TRAPPED

By Martha Nderitu


Hey awesome people!

I have walked the face of the earth for

twenty years, ten months, fifteen days and an

undefined number of seconds (I am still

walking on it 🙂 ). I once lay on the evergreen

grass patch behind our homely Kiganjo house

feeling trapped.

I made a mental note to tell Daktari, then it hit

me that the conversation would be strange.

“What do you mean, “You’re feeling trapped?”

He would ask, propping his chin with his pen,

his rugged expression narrow with humor.

Where exactly would I start?

More like;

I need to stop being subject to the laws of

science, like matter and gravity. When I see a

wall, I want to scale it in my six inch stilettos

without landing hard on my gluteus and

cracking some vertebra. I want to dance on

the ceiling; moonwalk like Michael Jackson

and sway like Britney Spears. I want to climb

trees with the agility of a monkey and scare

away bad humans with my fangs, like a

leopard does. I want to walk through hills and

reach directly into mum’s snack cabinet

without having to break into it. I want to sit on

the runway whilst an Airbus A-380 is coming

in for landing without freaking out. I would

love to jump from the Everest and scream

through the eight kilometer drop without a

parachute and not bust my skull.

I wish I didn’t have to count the calories in my

food and eat no more than 1200 of them. I

want to eat fries, chicken, pastries, meat, salty

and sugary stuff without ever looking like a

walking display of the effects of what they

call a ‘poor diet’. I want to relax at the beach

in a bikini, look like a busted can of corned

beef or cheese and not give a damn. I want

to fit into any dress, especially those cute

high-lows and leather skater dresses made

for girls with 48% of my waist circumference.

Moreover, I want to go swimming with my

lovely and toned classmates and not feel like

I have an inbuilt floater on my waist.

I need to stop being subject to the concept of

time. I am not for silly unspoken rules like ‘Be

up by 0700hrs, attend that 0900hrs class and

within that time, jog, brush your fangs, have a

quick cold bath without getting a mild stroke,

consume 3 liters of stiff coffee to shoo sleep

away and brown bread for the Chromium

reserves, carry the right books and walk to

school. Why can’t I rise 0300hrs, jog, have

dinner, go back to bed…something

disorganized like that and be perfectly fine?

Why should I have to sweat all the way

instead of snapping my fingers and appearing

in the right class? (Most times I arrive on time

only to get late trynna find my class in the

wrong hemisphere of school).

I want to stop being shy. It is the only barrier

between me and the girls I would love to be

my friends, and the reason my crushes

remain just that. Crushes. For once I need to

stop being so subject to my emotions and

what people feel about me. Nothing would

please me better than to have a blank or

sleepy expression while facing this planet’s

bullies, instead of having my eyes melt

hopelessly. I do not want to be subject to the

cliché ‘No man is an island’. I want to enjoy

my own company and not feel neither empty

nor lonely.

I want to be infinitely good. I want to be a

great hip-hop dancer, ballet dancer, model,

skater, swimmer, singer, poet and actress. I

want to run at 110 km/hr and not at 3 km/hr,

after which I flip out and feel my lungs

begging to crawl out my nose,where the

Oxygen bounty is. I want to be good in math

and organic chemistry and bioengineering. I

want to be a lawyer, psychologist, geneticist,

rugby player and sniper when I grow up.

More than everything on this planet, I want to

protect everyone and everything I love. I want

to be at everyone’s service. I want to protect

the young children in Baringo County, Syria,

ISIS held areas and other places from PTSD. I

wish I could cover their eyes from the horrific

scenes of their parents being executed and

homes being razed to the ground. I want to

heal everyone in hospital and at home that is

in severe pain and has no access to funds or

painkillers. I wish I could protect us from

rapidly mutating viruses, armed militia that

shoot us in the head without a second

thought, rogue police, rapists, bad teachers,

thieving politicians, illness and pain. I wish our

families would stay intact and we enjoyed

happiness and a pure and infinite peace of

mind.

In short, I want to be a free spirit, roaming

wild, naked and free. No barriers, no positive

and negative attributes, no meds. Just me.

However, time has not come for me to be a

free spirit yet. So I will remain trapped in my

imperfectly perfect body and will do

everything it takes to feel happy and okay.

Like eat healthy and avoid the beach.

Cheers guys!
Originally posted on http://www.blue radioactivity.co.ke

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TRUTH BE TOLD.

 

By Lucy Mwaura

sugar+daddy
timesline.com.za

MY mother has always been very honest with me when it comes to life teachings. She tells me when she met my dad, he was just a simple poor village boy with only ambitions. But that did not stop her from falling in love. She accepted him as he was and within the eight years they lived together, they made major milestone in life. From living in a small, single rented room, to being able to build their own home, establishing their own business and; I’m sure they would have done even more, had death not snatched away the man she had invested her future with.

From this I’ve always believed in being a pillar behind a successful man and an inspiration to my own kids. I don’t want to be a clandestine beside a rich man, who I know nothing about the history of his wealth. Yes I know he’s filthy rich, but always remember that he’s also filthy in every other aspect. So let’s talk about the so-called SPONSORS and SPONSEES (we agreed the sponsored shall be called sponsees).

Every time I see a young girl riding in a Range with a man old enough or even older than her own father, I don’t see a lucky girl, rather I see the emptiness in her little mind. Being a sponsee doesn’t make anyone a heroine. I know you feel as a heroine when in that machine, but you should always remember that; behind that successful man there is a strong woman who stood by him through thick and thin, she stood by him during winter and summer. That woman could be your own mother…

clande
themusic.com.au

 

 

Yeah I know you don’t care, you already sold your conscience to the devil in the name of money and nothing but money. OK, I understand. But truth be told, I’ve never heard of any independent woman that sells her body for money… yes I mean a Commercial Sex Worker or how else do I explain a woman who sleeps with men for money?

 

 

You call them SPONSERS, what do they sponsor and what do they get in return? We all know there is no love involved in these relationships but let me educate you my dear sisters. Honestly I’m not jealous of you because there is nothing to envy in you. Get these lessons from me, they may not mean anything to you now but someday they will make sense.

In the earlier years our mothers were patient enough to hold on to their men and build them to what they wanted them to be. Ask Kathy Kiuna who was from a posh estate why she got married to a ghetto boy who had nothing to offer. Why she agreed to live with this man in a widow’s home whereas she could have gone back to her rich parents and live comfortably as she was used to.

Our mothers held on because they knew a blessing awaited them. They knew the value of things not the prices. Today you tell me that a sponsor is better because you will never lack, yeah you will never lack anything with a price tag sweetheart, but you will lack everything that has value, which is important.

To tell you the truth you are wasting away your youthfulness with things that will never benefit you. Don’t look at today, think about tomorrow. Would you want to be the wife that cries every night while your husband chops away the money that you’ve so worked hard for with a girl your daughter’s age? Would you want to watch your own daughter disgrace herself with men older than.your husband? I guess not. I know you would want to be happy and true happiness doesn’t come from partying and riding on with sponsors. True happiness comes when you achieve your heart’s desire from your own sweat.

For as long as there is a woman somewhere suffering because of you, you can never progress. That young man who you underestimate could be the next president of the U.S. All he needs is your love and loyalty, that is enough to encourage him to work hard. Pray for your man and God will bless you… let the sponsors stay home with their wives and pay their son’s campus fees.

Seek Wisdom and true happiness. So far I’ve not heard of any sponsee that is successful, and you know why, because there’s a woman’s tears blocking your blessings. Everyone is entitled to God’s blessings, but how you seek these blessings is what matters. sponsors will only add to you curses. Work girl, work and make your mama proud…make yourself proud and be an exemplary example to your kids.