Our expectations

When we meet new people. Yes!

We have made many mistakes from relationships past (or many mistakes have been made to us) We have learned, we have grown, we have ran the gauntlet of guilt, remorse, pain, and we have come out the other side smelling shit.

And now here we are, revving, raring to go - on to the next one, BUT WAIT!!
Our past follies and mistakes have made us tough, our hides are tough, cynical and tentative.
We scowl hard, we examine and counter examine, we dip a finger, we decide its tepid, and we pull out, we dip a toe, then we take a reluctant plunge.
When they say "i love you", we answer "and i like you too."
We lock all our doors, we lock them in, we hide the key under our pillows, we do not want to get robbed again, of our dignity, our grace.
In fact, our cynicism, like a cloud, has surrounded us, its gray pallor won't let us dig in - into ourselves, into the people who say they love us.

Our expectations have dipped to a whole new low, ergo prompting disregard of our 'lovers' gestures of love and fondness. "Too predictable" we pine, "too cliche" we whinge.

We form little impervious groups-of friends. 'The cynics' we call ourselves. We look at each other with knowing looks after sharing - with each other - the little things (we call them) that our new lovers have done, contemptuously disregarding as we dissect them, a census.

If only we would give our new lovers a chance! A chance to love us fervidly.
If only we would make the much needed disconnect, love, lose THEN love again, blank slate.
If only we would love in series, and not parallel!
If only we would fall in love, real love, once and for all!

Jetpack!

I like the end of this story... Please check it out!

"It does seem like gravity, that cruel and fickle mistress that has been keeping us down for years, might finally get its comeuppance as we break free of our earthly restraints and finally take to the skies."

Martin Aircraft Company in New-Zealand has made the first 'jet-pack' A strap-on sort of vehicle that allows you to take to the skies, at 63mph max. It will soon be commercially available to the very-rich, but wait till we get a chinese, or Japanese version, then i will surely fly!

R-Kelly was not kidding when he said 'I believe i can fly' as i am sure he will be one of the first customers!

What we write

It takes tenacity, determination and complete focus to put word on paper. It becomes even harder if you don't want to focus on world issues (world peace, going green, the Japan vs china tiff) You also don't want to focus on your own life as a person, it feels like you are opening your life's door to criticism and ridicule, however stellar a life you have led, exemplary in-fact. It is human nature. Someone will see the tack in your eye - and pick it!

And so you write about wayward issues, about the completely rude taxi tout your friend told you about, or perhaps, about the pump attendant who wanted to rob you silly, thinking you were still in a state of doze, (given it's morning) but the way you jumped out of the car and shrieked at him when you realized you were being robbed surprised not only you, but the attendant as well, and so you blog...

The randomness with which you blog will surely, and slowly, lead to it's (your blog) death. At a certain time, after a number of posts have been written, and the deep satisfaction has spread like coffee in your system in the morning, the word tap will dry out. Taxi tout won't be worth blogging about anymore. You won't feel the inspiration to do so. You just won't!

Like they say, pointless meanderings akin to most blogs end up no where.

How much higher can you hike the skirt of your life? Afraid they will see something and judge? So you stop.

Once you delve into writing, you feel that your followers expectations are heightened. Their awareness of your prose skills will influence your next blog entry, so like an antelope caught in the headlights of a car, you freeze, more because you feel their eyes boring into you (into your blog)

Of course it's easier to have a mini-series-a following of stories with a protagonist featuring, his/her life played out, but this will happen only if you can follow a lead properly, if you can finish what you started. So because you don't want to bite into something you may not chew properly and effectively have your shallowness displayed for all and sundry, you freeze.
Of course you want to spice up your story, let the protagonist be a heart-breaker, perhaps a serial dater or have some riveting character or proclivity that will have your reader hooked, but you don't want your reader to super-impose this onto your real life, which may or may not be....

And so your tap dries out.

I once asked a pal why he doesn't blog anymore; he said he realized mid-sentence after a year of blogging that he was actually not good at writing about himself, and so he abandoned ship. I challenged him to write about issues far removed from his personal life, all he could think of was 'the going green campaign' and of course he wouldn't be bothered...

Facebook = Shallow

It's addictive. It's catching, it's wrong.
It makes you wanna log on in the middle of the night, just to see what is going on. That is Face book, ladies and gentlemen.
There is something exhibitionist about it, makes one pour out their day for everyone to know, maybe to chide a counter parry, match and counter-match. Who happens more, Who is having more fun?

There are these two young'uns who live on Facebook.
One goes "I am at Mr Price at Nakumatt, this shirt looks stunning"
the other goes "Nakumatt, Mr. Price, i love, love, the clothes"
Needless to say, had you been tasked with profiling them, you would gather information right up to when they fart, exact time.

The exhibitionism that face book encourages is shameless. It makes you wonder if we actually live private lives, or if, at all, we want to live private lives.
You would know when your mere acquaintances fall in love, what kind of love thereof, segue, when the heartbreak (that will follow, as sure as day follows night) happens.
The frivolous existence that FB (acronyms now, please) has created reminds of some semi-living thing swimming on the surface of the water, too lethargic to dive to the bottom, to get it's hands dirty, to get to the deep of things...

Quick lust, they call it. Anonymous dates with all the wrong people, morbid looking people with veneers of models on their profile pages. Unabashed alias profile information, creating false liberties for some who have the time, (and the energy) to maintain two profiles. With the second tucked away safely, only to be used on those restless weekends (we all know those)

A friend of mine once got a very controversial message on FB. Perhaps he was adding friends too quickly, or his friend requests were being ignored more than accepted, or that someone had slyly reported his account (could have been a jilted lover) but the FB team proudly sent him a message as he was trying to add someone, it went; "You cannot add anymore friends at this time, this could be due to two reasons
1 - You are adding friends too quickly
2 - Your requests are being ignored at a high rate"

Then the FB team went forward and said, (and this really takes the cake)

"Please observe these rules;
1 - Do not use FB for dating or business!
2 - Do not add friends too quickly"

It is like the FB team went and knocked it's head on the wall of self righteousness and got flashes of sanity. I mean, isn't this the same network that asks you to specify whether you are in a relationship or not? If they don't, then why the hell do they want you to tell the world about your relationship status?!
I wonder.

Face-book is a bad apple, it's indulgences are like those of bad food. Sweet, and yet ultimately dangerous.

Inebriated Pork guy!

Last evening, i was feeling good about myself so i decided to treat myself in part because i was feeling good, and in part because i had spent the day with someone who feels good about themselves.
Guilty pleasures they are called. I went to this pork guy. He sells raw pork - those who know about pork places you will reckon, they are small slithery places where the pork guys slither in and out of their rank pigpens. They (the pork places) do not stand out like the beef places, in the open, street corners, white tiles in the background and smiling butchers gently waving fly-swatters while shrewdly bargaining pricewise with meat lovers.
The pork places are usually in the backwater quarters of townships. Behind the main street of third-rate town centers. The pork man(is that what they call them?) wont be inside like you expect him to be-tending to his hulk of meat. He will be outside easily bantering with listless looking fellows at the side playing 'omweso' a local game.
You will have to holler, squinting inside, for the smoke from the unattended firewood stove in the corner will make your eyes water. The pork man will spring to life when he finally hears your holler, and will quickly point to the streakiest part of the meat, snidely smiling, his smile saying "you know this is not the best deal, but i am going to indulge your guilty pork pleasure, so you will hurriedly pay and leave" The entire experience will scar you with every step.

So this pork man yesterday seemed offbeat when i approached him. He would continually smile, and had this mad tick in his eye, he looked gaunt and obviously drunk. Slurring his words, he said "So how many kilos can i get you?" "Two" i replied immediately, instant discomfort showing on my face, scowling at his poor work ethic-drinking on the job.
I handed him a crisp note and he handed back two greasy change-notes plus my meat, his hands shaking, clearly showing off his levels of inebriation. I quickly took my items. "Webale nnyo" he mustered in his steadiest voice yet to my retreating back.

I left with a cold feeling in my mind, i kept on wondering to myself, wondering if it's true what they say about Uganda and the fact that we love our alcohol that much, that we have made the horrid shift from social drinking to drinking out of necessity. I remembered something a friend of mine said about people from his ancestral home, and how sad he felt when he visited them recently, the abject poverty manifesting in the entire community, land not tilled, livestock not taken care of, all because of the drinking. He said the men looked withered by drink, torpidly moving around, small, potent drinks in hand.

My fears were confirmed true today when i drove by the pork man's hovel on my way home. The shabby door was closed. I couldn't help but feel slightly guilty that my 10,000shs payment last night was slowly killing pork man at the nearest 'malwa' joint, no less, denying him a honest-day's work.

I feel really bad for him.

I am sure you have already read stuff like this before...

Yes, it's true. We love our alcohol, but we cannot eat our cake and have it too, in other words we cannot imbibe all that alcohol and keep our waistlines... Oh!

read this well written elle magazine article about the same...

Thoughts to words

Or can I say, thought convalescence to words… that point, that silent point, your mind *ting* the clarity, the openness, the reality of it all.

I’m talking about those intermittent days, when you decide to come home early on a Friday night, and out of boredom, climb into bed early, say half 8.
Well, you rarely sleep before midnight (talking about those over-active brains that think, think, think) you reckon you can trick the brain, ‘let me close my eyes, let me think of a calm sea, let me close my eyes and smile, stay still, and sleep will come eventually’

And so you sleep, or so you think…

11.30pm – you wake up, or rather, your mind wakes up. The house is silent, your mind is not.
Thought one; I was thinking about marketing, and how having a roadside booth, with a pretty (yet) effective lad or lass (yes, I used the ‘yet’ clause, simply because so many pretty faces feel like the world owes them, they surf through life with disaffected attitudes and permanent sneers of disdain on their faces, and only brighten up when constantly preened “how gorgeous you are, my darling” and like cats that have been slowly but rhythmically stroked, undulate, unfurl their delicate paws, yawn ever so slightly, and purr contentedly.
But I digress. The marketing booth with the efficient clerk behind the desk. Her smile is bright, or too bright, you think, as soon as she sees you, she springs up, as if in reflex, and goes on to say “can I help you sir?”
You smile faintly, you smile more in response to her countenance than to what she is really saying, you reckon her response has not been terribly ruined by vanity, ‘one more, yet!’ you silently say to yourself. Efficiency undergirded by looks.
You regard her silently as she effectively commands her space, you appreciate her concise execution of task, one after the other as she tells you, with a smile, about the products she is promoting. You feel relaxed at this point, you eagerly inquire about different products. You do this just to prod more, to find out if the EFFECTIVE that sprung up to you when you first strode into the booth still carries. To confirm to yourself, or to placate that furtive voice in your head that screams ‘one wrong thing! She is going to say one wrong thing! And the pile of checkers is going to collapse’
But it doesn’t.
Simple booth. Superlative efficiency. Product sold.

Thought two - …


I have always thought to myself that ideas come in ones sleep. This has always been a truth in itself for me. I always get a solution to that complex algorithm in the morning after a good night’s sleep during which I think of various ways to handle the algorithm. Usually at 5am. I smile delightedly to myself that whoever is next to me-in the rare occurrence that they are-or that they are awake at the time and watching me sleep (very rare)… regard me in bewilderment.
I stride into the office, sit on my computer, select all those lines of unnecessary code and neatly type the solution down. And when that happens, my day is done!

I have always believed that it’s good, (healthy practice like that dentist says, about flossing after every meal, wearing his spotless white gown and demonstrating the best flossing technique yet), to sleep with a notepad next to you. You never know, somehow, your mind and your fingers might flow in tandem and you may be able to make that mind- finger connection, that plug into socket connection, energy flowing from one end to the other, synapses transmitting from one to the next.
Yes! That connection. The clarity, the whiteness, the completion of the process, when you write down what has been whirling through your mind, that whirl that woke your mind up long enough to blur the lines between consciousness and sub-consciousness.
You ought to articulate your thoughts immediately because, come morning, the urgency of other thoughts ‘I am going to be late for work’, ‘how will I handle the traffic this morning’, ‘that report is due today’ take precedence.
I believe that at some point in time, our minds give us leverage to think of things that we may have otherwise regarded trite, and it’s these ideas, these mind forms of expression that we need to translate on paper, not so much those we consciously think about.