’d been arrested; I was actually a fairly private
person — and very shy as a child.

I really like connecting with people on the basis of
openness and honesty.

I know it’s not that common,
but I think it should be. I think we’d all be better off if
we stopped worrying so much about our reputations.

A reputation is a false projection anyway.

You don’t really know how other people think and feel about
you.

You’re only guessing.

And even if some of them
tell you, they could be bending the truth.

So it’s all guesswork, and it’s never accurate.

Why bother with
it then?

I say don’t even worry about it because it’s
not a real thing anyway.

I understand that for some people, there will be
practical consequences if they started opening up
more.

Maybe your boss will freak out and fire you.

May be your partner will dump you for it.

Do you really want to work or be a partner to someone who requires
you to hide who you are?

That’s pretty
desperate, isn’t it?

What if your family has an issue with what you’re
into?

So what?

Maybe you should take up the issue of
their repressive, judgmental nature with them.

Do you really want to spend the rest of your life
wearing a mask and pretending to be someone
you’re not, just to avoid rocking the boat?

If that’s your reality, it sounds like a pretty pathetic way to
live.

It reeks of low self-esteem and a lack of self-
respect.

If you don’t respect yourself, then of course
you’re going to end up in situations where you fear
the judgment of others.

I don’t worry about the judgment of others because I
do my best to live up to my own standards.

I respect myself.

I feel good about the choices I’ve been
making.

If other people wish to disagree with me,
they have every right to do so.

It’s okay if some of
them dislike me very much.

Why should I worry
about such judgments?

Someone asked me recently how I deal with the fear
that I must experience when writing about certain
topics.

Obviously I must be able to predict there will
be some adverse reactions, so how I can face that?

My answer is: What fear?

I might feel some hesitation
if I tried to write about something that felt
inconsistent with me.

But if I’m being honest, then
what is there to worry about?

Some strangers I’ve
never met will like me less?

So what?

I like them less
right back… although I do appreciate the traffic.

When criticism seems well argued and valid, it might
even serve as useful feedback.

When it’s just
stupidly false, I lose respect for the critic because
they got lazy and didn’t do their homework, or
because they resorted to dishonesty, or because they
just want to use me as a scapegoat for their
frustrations.

I value the opinions of the people I
respect, but I don’t place any value on the opinions
that I don’t consider worthy of my respect.

I can’t bring myself to respect people who don’t
respect themselves.

If they’d rather present a false
front to the world instead of being open and honest,
how can I respect them?

They’re phonies.

I can still
be polite with them, but I find no honor or integrity in
maintaining serious relationships with such people.

They have nothing to offer me that I care about.

So if I’m being truthful in communicating what I
genuinely think and feel, and some people choose to
complain about it, I automatically lose respect for
them, and therefore I place no value on their
feedback.

I can still respect people who disagree with
my interests — I think everyone is entitled to their
own opinion — but I can’t respect those people who
have an issue with my desire to be open and honest,
including when sharing ideas on “taboo” subjects.

I don’t wish to surround myself with a bunch of false
friends with low self-esteem, i.e. people who live in
constant fear of others’ judgments.

I’d much rather
connect with people who like and respect
themselves.

If being honest and open repels people
who don’t appreciate such qualities, good riddance to
them!

If you can’t be open and honest with the world, then
what does that say about you?

I think it says you
have a major character weakness, not because of
what you’re into behind the scenes but because
you’re afraid to admit it.

Either stop being into it, and
turn your presently phony image into something
accurate, or stop being false about it, and accept that
this is who you are for now.

I think the latter approach is the best place to start.

Even if you wish to change something about yourself,
it’s important to admit the truth about where you
are.

When I was in denial about the effect my recluse
behavior was having, I couldn’t grow beyond it.

I got
stuck there.

But when I could admit that I’d gotten
addicted to the adrenaline rush of total freedom from fear and that it was
leading me down a very destructive path, I was
finally able to start moving in a more positive
direction.

It took a long time to recover from that, but
the first step was being honest about it.

Once I did
that, in a way my self-respect increased because at
least I was finally being truthful with myself.

Truth is one of the most fundamental principles of
growth.

I’ve seen people make amazing
breakthroughs when they finally stop pretending and
begin to embrace honesty and openness, even when
it has consequences for them.

In practice people
usually don’t go through a shock and awe process
here, where they finally face up to everything.

More often they lean into it, pushing themselves to be
more open and honest each day.

They keep the
pressure on themselves and commit to releasing
their attachment to falsehood.

It’s very much a one
day at a time process.

If you want to keep hiding certain desires and
interests, go ahead and keep playing that game, and
watch your self-respect and self-esteem grow weaker
with each passing year.

In the meantime I’m going to
keep challenging you to be more open and honest
and to release that fear, guilt, and shame.

If this is
not a path of development you wish to undertake,
then you have no business here, and you’re only
going to make yourself foolish if you complain about
it.

If, however, you’d like to relinquish such chains,
then you have my full support… as well as my
deepest respect for choosing to take on this
challenge.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Equality. Good for relationships. Bad for sexdrive!

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You’re not going to like this.

In fact, I might even get
hate mail.

So before you grab the keyboard and start
venting, let me say that I’m not just expressing an
opinion.

I’m describing some pretty good science.

It goes like this: nowadays endless campaigners tell
us that an ideal relationship is all about equality.

So if
you’re the kind of girl who thinks the best thing since
sliced bread is a man who helps with the
housework, you’re not alone.

But when guys help with the things most women say
they want them to do – like cleaning, cooking or
shopping – then the couple’s sex life gradually goes
flat.

But when women do all the female chores and their
husbands the more masculine things — like fixing
the car or paying the bills then their sex life’s far
better.

What’s more, the more traditional the division
of labour, the greater the wife’s sexual satisfaction.

So it seems that a guy can bring home the steak, and
even fry it occasionally.

But once he starts scrubbing
the stove he’s no longer a man.

Somehow guys doing
female chores turns off something very primitive in
our brains.

Digging? Yippee!

Grilling steaks? Yahoo!

Moving furniture? Yes!

Wearing an apron and
cleaning floors. Yuk!

Man doing dishes?

Okay, I can feel you fuming from here.

And I’m pretty
sure you do feel closer to your man when he
helps with your housework.

But are you really
aroused by a man doing dishes?

You still go weak at
the knees when he shows his muscles and gets
sweaty.

But not if he’s washing clothes.
Because what makes for good relationships doesn’t
necessarily drive lust.

In fact, we’re often turned on
at night by the exact same things that we hate
during the day.

Like a woman who wants her
Man to take charge in bed.

Next morning she’ll
say that’s controlling.

So it seems like the fewer gender differences there
are in your marriage, the less sexual desire you’ll
feel.

Everything else will be great, but the sex will be
lifeless.

And the more likely you both are to feel
tempted outside the home.

So the sexes are not as interchangeable as they
seem.

Because the traditional roles are more
exciting!

OK, we’re talking averages here, so no
doubt there are women who think that watching their
husband doing the ironing is really really sexy.

But not many.

Clearly, men should help their ladies and ladies
their men.

Because that’s what good spouses
do.

But there’s a balance to be struck!

Because creative and steamy sex is important.

It’s amazing how it brightens up your life, improves
your creativity, helps you get along and makes you
look younger, inspires you to lose weight and take
care of yourself and makes you feel loved and
content.

So it may go against your feminist principles, but you
will have more fun in bed if you encourage your
Man to stick to the masculine chores!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

African Buffoonery and Humour

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I’m an African.

I live in Africa.

I’ve heard about African buffonery.

I probably understand it to mean cultural shock that intimidates or entertains those of us in human race who are not Africans.

There are some realities about living in this tropical
paradise,known as africa – and not all of them are about halcyon days
and balmy nights.

Warm places are full of life, and
the challenge with life is that it moves.

The first rule of living in hot regions is that you
should always shake out your shoes before you wear
them.

This is because shoes are conveniently stored
in warm, dark places and they are just the right
shape and size to form a comfortable maternity ward
for many tropical creatures.

I have lost count of the number of friends who have
dislodged nursing cockroaches, spiders, lizards and
even mice from their footwear,needless to add scorpions.

I cannot comment
about what this implies for the said creatures rights of mother and
child but it certainly has not done much for the
eardrums of people in the vicinity of the awful
discovery!

What,with eardrum shattering screams that accompany such rude discoveries,especially from our female species!

PARANOIA
Anyone who has discovered an uninvited shoe dweller of the ugly species,sometimes even dangerous to life develops
a certain type of paranoia, where she/he spends an
inordinate amount of time shaking things out:
clothes, curtains, bed linen, and more are shaken – in
the hope of evicting any unexpected squatter.

Unfortunately, she/he is never quite sure, and every
bump or wriggle near her/him causes her/him to tremble with
fear.

If you still have the courage to do it, the second rule
of tropical existence is to always shake hands.

Yes, I
know it doesn’t make sense to rub palms in sweaty-
palm haven but every adult knows that culture
supersedes good sense.

For some reason, no one
feels greeted unless their finger bones have been
painfully crushed, and any failure to observe this
ritual causes offence.

If you are lucky enough to be invited to a tropical
dance, don’t forget rule three – which is to shake your
hips.

I notice that dancers from colder climes tend to
keep their midriff frozen while throwing their limbs
about.

This is probably because (1) they need to warm
themselves up quickly and (2) dance avoidance by
many northerners creates plenty of room on the
dance floor.

People in Africa love to breed and
they love to dance too.

We therefore produce a lot of
people who head for the dance floor on weekends so
there is room for only a few subtle moves in the mid
zone.

Shake shoes, hands and hips but rule four dictates
that you should never shake your purse.

My maternal
grandfather was the originator of this strange piece
of advice.

Of course he grew up in an age when the
clink of more than one coin was enough to draw in
every felon within a 10-mile radius.

The advice is still
good although the reasons for it have changed
dramatically with pick pockets.

First of all, shaking a silver-rich purse, a century
later, sounds particularly cheap.

A circular metal disc
in the name of money is the seal of the analogue
man who is in sharp contrast to the digital user of
mobile money.

Despite this caution it is estimated
that seven percent of our national wealth is locked up
in lost coins – down trouser pockets and sofa set
gaps.

If you are shaking your head at this statistic then
please stop it!

The fifth rule of african lifestyles is:
“Never shake your head.”

African people are
generally very nice, probably because they have
never been forced to gulp in some icy air.

In the
midst of all this geniality “No!” is definitely a “No.”

So, If you feel like saying “No.” just give a tiny,
ambiguous shake of the head.

You can sort out the
confusion later.

The last thing you should not bother to shake in the
tropics is the salt.

It is probably too damp to make it
through those tiny holes in your average, imported
cellar; so just pinch a dollop and sprinkle it on your
food!

You are shaking your head about all this?

That’s Africa for you!

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Naivasha. Valentine Day. Dairy Entry

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Here in this diary,
I write you visions of my valentine weekend,2014.

It was the best I ever had.

There were choruses and sing-alongs,
And that unspoken feeling of knowing
Right now is all that matters
All the nights we stayed up talking
and listening to 80′s songs;
quoting lines from all those movies that we both love.

It still brings a smile to my face.
I guess when it comes down to it…
Being grown up isn’t half as fun as growing up:
These are the best days of our lives.

The only thing that matters
is just following your heart
and eventually you’ll finally get it right.

Breaking into hotel swimming pools,
and wreaking havoc on our world.

Hanging out at bus stops just to pass the time.

My valentine singing me to sleep.

Lighting fireworks in parking lots,
illuminate the blackest nights.

Fireflies under this moonlight summer sky.

The year is 2014,by the riverside, it’s time to say,
“goodbye.”

Get on the bus, it’s time to go.

And be ready for another year of sizzling romance,after a valentine day.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

To the daughter i never had-Men are simple creatures

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I am a man.

I’ve been a man all my life.

And i know what all men know about ourselves;we are just simple creatures,period.

Books will be written by women for their fellow women trying to crack up what goes on in a man’s mind.

And i will honestly tell you;nothing much goes on in there except everything that will feed a man’s ego with its daily portion.

You do well,infact you will do well never to mess with a man’s ego.

It is his everything.

His most treasured possession is his ego.

Would you like your man to listen to you more?

Would you like to learn how you can get your man to
do the things you like for you?

How to get a man to
fulfill you in the ways you want to be fulfilled?

Would you like to improve the overall intimacy and
communication in your relationship?

If so, then this
will be the most exciting message you will ever read!

Women tend to “bitch” when they do not feel valued
in their relationship.

Most women tend to expect
their men to figure out why she is upset.

Another woman would be able to figure it out, why not him?

Women who have over time, given up and become
frustrated that their man just does not “get them”,
will resort to constantly kicking their man in the balls
and trying to emasculate him.

Women who resort to bitching, being mean,
emasculating their men, etc. as a means to try to get
him to do what they want are never going to be
successful.

Men think logically.

They don’t think in
emotional terms like women tend to.

Since men think
and act logically, if you tell him that nothing is wrong
when something is wrong, because you expect him
to dig and dig like a detective to discover why you
are upset, you’re always going to be miserable in
your relationship.

Men are like trained dogs in that you have to give them
simple logical directions.

You have to speak to him in
clear plain terms.

Not in metaphors or by beating
around the bush hoping he’ll figure it out.

So instead
of trying to “fix him”, accept him as he is and for
what he is.

Don’t try to change him, just love him as
he shows up and speak to him in terms that he can
understand.

A man who is very masculine and clear about his
purpose and his goals in life will pursue them
relentlessly.

Men like to feel successful.

When men
are in a relationship and their lady is happy, they feel
successful and take credit for her happiness.

When their lady is upset, bitching, unhappy, sad, pissed off,
frustrated, etc. he feels like a failure.

He takes her
unhappiness personally because he associates his
own success as a man based upon how happy he is
able to make his lady feel.

Now regardless of whether a man is really
responsible for the woman’s happiness or misery,
he’s either going to take credit for her happiness or
be responsible for her misery.

When a woman feels
that she is not valued and bitches at her man,
constantly points out all the things he is doing wrong
or how unhappy she is, this totally and completely
emasculates her man.

When a man feels like he is
unable to make his woman happy, he feels like a
failure.

Eventually he will give up on trying to make
her happy and will withdraw from the relationship
more and more which causes her to bitch and
complain even more.

When a woman does not understand this, she will
continue to do more and more emasculating of her
man to the point where she makes him so miserable,
and he feels so unsuccessful, that he leaves the
relationship.

Now in a perfect world, the guy would know exactly
what to do and how to communicate with his woman
to cause her to open up and share everything that’s
bothering her so she feels like he actually
understands her.

He will resolve the issue and make
everything all lovey-dovey again.

However, this is not the case.

Most men do not
understand women.

They just don’t need to understand them.

They only need to love them as women.

Nor are they interested in taking
the time to improve themselves and learning how to
understand them.

Besides, ego-centric masculine
men would look at asking for help as admission of
failure.

It’s why we never ask for directions when lost.

So women are faced with a choice.

Since 95% of the
self-help books on relationships and dating are
bought by women and only 5% by men, it’s wishful
thinking on the woman’s part to expect men to
change and become what women think they should
be.

Your other choice is to hold out and wait and hope
that you will meet one of those rare 3/100 men (3%
Man) that understand women and know how to
communicate with them and meet their needs
effectively.

So if you are a woman and you want the quality of
your relationship to dramatically improve, you are
going to have to be the one to take the time and
learn a way to get what you want from your man.

It’s really simple.

Men are really simple once you
understand what they want and what they respond
to.

Men will bend over backwards to give their lives
to making their women happy as long as they feel
they are successful at it.

Here’s the solution.

Men are visual creatures.

We look at a
woman who is beautiful and
attractive and instantly we are
thinking about winning her.

That’s just the way we are.

We see a hot girl and we want to
hit on her.

Its pretty much all we
really think about or are
interested in.

Now some women
get pissed off at that and complain that men are only
interested in sex.

Well look at it this way.

If men did not think this way we would have absolutely no
interest in women.

Our careers and hobbies would easily fill up our lives,even without women.

There would be no kids born and
the human race would die out.

Now men do love the intimacy and the security of a
committed relationship, it’s just that we’re visual
creatures.

We fall in love through our eyes and our
fantasies.

That’s why we like cheerleaders, watching
strippers, seeing scantily clad women in seductive
poses, etc.

Since men are visual creatures, you have to seduce
us with your body and your femininity.

If you can
enchant us with your body, your looks and how you
move, we will do anything for you.

And I mean anything.

Men want to come home and feel like they are the
kings of their castle.

When we’ve had a very stressful
day at work, we don’t want to come home and deal
with a selfish woman whose only interested in
kicking us in the balls and making us feel
unsuccessful.

We may have gotten our asses kicked
at work during the day.

We may feel like a total
failure.

Smart and mature women will recognize this
and know that it is loving and supportive to build a
man up and make him feel successful.

The purpose of all relationships is… you go there to
give up yourself to another person.

That’s it.

Nothing more.

So when your man
comes home at the end of a tough day, he needs you
to build him up and make him feel successful.

How do you do that?

Use your body to pull us into
your feminine delicious world.

Make us forget all
about life’s struggles.

So when your man feels like
shit, make him feel better.

How?

Shoot his gun off.

Give him a cuddling nice job.

Get him off.

Just walk over to
him, undo his tie and ease him off his day’s trouble.

Give him a
beer, have him sit back in his favorite chair, tell him
to relax, close his eyes and just to enjoy himself.

Maybe even give him a massage.

The goal is to make
him feel good.

Most women that have hostage relationships use sex as
a weapon.

He only gets pleasure from her if she feels
he’s done something to earn it.

In other words she
treats her relationship like some kind of transaction.

She’s holding back and acting like a horse trader.

If he makes me happy I’ll give him sex.

If he pisses me
off he will get nothing except my bitching at him.

That is not loving.

That is dysfunctional and is the
hallmark of an immature woman.

When you use pleasure to pull your man into your
world and focus on being a dirty little whore, you are
giving your man exactly what he needs and wants.

Men want a lady in the streets, and a whore in the
sheets.

We want a woman who is always that dirty little
fantasy.

Just like a little girl asks her daddy in a really
sweet voice when she wants something, you must
use your body and your sex appeal to enchant your
man and make him feel good physically.

If you can do
that on a continuous basis, tell him in a logical order
of exactly what to do for you, what to do to you, how
you want him to listen to you without giving advice,
etc. he will be more than happy to do it for you.

Remember, men like to feel successful at making you
happy.

You just have to tell us exactly what you want
step-by-step.

Maybe even write it out, give him a
plan on what you want him to do so he can follow it
and do it.

Never complain or be bitchy
because he will just want to
get away from you.

Instead,be sweet, funny, charming,
tease him playfully and be
his joy.

Be a woman who no
matter how much life has
beat him down, you always
build him up and make him
feel like a king.

Every guy
would love to come home to
a woman like that.

We want
a woman who we can lose
ourselves in her beauty,
charm and sex appeal.

Someone who intoxicates us.

Don’t be his roommate.

Be his dirty slutty whore.

Be a woman who knows how to please your man
sexually.

And if you don’t know how to, learn.

This is essential to keep a man happy and interested
in you.

If you are burning holes out in his brains and making
sure he enjoys himself (ask him what he wants you
to do to him, what he likes and then do it), he will do
anything for you.

Men are easy.

Treat him right, and
he will treat you right, or you can continue to do what
you’ve always done and you will continue to get what
you’ve always got.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Why Men Don’t Like Valentine Day

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The average guy doesn’t like Valentine’s day.

Aside from the obvious fact that the holiday is driven by
marketing hype much more than by the honest
needs of relationships, men dislike Valentine’s day
because it places pressure on them to express their
feelings in unnatural and effeminate ways, and often
to a degree they feel unprepared for.

On Valentine’s day, men are expected to show their
undying love for their woman by following a script
prescribed by some neurotic girlfriend who may double up as a gold-digger in a relationship.

If a man doesn’t follow this script, he suffers the
consequence of disrupting the relationship.

But if he
does follow it, he feels like an emasculated pushover,
forced by social pressures into expressing feelings
that he may or may not have in ways that would
never have occurred to him naturally.

Either way, he loses.

Not every man understands his own distaste for the
holiday.

Maybe a man’s aversion to Valentine’s day is
manifested as nothing other than a small feeling of
annoyance in the back of his mind as he tries to pick
the least-gay card off the shelf in CVS (from among
thousands of cards designed for women, by women).

But this annoyance is rooted in the fact that he feels
forced into expressing himself in unmanly ways.

A man demonstrates his love for you regularly in
ways that aren’t as ostentatious as a large bouquet
of roses, but run deeper for their lack of overt
exhibition:
»he commits to you willingly,
»he suppresses his desire to be with other women,
»he
avoids reminding you of that desire, »he attends to
your emotional needs without complaint,
»he holds
you and protects you, etc.

In addition, men are sceptical of Valentine’s day
because they know it is (at least partially) motivated
by a woman’s need to demonstrate to her friends
how much she is loved – sometimes more so than it is
motivated by a true need for the visible symbols of
that love.

Again, while most men might not recognise
this consciously, it is implicit in their thought that
the Valentine’s day traditions seem overdone and
excessive – because they are excessive if all that
drives them is the woman’s need for visible
expressions of love.

I am not saying that no man likes to express his love
through a card or flowers, or that men don’t enjoy
romantic dates.

Some probably do.

And I am not
saying that there is no need for visible signs of
affection in relationships, because there is.

They have a time and a place (especially if the man and woman
both express their love through gifts).

What I am saying is that when a man doesn’t get to choose that
time and place, and when his hand is forced by the
social pressures of a vacuous holiday, his masculine
decisiveness and authority are called into question,
and he resents it.

So this year I suggest you do three things to help
your man through the awkwardness of Valentine’s
Day:
1. De-emphasize Valentine’s Day by dismissing
it openly to him as a marketing ploy. Say
something like “Valentine’s Day is such a farce; if
there weren’t decorations in the grocery store and
commercials on TV, no one would even remember
it after five years.

It’s purely driven by
marketing.” (Do not tell him not to get you
anything, as this might give him the idea that you
don’t like receiving gifts.)

2. Get him something small.

The biggest pressure
on Valentine’s Day comes from the “culture” within
the relationship to make a big deal out of it.

By only getting him something small (like a card or
dressing up in lingerie), you take a lot of the
pressure off him the next year.

3. Curb whatever desire you have to show off on
Valentine’s Day.

Aside from fact that your single
female co workers will probably murder you when
you receive roses and a huge teddy bear at the
office, recognise that a truly confident woman who
is secure in her relationship doesn’t need the
external affirmation of her peers’ jealousy.

4. Recognise the existing expressions of his
love for you , as described above.

This will help
you to realize that you don’t need chocolates on
some arbitrary day in February.

(If there aren’t any
common expressions of love in your relationship,
you probably shouldn’t be together.)

Before you complain that taking the pressure off a
man on Valentine’s Day makes it “too easy for him,”
consider this: by stepping back and letting a man do
that to which he is naturally inclined, you adopt the
same attitude that you do when you don’t initiate
contact with a man, or when you cut off a guy that
breaks up with you: you are stepping back and
accepting what happens, even if it isn’t what you
expected and hoped for.

Just like you gain nothing by
artificially perpetuating a relationship by constantly
contacting a guy who doesn’t like you very enough,
so too do you discern a man’s true feelings for you by
taking off the pressure and letting his actions on
Valentine’s Day (or at other times) reflect his true
feelings for you.

Don’t deceive yourself by revelling in
a forced sign of his affection.

If your man refuses to celebrate Valentine’s Day, but
you don’t agree with him that it is ridiculous, your
best bet is to employ the tactics of a reasonable girlfriend-is he good to you on all other days except on valentine day?).

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Love Is A Decision

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Love is a choice, not a feeling or an emotion.

It’s a decision you make and we make that decision daily.

Because we have been told to look for “chemistry”,
flying sparks – we let go of perfectly wonderful
people, ignore people who understand and get us,
warts and all and even people who are infinitely good
for us because somewhere out there someone told us love was a feeling.

No my friend, let me say it again -
love is a decision.

True love isn’t lightning bolts.

It isn’t chocolates and flowers that die in 48hours.

It isn’t something that just happens to you.

It’s something that you decide on and then build or break over time.

True love isn’t sparks.

But It’s infinitely better.

Bear with me as I get down to my point – love is a
decision not a feeling.

Valentine’s Day hasn’t commercialised love – it’s
done something worse.

It has forced regimented
romance on people.

Let’s be fair to the guys for a moment.

Does anyone
actually like going to a restaurant on February 14?

I’m a hopeless romantic, which for those who know
me is totally at odds with what most people consider
to be my personality.

If you consider love for real,love is primarily about others.

Think about it – all this week, the girls will be thinking
about the day and what they’re going to get, while
the boys will be wondering “what the hell?”.

This week a lot of us will be in love with love.

The feeling over-rides all.

The problem with that, is by Monday, nay Sunday,
the very idea will leave some very hurt, angry and
even jaded.

Some of us will be stood up this Valentine’s Day.

In fact some have already had the classic fight.

You know, the one that ensures he or she won’t be with
you this Valentine’s day – yes that one.

Some of you have even been dumped temporarily.

Why?

Because
the person in your life has already made a decision
about whom to spend that day with.

Feelings are all
well and good, but like I said at the beginning of this
article – love is a decision.

The decision on every item
and every aspect of the day will be made based on
whom the other chooses as their “Valentine”

This week, decisions will be made about whether or
not to part-take in this regimented love-day.

Decisions will be made about whether to send
flowers and goodies or not, to go out to dinner or not,
to go out of town or not, to be with you or not.

If truly
the hallmark of your relationship is based on what
happens on February 14 – then if the decision made
doesn’t include you, validate you, doesn’t edify you
or in any way leave you assured about your
relationship beyond your Facebook status – then you have
your answer.

Allow me to wish you light and love and above all
wisdom as we count-down to this celebration of love -
a decision, not a feeling.

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

The King Is Dead-Long-live The Queen!

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The basic African male psyche towards women is;”I don’t want to understand women,i want to love them”! Period!

So,bring back the real men, girls.

You might just
remember why you loved them in the first place!

Women thought the last victory of equality was to
make men more ‘sensitive’.

The bitter irony, says this
male writer in a piece that will infuriate the opposite
sex, is women don’t like
wimps after all…

At a dinner party recently, I encountered the
depressingly familiar sight of a dynamic thirty-
something woman accompanied by a wuss male
sidekick that she’d browbeaten into proposing to her.

The mismatch in power was obvious.

She was
successful, ambitious and confident; he was a
diffident, overweight, shrinking mess who measured
every word he spoke in case he said anything
remotely contentious that might offend her.

On her wedding finger was the most enormous,
glittering engagement ring.

A mutual friend later told
me she’d initially been presented with a less garish
but more exquisite diamond but had told her fiance
to return it to the shop and get her something
bigger,off course with her money this time.

That huge diamond was his declaration of surrender
in the sex war.

But I didn’t feel sorry for the stupid
sod; he should have been man enough to tell her to
get lost and find some other dummy.

Instead, he’d been sucker-punched into a lifetime of
nagging and neglect, and looking at his bossy wife-
to-be parading her huge rock, I felt a shiver of pre-
emptive empathy for him.

Her smug smile might have given the impression
that her glossy-magazine-inspired life was all going
to plan, but I could see the tragedy to come.

One day she’ll realise how dull and un fulfilling it is to
have a man who doesn’t answer back, who offers no
challenge or danger – but by then she’ll be over the
hill and stuck with him for fear of being left on the
shelf.

Sadly, this is the state of many marriages and relationships
today.

Back in the Nineties, emboldened by the successes of
feminism, women sought to slay the dragon of
patriarchy by turning men into ridiculous cissies who
would cry with them through chick-flicks and then
cook up a decent spaghetti dinner for them.

Suddenly, women wanted to drive home their
new-found equality by moulding men to be more like
them.

This velvet revolution was reflected in a series of
broader cultural changes.

After decades of
uncompromising movie heroes like Marlon Brando
and Clint Eastwood, we were asked to fall for
stuttering, floppy-haired fops like Hugh Grant;
touchy-feely and hopelessly embarrassed around
women.

No doubt at the time, millions of misguided single
women thought that having a man who could feel
their pain and emote for them was a Good Thing.

Now, over a decade later, women are waking up to
the fact that these men are drippy, sexless bores.

The feminisation of men hasn’t produced the well-
rounded soft males- women were hoping for.

Instead, women are now lumped with flabby
invertebrates, little more than doormats, whom they
secretly despise but are too proud to admit it.

Rather than partnership, professional women tend to
seek dominance in a relationship.

They map their
lives out early on and pursue their dream of ‘having
it all’ with cold-blooded ruthlessness.

Young women have a crystal-clear agenda: they want
the career, the wardrobe, the smartly furnished
house, the 4×4 and the cute kids they’ll ferry in it to
expensive schools.

No man is going to get in their
way; and the men they choose for themselves are
pliant and feeble enough to facilitate that
programme.

Concentrating so much energy on work and family
matters requires these women to pick a man who is
predictable and secure, who won’t upset the apple
cart by pursuing dreams and instincts of his own.

These are cardboard cut-out men who gush with
empathy whenever their wives and girlfriends need
to dump their professional stresses and female angst
on them: weak and soulless men who haven’t the
guts to make a mark themselves, who take the
passenger seat in their women’s juggernaut journey
to post-feminist Nirvana.

But having ticked off the various items on their life
checklist, women are left with a nagging sense of
dissatisfaction.

Where was the drama?

Where was the passion?

Where was the stimulation and growth?

It was all forsaken for a narcissistic, materialistic
shopping spree that is a Good Thing, ultimately a
poor substitute for a real life.

These women consider
themselves to be alpha-females, but they are nothing
but a pathetic sham.

A true Amazon couldn’t stand the company of a
supplicant male, let alone marry one.

Real alpha-women are the ones who can more than hold their
own with an alpha-man.

Deep down, women love men who stand up to them,
who won’t be pushed around.

They love men who will
look them in the eye and tell them to shut up when
their hormonal bickering has become too much.

They love men who will draw a line in the sand and
walk out on them when they’ve had enough.

They love men who know their own minds and are man
enough to stick to their guns.

I’m always telling my partner to
shut up.

She gets into a prissy huff about it, but I
know she respects me for not indulging her
neuroticism.

Long ago, I realised it is unhealthy for a
man to embroil himself in arguments with women.

While men want an argument to make sense and
have a rational conclusion, women solely want the
argument itself: it’s a pressure valve for their
emotions, and once they get started there is no
stopping them.

I have a very low boredom threshold; I can’t bear
having protracted discussions about where my partner
and I ‘are going’.

Nor can I bear to listen to the
gossipy, highly detailed ‘He said, she said’
monologues that women drift into when telling you
about their day.

I deal with these elements of the female personality
with impassive indifference.

People might call me a
sexist pig, but I am the opposite.

I love women, and I
love my partner because she is brilliant and incredibly
strong.

I am a true male feminist, because I only want to be with a
powerful and capable woman.

No sexist could cope
with having a partner as intelligent and independent as
mine.

Our relationship would never have worked had I been
a Feminine Yes Man, desperately wanting to
sympathise with the female condition.

My partner would have grown to loathe me for my
fawning cowardice.

She is a warrior and she needs to
be with someone who is a match for her.

Knowing the limits of what I will deal with in a relationship, I
maintain my self-respect and, accordingly, gain hers.

Men are now generally terrified of women.

They hold their tongues for fear of being misinterpreted as
sexist; they constantly attempt to second guess their
partner in order to avoid giving offence.

They preen themselves with groaning shelves full of
beauty products so they won’t incur derision and
scorn.

They suppress their masculinity and present
themselves as cuddly Mr Nice Guys, and won’t
project self- confidence in case it’s regarded as
unreconstructed machismo.

This backfiring feminist conspiracy has, of course,
developed hand in hand with the march of raging
political correctness in elite and middle-class Africa.

The two have
combined like some potent chemical reaction to
explode in the faces of a generation of women who
thought that a ‘moulded’ man would make for a
desirable one.

In recent years, men have been trained like circus
Lions to be inoffensive to women, and no longer know
how to entice them and turn them on.

But women secretly long for a man with swagger,
who is cocky and self assured and has the cheek to
stand up them and make fun of their feminine
foibles.

They long for the rakish charm of a man who knows
there’s a whole ocean of fish out there, who isn’t
afraid of being himself in case he is rejected.

The truth is, a real man doesn’t care what any
woman thinks of him.

He doesn’t care what anyone
thinks of him: he answers solely to his spirit.

Real men don’t pretend or even try to understand
women.

They simply love them for being the
mysterious, capricious creatures that they are.

And they don’t take them too seriously, either.

They know
the vicissitudes of the female mind, its constant
insecurities and the fluctuations in mood.

Rather than pander to them, they simply watch them
drift by like so many clouds on the horizon.

They don’t get entangled in a woman’s feelings and listen
to her prattling on and on until she’s talked herself
out.

Such strong and stoic men are exactly what
women need to anchor themselves amid the chaos of
their emotions.

Sometimes my partner bemoans my detachment and
laissez-faire attitude to our relationship and wishes I
were more wrapped up in her.

I tell her she would
soon get bored of it, because men who put women on
a pedestal can’t make love to them in the way that
women want.

A man who is too in awe of his woman isn’t going to
tear her blouse open and ravish her on the couch; he
isn’t going to pull her hair and whisper profanities in
her ear.

Whenever my relationship is at a crisis point,
and my wife’s ego and mine are jostling for a position
of supremacy, we inevitably have strenuous, battling
sex.

My partner is more successful than I am, but
the bedroom has always been the arena in which I
have brought her down to earth.

The female orgasm is the natural mechanism by
which men assert dominion over women: a man who
appreciates this can negotiate whatever difficulties
arise in his relationships with them.

Last Christmas, my partner threw me out after
alleging I’d been cheating on her.

On the night we
got back together, I made strong, passionate love to
her.

Unfaithful as I’d been, I was not going to let her
have me over a barrel for the rest of our relationship.

I needed to keep a sense of self and not allow her to
mire me in guilt and a desperate quest of
forgiveness.

I needed to let her know what she would be missing
if we broke up for ever.

I gave her a manful bravado of
performance that night, and at the height of her
passion, I asked her: ‘Who’s the boss?’

The question threw her.

Initially she wouldn’t give
me a reply, but I enticed it from her.

‘You are,’ she finally gasped.

‘You are!’

I am a very difficult man to
be with.

I know I have caused my partner great pain and
anxiety.

But she is an adult, and ultimately it is
wholly her choice whether she wants to be with me
or not – I cannot be anyone other than myself.

I don’t believe in working on relationships and
making artificial efforts to give them substance.

i believe in people being themselves and following
their hearts towards whatever destiny lies before
them.

When women choose to be with Wuss Men, they are
choosing a life that will be only half-lived.

I think a lot
of them are finally waking up to that fact.

Relationships between independent and assertive
people will always be fraught with tensions, but they
have enormous creative energy.

Despite the many problems my partner and I have
endured, we have both come a long way since we
first met six years ago.

We have challenged one another to grow -
professionally, intellectually, emotionally and
spiritually.

This would never have happened had she
flaked out and gone for a softer option in her choice
of partner.

Bring back the real men, girls.

You used to love them long ago in the past,remember?

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….

Return To Love


Originally posted on Profarms's Random Thoughts:


Sitting here wondering when you will return to me,
Man to woman,I must confess that I’m not the man I used to be.
It seems just like yesterday when you tore my heart to pieces,
But Babe you belong to me .
We can chose to right all the wrongs that stalked us through this good thing we had.

Many people live through all their lives wishing they could have what we had,you and I.
Take the chance of love again and let’s reclaim the faded glory once more….this time I promise you that it will be forever….baby you belong to me,but I did not know it till the day I lost you….!

Take the chance of love again,
Though the fairy tale that we once lived,
Seems to have faded into just another dream without magic.
I’m not the man I used to be when you loved me,
Since…

View original 77 more words

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