I think sometimes, it’s the slow undoing that terrifies us, even the fear of it. Like we have built our reputations and charactes through little quirks and one day we discover we stopped practicing them. We haven’t chuckled like we used to, we stopped talking in our sleep and tucking our hair away when we…
Head+space
This is the second week I’ve needed to be quiet. And alone. And absent. The fear of the what these absences are going to cost me rises, bile-like, in my throat. I have wanted this for years. Three to be exact. I didn’t think much about preparing for it. I didn’t think about who I…
“Unyogovu”
I’m looping the same six songs. I can’t hear them. My thoughts are drowning out every sound blaring from my headphones. I think about the articles on early onset deafness that my Mum forwarded to the Family Wozzap as I turn up the volume. Every time I move, it feels like I have to re-acquiant…
Subira
We’ve had one of those fights that exhaust me. Where we don’t leave anything unsaid and the years we spent growing apart bloat our misunderstandings. They swell up, make our noses runny, and add sting to every statement. I’m not mad, I’m hurt, this is worse. My chest feels heavier the longer I cry, like…
On Fridays, we grapple with existential crises
I think I’m lost. I’ve lived in the same place for almost a year but I find myself bumping into the furniture and bannister corners. Transitions aren’t my strong suit. I’m standing in the gap between the bittersweet end of slow-burn adventure and the next thing. The thing I don’t know. The thing everyone’s asking…
Ulysses
“Though much is taken, much abides” Abiding, the quality of a fervent, intentional staying power. A stubbornness in remaining. Weathering. Clinging and clefting. Steadfastness in a choice whose reasons we sometimes revise. Two years ago, my grandmother passed away. She was more than much and, in her departing, we felt hollowed. We scrambled to gather…
Freelancing as at November 2020
I’m applying to another NGO job, in the beginning, I turned my nose up at the unpaid gigs, a year of unemployment has worn me down. Here I am, relishing the opportunity to be exploited if it’ll get a leg in. I’m changing the date on my coverletter even though a HR lady I follow…
Dear Sir/Madam
I love stories. Always have. Something about spending hours writing about myself on these job applications has tempered my thirst for words. Worse than in Uni, where the heavy paragraphs with long sentences suffocated me. Worse than dead poems. I know that it isn’t the words themselves, it’s the fruit they haven’t borne. I’ve filled…
The scent of crushed purple flowers.
I used to sneak out, through my balcony on the second floor of the house, tiptoeing on the slim wall that ran around it. Past my father’s flowers and younger brothers’ wilting vegetable patch; wind my way through the jacaranda branches and out to the poorly lit street. The trees kept the road shaded, dark:…
Two handfuls of quarantime™ thoughts
#1If I am what stood in my own way, if I am the war I waged within myself, if all I needed to do was cease striving, then I have ceased. I’m no longer simultaneously tearing myself down and picking up the pieces. I am no longer the voice that encourages then suffocates with doubts, worry,…
The preamble to a silly love story that may or may not end soon.
I first met Baraka in our kitchen. I trudged in, gently padding on bare feet, he sat in white on the tall island stools. His lovely fingers were tracing the marble patterns on the counter top. He looked up from his tea and smiled politely. His voice and face were a mismatch. He had long,…
Alessandro Mahmood’s New Album and various indie mixes.
Most of my music is slow, sadboy hours in languages I cannot speak and don’t understand. I just like a heartfelt feel; it matches all the stories I haven’t worked up the courage to write yet. I’ll pick up a word or two after wearing the songs down but I mostly listen for the intent….
nasieku 