Posts Tagged ‘African female writer’

 

*No disclaimer for this one; just open up your mind and enjoy. *

My uterus came to visit me last night. She walked right through the glass door. I really should put markings on it. I just heard the thud then the crash. It was a few minutes after 9pm but I was already in bed. I was feeling a bit feverish that night so I decided to retire early with a damp cloth over my forehead and the bitter aftertaste of ginger on my tongue. A friend had suggested chewing on raw ginger may ease the fever and it actually did for a few hours. She came into my room, leaving a trail of blood in her step. She sat down on a stool next to my bed. I handed her the towel I hang on my headboard, it was my favorite towel and also the most absorbent. She soaked right through it in minutes. Typical. Sorry about your door. She said with a shrug. It’s fine. I answered. If anyone was to come crashing into my house in the middle of the night, it would be you. It looked like she wanted to talk so I sat up and listened.

“I know I don’t usually do these pre-visits with you; ours is not a regular relationship but I just thought I should come over and give you a sense of what’s coming this month. It’s going to be a tough one. Remember how a few days ago you suddenly started thinking about that lovely young man you are kind of still hang up on? Yeah the one you, against my advice confessed your love to and he told you, you are not even in his top ten priorities at the time? You almost lost the whole friendship with that one move. Anyhow, so a few days ago you start thinking hard about him and you even reach out to him but didn’t hear back. You even thought of maybe just getting on a bus and going out to visit him in Kericho. Thankfully you were too broke to go so you just stayed home and cried about how your whole love life is a mess. Yeah, that was me. I thought this month I’d start early by sprinkling a bit of nostalgia on your mushy heart. Let’s not forget the meat craving you’ve had all month. Though you should probably get that checked, it’s not all me. Could be a deficiency of some kind. You can thank me later.

So here’s the low down. You’ll have a fever for 2 days, hotter than any you’ve had before. It will come with muscle and joint pains and a slight headache. You will also be feeling very wet in your special place prompting you to check check several times only to find nothing. So you’ll opt to sleep in a pad because you’ll be at your friend’s place and you wouldn’t want her waking up in a pool of your blood and for a millisecond think she may have just killed you in her sleep. Ha-ha! It’s funny, no? Anyway, you’ll wake up dry as can be but still feverish and weak, oh and also there will be slight pain on one side of your throat which will grow gradually to a point where you will have a lot of trouble swallowing. Oh and also because the whole system is connected, it will be a combo of a throat ache, a jaw ache, a toothache, an ear ache and a headache all on one side. You should probably get really strong pain meds before rushing home from your friend’s place which is what I know you will do. You are such a big baby when you get sick, that’s why you prefer dealing with it by yourself, whining and crying into your pillow, cursing at the heavens and calling out the depths of hell. Remember that one time you actually begged God to supernaturally remove me and place me on your nightstand for four days and then put me back into you when it was done. The big guy and I had such a laugh that day. Lucky for you this time you’ll be so full of antibiotics and pain meds, you won’t feel the slightest cramp.

I’ll have a surprise for you though. You know how you still bite the sides of your fingers and sometimes your nails?  You are always fiddling with those things against medical and social advice. Remember that bacterial infection you had when you were younger because of it? Well, guess who’s coming back over ten years later with a vengeance? Yup, Cynthia, meet your long lost nemesis, Miss. Acute Paronychia. She’ll just be living in one finger this time but she’ll come with all her toys; redness, swelling, pain, pus. She’ll even threaten to jump into another finger so you’ll feel the urge to walk around with your fingers spread like you have jiggers crawling under your skin. Thankfully with the antibiotics you’ll be taking for your inflamed throat, you will be able to kill two birds with one stone. Miss. Acute and I will leave at around the same time but the nastiness she will have unleashed on your finger; that will linger on for another week or so. The cold symptoms will never develop into a full blown cold but it will definitely feel like one. You’ll be chilly from the cold and have heat flashes at the same time courtesy of me of course. You’ll perform the ‘blanket off- blanket on’ routine like a ritual in your sleep (if any). A nightmare of you and your best friend (whom you have conveniently syncronised with) being shot and bleeding out on the ground might make its debut. Now that’s going to be scary. A few more weird dreams might be screening but you can blame that on your own wild imagination. The flow shall be thick and heavy as usual so no surprises there. It will only be made worse by the coughing and sneezing because any time you do either, you’ll feel like someone just blew up a dam in your panties. You might feel the urge to punch a few people especially the smiley ones and those who insist on sharing the same air-space  with you but you know how to smile through that or look so gangster that no one dares to speak to you so you’ll be fine. Taking public transportation will be a nightmare in itself. First of all it’s the rainy season so no one wants to open up the windows even when it is clearly NOT raining at that specific moment!!! So it will be stuffy and stinky then you’ll be seated next to an obnoxious man-spreader who will insist on hitting on you because you are ‘just so beautiful’. Let’s just say that there may be a lot of psychological trauma that might result from this particular period so to speak so here’s my suggestion. Call, text, dm, and messenger your whole inner circle of closeness; spread the whining around. Then call that one male friend and without warning; tell him everything! Every. Single. Horrific. Detail. Here’s the logic; with your female friends, sure you can get empathy but they have their own horror stories so in the end “take it like woman!” is the advice  you’ll get. But with a man, you’ll get so much pity and ‘woiyes’ and ‘oh my gosh are you ok’, and ‘is there anything I can do’ and maybe even a ‘you have received xxxkshs’ to go buy yourself something nice so you can feel better. I’m telling you, this technique works like a freakin’ charm.

My jaw was all the way to the ground with every detail she threw at me. I wasn’t sure if I should thank her for the warning or just go to a hospital and have them knock me out for the next five to seven days. She must have seen the horror in my face because she put the towel down, walked up and got into bed with me, wrapped her tubes around me gently and sang me to sleep. I woke up the next day, she was gone. I found the towel soaked in water in the bathroom. I went to the kitchen and found my roommate making breakfast. She had called fundis to fix the door.

Your uterus came over for a visit last night huh? She asked. Yeah. I said. You need a hug huh? She asked as she grabbed me and held me tightly. Yeah, and keep them coming. It’s going to be one hell of a week. I replied. She was slender, but she gave the tightest and warmest hugs.

Acute paronychia: an infection of the skin right next to the nail (nail fold) . the affected area may appear swollen, inflamed and may be tender.

Once there was a family of pretty worms, well as far as worms can be pretty. They all lived in an abandoned anthill. Each had their own room of course and slept on a soft bed of ant exoskeletons left behind by the former tenants. No one knew why the ants left just that now a family of pretty worms had a big home.

East wing, West wing, North and South wing, 1200 bedrooms in all to share among six, seven, ten worms currently. Mommy kept popping them out so who knew how many they were really. Some were long 20, 30,100mm long. Some were short 5,10,15mm or thereabouts and among the shortest ones was Boo, well that wasn’t his name, worms don’t have names but this one always thought he did. He was like the rest in every way, he was brown and slimy on the outside and gooey on the inside. But everyone said he had a weird twinkle in his eyes. See Boo was born during a strange season. They had just moved into their new home. Everything was so cold and eerie and not even because there were broken pieces of dead-ant scattered all over, I mean that only meant free furniture for the worms. There was an easy explanation too; rain and wind must have simply unearthed the ants’ burial grounds and spread it around. But there was an odd feeling in the anthill at that time but Mommy chucked it up to ‘new house heebie jeebies’. It was during this season that Boo was born. It’s a funny story really. Mommy wasn’t due for another few days and despite Doc urging her to complete bed rest, she decided to take a walk around the home, down to the North wing, up the steps, down the shoot and around the pool, well it was more like a puddle with the sides reinforced with mostly ant skeletons cemented with ant poop. While gazing into the pool, suddenly Mommy saw ant eyes staring back at her; hollow, dark eyes looking up at her from afar. As she gazed deeper she saw them coming closer and closer and,

“Praat!!” a heap of ant skeletons splashed into the pool. Mommy got such a scare.

“Are you ok down there?!”A voice came from above.

‘Aargh! Construction worms!’Mommy thought as she looked up to the frightened worm holding a shovel. In the midst of the thought she thought she heard the faintest cry and felt something slither beneath her. She looked down only to see the cutest little worm staring up at her with the biggest gleaming eyes she had ever seen on a baby worm. And that was how the name ‘Boo’ came up as in “Peek-a-boo, I just came out of you”, at least according to Boo himself.

Boo was an odd little fellow growing up as if he was born on his head or something but everyone loved everyone in the worm family. They put extra cushions on his seat at the dining table so he could reach the top. Every time he was happy, the twinkle in his eye would somehow get brighter.

One day during a family outing, Boo got a little lost, well as much as worms can get lost.  All he had to do was follow the slimy trail or the trail of slime back home. So let’s just say Boo intentionally got lost or lost himself because through the twinkle in his eye he had seen something magical. Right in the middle of the forest stood a tall tree. A tree so magnificent, it towered above all others that seemed to form a sort of protective ring around it. It looked like a ballerina, I think, with a bright spot light shone on her; beautiful and handsome at the same time. Boo was drawn to it.

“Boo!Boo!” he heard  Mommy calling.

“Time to go home my weird little baby,” Mommy was always saying funny things like that.

But from that moment, he little worm was obsessed by the ‘Ballerina tree’ as he called it or rather as I call it. Home they went, had dinner, washed up, kissed Mommy goodnight and went to bed.

In the days to come, Boo dreamt only of the tree. He wondered what it must be like to be the tree; tall, handsome, beautiful, the envy of all. Don’t get him wrong, Boo loved his life, his home, his family, he wouldn’t trade it for anything. But for some reason he felt sad for the trees that weren’t so tall, so magnificent, and so shiny. “Were they sad too?”He wondered. He wondered if in some way, maybe he could help them grow tall. I don’t know why a tiny worm would think that but this one did. Day in, day out he watched, he planned, 3 days in all.

He had seen how the dead leaves would seem to give life to the trees and the vegetation on the ground. He asked Mommy. She said;

“Look at our home Boo, there used to be a big colony of ants living here. What they left behind, the dead little things, that is what has given our family life.”

And right then, Boo knew what to do. He set out, slimy trail following. He found the smallest tree among them that surrounded the ‘Ballerina tree’ and lo and behold, right at the heart of the tree’s trunk was a hole carved out. Boo didn’t know who had carved it out, maybe it was the same person who put everything in place because how else could a little worm explain how everything in his small world came to be and how so very perfect it all was. He didn’t have 3 more days to fathom it all, time was running out and he was on a mission.

So the little brave worm slithered all the way to the tiny tree just a few feet away, got into the cave like curve-out, coiled himself into it ever so gently and fell fast asleep.

“Please grow tall and strong tiny tree, you can become a ballerina too,” whispered Boo to the tree as his eyes grew heavy, his body tired and sleep carried him off into forever-land.

The lit mosquito coil scent soothes me believe it or not. It reminds me of days gone by,  a past I cannot get back and part of which maybe I wouldn’t even want to get back. Some find it choking or simply irritating, backward even.

‘Can’t you get one of those plug-in mosquito repellents?’ one would ask as they see me unfolding the metallic holder.

‘Or maybe even a net?’ another would ask as they saw me struggle to separate two coils so gently so they wouldn’t break in half (that was a very valuable skill back in my day). You wouldn’t want to break a coil in pieces and have your mother scold you about how you now want the whole family to die of malaria because of your carelessness.  Melodramatic much mummy?  Times were simpler then.  Back in Primary school, when the only real worry, at least for me was finishing homework on time. I also worried about how I was going to get in the popular girls’ good books because that would put you at the head of the juice-line at break time. The juice line wasn’t anything official. The popular girls created it every break time underneath the big mango tree at the centre of the school compound. They would have ready to drink juice that came in packets with fancy flavors like tropical and mixed berry. I remember vividly standing in line to take a sip from the juice box and a tiny piece of chocolate chip cookie. I savored every bite (it was just the one bite though). Even now every time I buy myself a juice-box I feel like I should pat myself on the back like I’ve just achieved something big.

I used to wish I could be one of the popular girls; but maybe not, I’m sure I’d be drunk with power, make the little brats build me a shrine or something. Maybe that’s why I’m not a millionaire now? Haha! Yeah, maybe not.

Anyway, Scents can take u back to a very specific point of your life. It’s like you are back there all over again.

I remember the soap I used to use back in high school. I was a real tomboy back then. A sleeveless ‘School of hardknocks’ tee, black bandana (I had a collection) covering my short hair, baggy side-pocket pants; the ones with the zipper at the knees that you could turn into shorts (I had a collection) and sketchers was my signature look. I also had a pair of those shiny, reflector Sean John jeans, if anyone still remembers those. They were baggy of course and I had a plaid blue shirt to match and a blue fisherman’s cap, because, why not.  I loved blue and grey and black. I only discovered other colours in college and I kinda went colour-crazy when I did. The combos I’d wear, eish! I wasn’t happy till I had the whole rainbow on in one outfit.  One time, still back in high-school,  I remember I went with my mum to buy school uniform and the guy behind the counter asks ‘Kijana anavaa size gani? (What size does your son wear)? I honestly should have been offended but I just smiled to myself as if to say, “Mission accomplished!”

I remember the lotion I used to put on back in 2005 to 2006, just after high school because that was when I fell for a basket- ball player. He was my neighbor.  I could sec catch a glimpse of him and he of me even if just for a few seconds. It’s true, I was hopeless.  He had an interesting African (specific country hidden) name that still echoes in my mind sometimes, 10 years later. Let’s call him Nani for purposes of this particular story. Back then, Nani was a phenomenon in my books. He was 6 feet something tall, he had a beautiful physique; a tight six-pack, chisel shaped biceps, well-toned legs, a jaw to die for and amazing eyes. He was somewhere in the middle of a dark and light brown. He had this deep, coarse voice. I could listen to him all day even though all he really seemed to be interested in talking about was what party he was going to and who got trashed last weekend and bla  bla bla. I, know, I’m ashamed that I would shut up just to listen to that but a girl was sprung sha. Even now if I smell that lotion anywhere I get the chills. Sometimes I buy it just so I could remember but also because it’s very good lotion.

This was my journal entry the day we met…

Sometime in January 2006

So we met these two guys Arnold and Nani-it’s French. Two of the sweetest guys I have ever had the pleasure and privilege of meeting. And no, I was not the one who introduced myself in some odd, corny way but Nani started. I almost collapsed, believe me. He is polite (courteous),sweet and drop dead gorgeous and so is his bro Arnold.

Suffice to say, I was whipped from the get go so when he asked me out soon after, February 2nd 2006 to be precise according to my journal, how was a girl supposed to say no?

I remember the smell of his sweat mixed with Deodorant after practice. I would probably find it gross now but back then I even contemplated getting one of his sweaty t-shirts from his gym bag and maybe not giving it back. You know those times when you really aren’t a stalker but for a second you come down with a case of stalker-tendernitis but logic kicks in soon after?

I’m not a basketball fan but I used to sit through hours of his practice sessions just daydreaming of being a flippin’ basketballer’s wife and having cute basket-balling children.

He turned out to be a complete jerk in the end though. Have you ever been phased out of someone’s life till you are completely out but you still think you are in? Once in a while, he would pop back into mine, flash that award winning smile, give me that signature bear hug, plant just one amnesia inducing kiss on my lips and in that moment I could swear that if he had asked me to go back to him I would have. And then two minutes later he’d go back to being a jerk and I’d kick myself for even thinking about going back.

I got stood up a lot in our, I’d estimate 3 week relationship. I could be wrong about the length. My journal tried to warn me but I didn’t listen.

Journal entry Later in February  2006

I just have one question; it’s recurred in my mind more than once. How come a guy can know a girl for just a couple of weeks and already fall for her? I mean he’s even told me he loves me a bunch of times. I mean, I do have feelings and can sometimes like a guy a lot after just one or two days but I would never say anything unless I’m sure I want to really go out with them. I hope he just doesn’t want sex because that’s a no-no. I need to really get to know him better, the swimming date will be a great opportunity to do that. I hope it works out. Hope I get a swimming suit and swimming cap. Hope both are fly and fit properly in and out of the pool.

Later that week…

Oops! Got stood up on the swimming plot. Ouch! I was devastated. Who can blame me? After gathering psyche for 1000 people for just one date. Anyway there must be a good reason why he didn’t show up. Hope he kujas (comes) with it soon coz I’m running out of guesses.  

You know how sometimes you don’t listen to your instincts and then that whole decision comes back to bite? Well, this one bit and chewed and regurgitated my sweet behind. You live and you learn though.  Let’s just say I have a love-hate relationship with that particular scent.

I look back at 14-17 year old me in high school and I am in awe of her confidence. Being a late bloomer (the hips, boobs and booty kicked in way way later) wasn’t exactly fashionable in high school but still she was so comfortable in her own skin and her own style and her own awkwardness. Fast forward to 18 year old me who had just lost her mummy to cancer and moved from a laid back, evenly paced  life in a Coastal town to the ‘Big,Fast’ Capital City. She was struggling with identity and self-esteem issues mixed in with a major crisis of faith, basically at her wits end. Somehow she survived.  I think maybe as the years went by the two finally found a balance, each learning from the other. Her faith kicked back in, full swing; she discovered her beauty inside and out and she continues to discover very interesting parts of herself. She is still an emotional blob but she owns it. Haha!

I can’t wait to get to 35 and look back at 30 year old me. I already have a few scents I will definitely be talking about!

P.S: Watch the kind of mark you leave in someone’s life while you are in it and if/when you leave it. Those things last for a lifetime.

Her name was Sally. She took long walks on the beach, on the rocks. She didn’t like to go in the water. Too many unknown creatures in there, she would say. But she loved the sound of the waves coming in and going out, washing away the sand and bringing it back fresh. New.  She liked watching the younger couples; walking hand in hand, gazing into each other’s eyes like the world revolved around them. Splashing water on each other playfully. She also liked watching the older couples sitting in silence, comfortable in each other’s quiet presence. She wasn’t sure if she liked watching the breakups. The girl would be crying inconsolably, the man standing there with one hand in his pocket, gazing blankly at someone he once promised to never leave, then he’d walk away and leave her. The girl would pull at the necklace he gave her, the one with his name and ‘forever’ engraved on it. She would snatch it roughly from her own neck leaving a slight bruise and toss it into the ocean, then she would run as fast as her legs would carry her, in the opposite direction. The girl would trip; fall to the sand and just sit there willing the pain away, grasping at the gaping hole where her heart used to be. She would turn, her mascara dripping, dissolved in her now black tears. She would watch him disappear into the sunset without even a glance back. Break ups were funny like that, people get hurt the same; they just show it differently.

Sally would sit on the rocks as high up as she could climb. Sometimes she would find a spot where it was flat and smooth and she would lie there on her back, her knees folded up a little, the shoelaces of her converse sneakers undone. She just loved to listen. The sound of the waves, the chuckles and giggles of the couples and children playing, sometimes a crab would sneak past her unknowingly, and she’d hear the whisper of its tiny legs as it scurried past.

If you ever saw her walking on the beach, you would think she didn’t have a care in the world. She had a big smile for everyone, even the beach boys, crude as they sometimes could be especially if you ignored their catcalls. Hey beautiful woman with the beautiful behind! They would call out to Sally as she walked past. Hey!, she would reply and wave back with a shy smile. Just walking on the beach alone with your sexy self huh?, they would continue. Yeah, Sally would reply. Next time I’m walking with you!, the one with the longest locs would say. Sure, why not; Sally would reply. That was the extent of their conversations each time and everyone would go back to their business; the beach boys scouring the beach for tourists and Sally taking her daily think-stroll. Every day was just as ordinary as the next.

So as she gazed at the knife in her side and watched as the thick red fluid oozed slowly from the wound, she wondered if she had missed the signs during that day. He kept saying it was his fault. That he never should have loved her. That she had turned him into someone different. It was confusing for Sally to say the least. The steak knife that was now embedded in her side was for the steak she had specially grilled for him. Soft, juicy, spicy, medium-rare; exactly how he liked it. She didn’t even put coriander in the mashed potatoes this time because he didn’t like coriander but she loved it. The carrots and French beans on the side were perfectly done; stir-fried for under a minute so they were still crunchy. He had complained before that she would overcook them. Vegetables are supposed to be firm and crunchy, never soggy, he would always say. He wasn’t a chef but like everything else, he liked his food perfect. He was a perfectionist almost on an OCD level. Sally wasn’t even close to being perfect. Sometimes she left socks in her shoes when she came into the house and the next morning she’d see them in the laundry basket neatly folded.  When she was too tired to do dishes at night, she’d leave them in the sink to deal with the next day. In the morning, she’d find no dishes in the sink and none drying on the dish rack. She would then open the kitchen cupboards and find all utensils in their place, clean and dry. She didn’t like washing clothes so she’d call a cleaning lady to do the laundry every week. When he came back home, he would get his clothes from the hanging lines and rewash all of them. He never complained once. He just smiled. Sorry love, I just like things a certain way, he would say and peck her on the cheek.

Now there is a man who would kill you in your sleep, her friends would say when Sally told them some of these stories. Then they would all high-five each other and laugh hysterically in the crowded coffee shop. Everyone would stare at the loud women in the corner booth but they didn’t care. With demanding jobs and husbands and children and co-habiting partners; they could only afford to meet a couple of times a month so they made the best of every time. Her friends liked him. He didn’t talk much, not even about how accomplished he was as most men even half as accomplished would. If they were out together and he wanted to go home but Sally wanted to stay with her friends he would leave her his platinum card and ask her to be safe. He was a good man. A loving man.

Sally wondered why she was thinking about her friends while bleeding all over their beige suede L-couch. Maybe that is what people mean when they say your life flashes in front of you when you are about to die. He was pacing now, phone in one hand while the other hand struggled frantically to get the blood stain from his white shirt. He looked like a crazy person and the pacing was making Sally dizzy or was it the loss of blood? She wasn’t bleeding that much though because the knife was still inside. She had read somewhere or maybe seen it on TV that if you happen to be stabbed, you should never pull the knife out. She never imagined she would need that information in real life.

She wondered why she wasn’t feeling any pain. Shock, maybe? She had read/heard that too, somewhere. Maybe you should call for help, she told him.

“I won’t say anything; you don’t even have to be here when they come; I’ll take care of everything, I promise,” Sally begged.

“I’m sorry, baby I’m so sorry, I just can’t, I just can’t. They said to…but I can’t” he said as he put on his navy blue suit jacket. He took her phone from the coffee table, dialed a number and gave the phone to her.

“Hello, what is your emergency?” It was a lady’s voice. It was very calm, soothing actually. That helped.

Sally told her she was bleeding all over the couch and that she should send an ambulance quick. The lady said to stay calm. Sally told her she has never been this calm in her life actually which was weird considering she was probably dying. The lady asked for the address. Sally told her; it’s the last mansionette on that street and that security was tight (leafy suburb things) so the ambulance guys would have to say they were coming to house number 56, the one with a big lime green gate at the end of Loresho drive.

“Is there anyone there with you?” the nice lady asked.

“No, it’s just me,” Sally answered as she watched him walk past her with a black Samsonite suitcase.

It seemed heavy. It was most likely the prepacked one he had at the corner of their walk in closet. She had asked him once why he had a prepacked suitcase. For emergencies of course, he had said. Like an alien invasion? She had joked and they both laughed. She had learnt to love him with his little quirks. She liked weird because she always felt she was a little odd herself. She wasn’t even sure what kind of ‘business man’ he was. They had a safe in their bedroom. Well almost every house on their block came with a pre-fitted titanium safe. She didn’t know the password though, only he did. She didn’t really need to know. Most of her jewelry was hand made locally and brass. She never liked the shiny stuff. All her cash, she kept in a bank account and all her work she left at the office. She didn’t need to use the safe.

He talked in his sleep a lot. She was a light sleeper and liked watching him sleep when she couldn’t. Sometimes he would say weird stuff. He’d babble about deals gone bad or some boss not being happy or about something big coming. She paid no mind because most of it sounded like it was from an action movie. He liked watching those before bed. She figured if there was something to be told, that he would eventually tell her when he felt he could.

He was now standing at the door and looking back at her. There were tears dangling dangerously in his eyes. She had never seen him cry, ever. Her heart broke for him in that moment. That was Sally for you. Here she was literally dying yet still feeling like the pain written on his face was somehow far worse than the physical pain she was feeling from him stabbing her.

You should go, they will be here any minute now, she told him.

“I can’t Sally. I can’t leave you,” he said.

“Go!! You idiot! Go! Or I’ll pull this freaking knife out myself!” Sally yelled and threw a pillow at him then shrieked and winced at the pain that that movement awakened.

He picked up the suitcase and walked out. She heard the car start and drive off. A minute or so later she heard sirens. Ambulance sirens.

She was lying on her back now on the couch, staring at the ceiling. National Geographic was on on the TV. They were talking about some kind of crab or something. Someone entered the house and came up to her. He asked her if she was in pain. She wasn’t sure. She was thinking about the crab on the beach scurrying past her as she lay on the rocks. She was exhausted. She wanted to close her eyes and sleep just for a bit as she listened to the waves coming in and going out but this guy kept telling her to stay awake for some reason. She didn’t know him so what was he doing at the beach with her? Weird.

There was a song or rather part of a song playing in her mind as she watched the crab walking across the sand and go into its hole and as the strange man in uniform put gauze around the steak knife in her side. She loved that song but it was strange she would be thinking about it at that moment instead of panicking that she was dying…

‘…Baby I’m not made of stone, it hurts

Loving you, the way I do, it hurts

When all that’s left to do is watch it burn

Baby I’m not made of stone, it hurts….’

(Hurts; Emeli Sande)

She writes about everything. We were having an argument the other day. She had said something really mean to me. I was angry now,she was angry about a different discussion I had walked away from earlier. I don’t like engaging too much when am angry,I may say something I’ll regret to someone I love dearly and that is a bridge I’d never want to risk burning. I stopped talking and went on doing what I was doing;watching TV or something. She stayed for a moment then disappeared into the bedroom with her book. I followed her a few minutes later. I found her scribbling into that thing like her life depended on it. I did not envy the poor journal. I asked if she was ok. She said she was just thinking. She was so calm by then,it was actually a bit scary. I think her notebook always gets the worst of it. I heard about this guy one time. He came home late,his wife was already asleep.He quietly got into bed and fell asleep too. At around 3am he stirs a little and wakes up only to find his wife staring down at him with a calm smile on her face,saying nothing. The man got out of bed,packed an overnight bag and went to stay at a hotel for a few days. That’s how you get knifed in your sleep, he would tell his friends later. It was hilarious.

Anyway back to her.I went over to where she was and kissed the back of her left hand; she’s a sucker for affectionate physical contact. She put away her book,looked at me with that look that makes my heart melt. Are you ok? I asked again. No am not,she said and we finally settled the argument.

She got a call yesterday;from family I guess. It wasn’t a pleasant call. I could tell from her body language. I let her have a private moment. Aaaargh!! I heard her grunt after the call. She was not happy. Everything ok?I asked. Hmmm? She let out an absent minded reply then disappeared into the bedroom. I was at a loss; torn between following her to make sure she’s ok and letting her have some time to herself. I settled for a sneak ‘drive-by’ peek after a few minutes. She was writing. Her eyes were red and puffy. I didn’t hear her cry. She was clutching a pillow with her other hand. She does that sometimes;cries or screams into pillows so she doesn’t freak me out. Even when she’s going through turmoil she would still put my feelings into consideration first. She closes her notebook with the pen still open inside. She looks up at me and smiles. She is ready to talk because now she can do it without crying.

One time we were trying to get through an awkward conversation. She kept fumbling through her words. I needed her opinion and I needed it quick. I was getting impatient. Let me think please,she said and once again disappeared into the bedroom. I went in a few minutes later, I’m not the most patient person really but she’s teaching me to be. I found her seriously engrossed in her writing. I watch her from the door for a few seconds. She’s do beautiful when she’s serious. She turns everything else off when she’s in her head. She didn’t even notice me come into the room. I go over and lie next to her and just keep gazing at her softly.  She looks up at me and gives me the warmest smile. Would you like to read something I wrote? She asks. I hesitate. It’s ok,really,she says. I couldn’t articulate myself too well before but this is what I was trying to say. She passes me the book. I read through and almost tear up. I understand, I say and give her a peck on the cheek. We didn’t need to say anything more.

She has long discussions in her head sometimes; while we are talking like in the middle of a conversation then she gives me the conclusion. You know you actually have to say the words right? I tell her. She let’s out a loud laugh,apologizes and tells me what she was thinking. She’s weird.

She writes when she’s happy and she’s had the very best day. She writes when she’s angry and can’t even look at anyone. She writes when she’s confused and needs to work through something. She writes when she’s in a foul mood and afraid she may throw a big tantrum or say something mean. She writes when someone does something sweet and unexpected for her. Not even just for the big gestures; it’s mostly for the little things. You know the little things that make you know that someone really really cares? She writes when I do/say bad stuff too. Bad stuff about my present and my past. The stuff that makes her jaw drop and her face cringe. I can be weird too. Can I tell you something? I would say. She would know a bomb was about to be dropped. Ok,wait! she would reply. She’d cover her face with both hands and let out a tiny squeal. She’s an emoji waiting to happen that one. She’d then take in a deep breath; Ok tell me, I’m ready, she’d say.

She writes the dreams she remembers sometimes. They read like epic movies. She writes after failed job interviews and tough client meetings.  She writes when she’s wasted. Those read like comic books. You could practically picture her talking to herself in the mirror with this big bottle of something super strong in one hand and a pipe in the other. Don’t ask. She writes when she’s anxious and can’t sleep. When she has something really big to think through. She writes to get through awkward social situations. She’s a little shy. You’d think she’s seriously texting someone. She isn’t. She’s just writing about how awkward she is feeling and how she wishes she could just be one of those ‘life of the party’ ‘hit it off with anyone’ types.

She is a writer so I let her write. She’s always real th herself and the world in black and white. Maybe if I let her be real in her journal,she will always be real with me. Sometimes that may mean waiting half an hour for a one minute long answer. I don’t like the wait but I’m learning to because it’s always worth it.