Nyaruai

           Photo Courtesy: AmuKay Let’s go waaaay back. From the beginning. When the earth was just a baby, God’s baby. Like a programmer’s code, being moulded into a perfect masterpiece. Then the gay serpent happened. I say gay because a talking serpent approached a NAKED woman and only asked her to eat an apple. Or was it blind, because we all know, us creatures of Venus have the power to stir up a million emotions when we take our clothes off. Assuming the devil is male, (we know he is), the fact that he did not notice her perfect boobs is the reason we have plastic surgery and Photoshop today.  Take a moment and picture the look on Adam’s face when  Eve told him he was naked.  So assuming Eve, did not eat that apple, and the earth remained the perfect universe it was supposed to be. That is my what if story... First things first, there would be no lies, which is a bummer, because most industries on earth were born out of lies. Starting off with Hollywood. There would be no books,

           Photo Courtesy: AmuKay Can we first agree that the term happy is relative, yes? Ok. So, my source of happiness varies greatly. One time it’s a series of memes, the other it is that time the broker fishes out a wad of notes to pay for my vegetables. Let us agree, money is actually a source of happiness and to be very human, I’d rather cry in that Range Rover (I prefer a Ford Ranger) that laugh on that bicycle. What if it starts raining and I’m on that bicycle, then I catch pneumonia and die? Was it worth it? No it wasn’t .Rather, I’d rather cry in that my Ford Ranger, and as I toast in the warmth of the air con, my tears will dry, logical, yes? Also, my forefathers did not blindly fight guns and grenades with spears and machetes, eating ngwaci in a mosquito infested forest, so I can cry on a bicycle. Back to the topic, happiness. My source of happiness I think lies in the small things in life. The laughter of a baby, (Boy! Do I love other people's babies), his text in th

I don’t know if people actually have a single favourite book. Its impossible. Not with all that creativity floating around and people harnessing it.   Eight years ago, the BabySitter series was the jam ( do people still say that?  No? Ok)I remember Karen and her two families and that colourful blanket ( like the one that drove Joseph’s brothers in so big a jealous fit they sold him off to slavery. Ama  it was a coat?.) she'd torn in two, one for each house. Five years ago, Harry Potter was my favourite book series. Let me tell you I had mastered the spells so well the only thing missing was my wand and a cauldron. HAHA! Expecto Cauldrones!! Then I grew up into Mills and Boon. The amount of sex, all in detail was so intruiging for thirteen year old me. I used to wonder if the teachers turned a blind eye to these books on purpose. In fact, it used to rain Mills and Boon on the weekends. Let me just tell you the promises of everlasting love and lovemaking in those books were chicken

They say a dad is girl's first love. If he fucks her up, he has fucked up every member of the male species that will come into her life after him. Mine didn’t. Mine’s a good dad. In fact, this post is about this man. My earliest memories of my dad were of him narrating snow white stories to me. They were not exactly what the books said, he added his own words and plot twists a lot. But I can tell you for a fact there was nothing I looked forward to more than the stories. Other times, he would tell me of ogres who lured young girls by imitating familiar voices and handouts and then eating them up. Considering the state of the world, I think he knew the exact kind of data he was feeding into my head. I would never get into a stranger's car or take gifts from stranger, because, you know, ogres. When I was 7, I remember he bought me my first storybook. It was called Mr.Todi from those New Progressive series. It took almost a month to complete. It was about a hibernating toad who

I'm not even sure how I’m supposed to phrase this because half of the things that made me happy the other day don’t have the same effect on me today,  you know like how githeri man isn’t cool anymore. Wild hearts can’t be broken, because they ride the wind and touch the sun. So you wonder, in essence,  how to please a wild heart. I wonder too. This list includes some of the ways you can win this one over , though in no particular order. A book. An actual print. Not a Kindle or an eBook. Let me tell you there is something about a good print with a storyline that literally sets me apart.  The rate I devour the story, mingle with the characters and flow with their fates makes my blood rush. I feel their words, I see their faces, I feel their feelings. I absolutely love novels. Good music.  If you know me well, I will let you count the number of times you have seen me without my earphones on. See? The number of fingers on your hands are too many for that.  My musical taste is varied

 I’ve said cocktail because the alternative would have been rainbow. I may be a jolly good conglomeration of cells but I sure as hell ain't that mesmerizing. Rainbows come after storms. I don’t. Sometimes I’m actually the storm. To begin with, I am absolutely not a morning person. I would be a morning person if morning happened around midday. You know people say you don’t need an alarm, your passion will wake you up? I don’t.  I am a happy soul constantly punctuated by bouts of depression and anxiety, you know, like that sunshine that brings no warmth. I chase sunsets. I’m a night owl. At that time, a time my grandma insists the demons are at work, the creative juices flow better than Octopizzo's lyrics. I overthink everything. That is my weakness. I over worry. My mind works overtime all the time. I am the P in passionate, even when it’s clear I’m trying to fill my pot with a sieve. I push. Even when I can’t, I push. I love classical music. The stringed instruments are jus