Author: Nairobi 🐣❤️

Turned 24 and my life was like “These are your monkeys .”😂💀(I know, I know… okay, that was funny in my head. You get it, right? “Not my monkey, not my circus” No? you know what nvm anyways?) I’m not sure this is what they call adulting but… yeah ,Tems was right.Crazy things really be happening

I’m a clown funny🐣😂😂 sorry I mean Hihi 🤭

Is it grammatically correct to put tags on a title? (In case I’m not a warthog then I guess 😭😭 lol, but sometimes I tend to forget, to be referenced kama nimewrong 😅). But in high school, the word going round ni only poets were allowed to break the rules so today I’m a poet, lol. (All this just to defend my title)! **[Attach reaction photos]**

Okay, enough with the story za jaba. A hello from Naeku and I suddenly want to be 14 again. *Shivers* High school was somehow depressing. **Deep sigh**.

When I was 14 and “holier than I am now”, that’s when I first met Diana. She vowed to be friends with me to the grave… yeah… we even pinkie swore and had it all on paper.

I would always write, draw, and hate on someone in high school. Lol. It explains why I never had any of my notes. In primary, it was the diagrams that were missing. “I really think about Robin sometimes… ooh and his best friend too… two funny boys those ones. I wonder if they can still make me laugh if I ever bump into them. I wrote about drugs and used, ‘an idle mind is the devil’s workshop,’ in my writing to add spice to it.” Me, myself, and I, that was the title… I was going to publish it, but someone stole my book, and I was too lazy to ever rewrite.

I wrote about loss, alcohol, cigarettes, parties, their consequences, the devil’s workshop… and Diana left a comment. She literally commented below and I didn’t have to ask her to!?!. The first time someone that wasn’t my English or Swahili teacher left a comment after my creative writing ‘hobby’ endeavors. The first time someone wanted to be friends with me because my writing “touched her”. I know, cause she said she felt sorry for me after reading it. Well, she didn’t have to, it wasn’t based on a true story…

I didn’t know when I’ll last see her, but I was glad to have unstrangered her the way I did. It’s her choice of words that spread into my memory forever, like, for example, the teacher that said with every inch a snail covers, it grows. The stranger that said “ile unaona ni green unaeeza fwata upate imepakwa rangi.” In my head, it translates to the grass is greener where you are. My mind wanders to the man I once spied on from Kiongozi’s rooftop, who’s never been outside for more than a decade. My guess is he has a million questions. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

At 24, I rarely write for fun now. I want to be paid to take shots, and my most curious encounter with a stranger now is when they voice something I don’t know or shy from acknowledging, especially about myself. Strangers are uniquely placed to do this, it’s never their similarity we find compelling, but their differences.

To take a break from my own melancholy, I took a break from writing, but I love Diana and I remember how she’d always be there to help me solve my math problems. I really hated those Sunday morning papers. She made school bearable. If only I could live life in reverse and rewind to all the moments we shared together 😂😂 lol dozing through our agriculture class. But life has no rewind button, and I’m stuck in the present.

I want to be 14 so I can write from my imagination. I don’t like writing like this cause it feels a little bit too honest.

Baada ya dhiki faraja, those were the words she left for me to find. These past years have redefined me, my desires, goals,I have a change of heart. I can feel it, the perception I have of myself, everything has changed but those words still give me hope more now than they did then.

We can change how we deal with our emotions and thoughts, but we can never change the inherent feeling we get left with after, like happens. Feelings of anger, insecurity, pride, and jealousy.

Three years down the line and I’m still haunted by the unpleasant truth that love is meant to hurt. This is probably why love tokens in the shape of teddy bears, hearts, chocolates, and roses are also the things you give sick people recovering in hospitals.

Baada ya dhiki faraja, the words that keep me sane. A promise for a better tomorrow, a life free from the anxiety and uncertainty that comes with our 20s. Recently, I watched a video about anxiety on TikTok, and one of the remedies was to be decisive, so I have decided to be honest. If you’ve watched Triangle of Sadness, then you know how bad the storm was and everyone was sick in their stomach. That’s how I feel when I have to write, should I write about this, would they read it and perceive me? I write my heart out and now have been cruising in the dark.

My twenties have humbled me quite gracefully. I had so many plans of everything I thought I would have been. Plans for my future, I thought I knew what I wanted out of life. I don’t have it in me to fight, I can’t fully connect to anyone. I can only love the things I know are constant in the sky. I lost myself along the way and weirdly that’s when I felt more liberated. I love dogs now.

My twenties were meant to be fun, but instead, I’m unearthing traumas and unlearning everything I thought was the truth. I have learned to be patient not only in traffic but also with myself. At the same time, I feel like life’s spiraling down. It’s the confusion about what’s about to happen next and how to make it make sense.

At this very moment, I have my doubts on how much more I can really handle. I also don’t like the person I am now. I’ve turned to those people that compare themselves with their peers. I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad thing. But from my point of view, everyone is getting whatever it is that they want and I’m just here. I’m tired of the wait and I want to get my faraja already. I work hard, I’m a good person, but at this point in my life, it feels like nothing is ever going to go right! Very pessimistic, but hey?! It’s darkest before dawn, I suppose.

I have gone through so much, but again, I feel like I haven’t lived enough, laughed enough, and loved enough. I am unfulfilled and haunted by some of the choices I make.

I want to reclaim my true self. I yearn to feel the same boundless love and joy I once did. I want to love without hesitation and be the loyal friend my friends deserve. To those I’ve unintentionally distanced, I hope they understand that I’m grappling with my own battles, and I need to confront them alone. Despite the hardships and uncertainties, I cling to the hope that a brighter tomorrow awaits. I strive to live, laugh, and love with a newfound sense of purpose, determined to break free from the shadows of doubt and regret that haunt me. Here’s to embracing authenticity, finding solace in self-discovery, and adulthood, I guess.

Did you know shoes can tell stories?if you don’t believe me ,uliza,H_art the band….

Shoes.

Shoes tell tales too,the unseen stories, tales of where they’ve been,stories of what ,only, the owner has heard and seen.

Whispers.

Muted tones,Local whispers, a silent proclamation,proclamations of new beginnings,silent memorials,subtle advertisements. Look up and listen.

Allegories.

A symbol ,symbol of transformation, remembrance, unspoken assurance. A clash ,clashing clouds on the horizon.

Shoes on power lines.

Shoes dangling gracefully from power lines.how they get up there is still a wonder,did the owner get a new pair,did they just decide to walk barefoot, leaving their footprints behind? I wonder how it feels like to literally walk on clouds.

Throwing shoes over power lines ,a now ordinary occurrence in my neighbourhood, has varied origins and has been observed in different cultures and regions. The reasons behind this act (depending on the locality)are diverse, ranging from celebratory rites to unspeakable activities.

In the 20th century, particularly in the U.S.,throwing shoes over power lines became associated with moments of celebration , rites of passage, or simply as a form of teenage mischief. It was a way for young people to mark significant life events.In my neighbourhood, it’s a possible symbol of a fresh start,”kureform,” a retired thug.Imagine losing a pair of shoes everytime we toast to new beginnings.

In some urban areas, throwing shoes over power lines has been linked to gangs marking their territories. Shoes on power lines serve as territorial markers, signals, indicating a specific area is controlled by a particular gang.where I’m from it’s a tribute to their long lost ‘friend ‘ (backstory;sometime last week I boldly walked to the nduthi gang and boldly asked about the orange sneakers dangling gracefully from the power lines above them ,”ooh hizo ?”as he pointed to the pair in question,”hizo ni za morio wetu alituwacha,” which basically translets to ‘that’s a tribute to their friend,’ a way to keep their memories alive.

Shoes over power lines was sometimes used as a symbolic act of protest and rebellion against established norms.the confidants in my area suggest it’s an unspoken assurance, it’s secretly screaming there’s a plug in this proximity, a branding strategy loud enough for its target but silent enough not to blow their cover.

A Language .

Silent language ,a language of symbols, whispered narrative that echo in our midst.

What is your Essence? This is one of those questions my film teacher  asked as he explained something about caricature as a form of art,my mind was glued to the concept of essence ,it itched my brain ,I was captivated by its significance,have always known that  I’m a tall girl with a big nose ,quite noticeable features but I wanted to know more ,what energy do I give,I wanted to see me from another’s perspective.

My Essence? For me to find my Essence I had to know who I am, I had to find myself first ,my lecturer said Essence is what makes you ,you.so I embarked on a never-ending journey of  self exploration.Self-reflection as a regular practice has not only helped me align my choices with my authentic self but also fostered a deeper understanding of the essence I wish to project to the world.I have always been passionate about literature and deeply in love with the arts.

A cinematographer, that has been my dream for a while now, but my mother begs to differ,Every time I’m about to leave the house she has something to say about my choice of clothes, she says something like, do you even know how beautiful you are? you could pass for a really good model ,you only have to fix your eyes. I don’t like how your spectacls sit on your face ,must you dress like a small boy?I hate that you love dad jeans,why don’t you get ladylike clothes that aren’t too baggy? If only you could lose those glasses for contact lenses, then everyone would mistake you for Miss universe, I’m flattered that she thinks I’m beautiful but disappointed that she doesn’t find my style artsy like a random stranger from the other day ,I was delighted that he labelled me as artistic just by looking at me ,I have always hoped that I gave of artistic vibes,but the struggle to articulate my passion for literature as a valid art form led me to emphasize my love for photography ,the more he asked about my artistic journey,I couldn’t escape the feeling that only by working as a Director of Photography would I proudly and unequivocally proclaim, “I am an artist.”

A teacher ,you must be, says my dad ,have seen you with kids and you are really good with them,I hate to confess but I’m really not a fan of little humans, kids love me but I really don’t fancy them I don’t mind being around them ,Maybe I just have one of those warm and approachable personalities, my cousin said ,I would make a great mother if I ever had children, but why would my dad want to convince me that I’m a teacher and not an artist? so ,I ran to my grandfather for help I want him to help me tell my dad that I can’t be a teacher but instead he takes his side and talks about teaching being a calling and how lucky I am to have an organization tu educate others ,he goes on on how I could start one of those organisations that deal with children preferably girls after winning a beauty pungent, he even calls my grandmother in to back him up into convincing me that I could easily pass for Miss Kenya, Don’t they get it? I don’t enjoy being in the spotlight, I’m not that good at public speaking. Do they know how anxious I get when people look at me?Hello…, don’t they see how shy I get around people have just met ?I guess they weren’t so keen the last time I had to make a speech during one of those family functions, my voice was shaky and I just wanted to be done with it.Ever seen a shy teacher? ,I can’t even walk in a straight line. How am I supposed to win a beauty pungent? I’m not made for the spotlight. I belong behind the scenes.

An airhostess, that’s the job for you says my aunt as she sends me endless applications for the job ,your smile is vibran and your height is just perfect for the job,my other aunt calls my Mother to give a list of modeling agencies I should join ,So I seek my brother’s opinion he’s only a preteen but I should be able to trust his judgement, so I ask ,”nakaa kufanya kazi gani?” And without hesitation, he says,”kwa nini usikuwe Airhostess?” I look at him for a while and ask “mbona nikuwe Airhostess?” he answered.”Si hiyo tu ndio kazi inakukaa.“I was a bit offended. Why don’t they think I could work in the film industry? Anyways I don’t think I’ll make a good Airhostess besides I’m short sighted and some random site on the Internet said my eyes should perfectly work,Ihave never seen an Airhostess with their seeings glasses on but I’ll give it a try I guess maybe the know me better ,I didn’t tell them that the last time I was in for an interview,(one of the requirements for the Airhostess job was experience in customer service), so I applied for a call agent position, after the interview the interviewer said my articulation was fit for the job but I don’t know how to verbally express myself,Maybe when my eyes don’t need glasses to see and my words could fluently fly out of my mouth and not on paper then maybe then I’ll meet their expectations but for now I want to express myself through my art ,I want my work to speak for me ,I can’t wait for the time I’ll stop doubting my abilities and finally put myself out there.

A wedding and three weekends around my family members, that’s what it took for me to finally understand if not uncover my essence, Having growing up surrounded by a polygamous family with intermarried relatives from diverse backgrounds,My Essence is a beautiful fusion of their unique traits, beliefs and personalities,embracing diversity from an early age ,their influence has shaped my beliefs, values and artistic vision. Growing up I would observe and listen to their stories I didn’t care that I didn’t understand everything then but thanks to my exceptional memory and adult knowledge that I’m gaining a deeper understanding of their experiences and some traditions, The sense of diversity from my family has given me a richer appreciation of life,it fuels my desire to capture and showcase stories on the silver screen .I aim to capture the subtle nuances of the world and present them with captivating visual narratives.

An artist ,I believe I am ,an artist who strives to bring beauty and understanding to the world through cinematography, I aim to use my artistic skills to open the eyes of others to the beauty that lies beyond the surface, just as it does within me,sucks that people around me don’t see me beyond the physical, I am more than what meets the eye,An ‘artist’ with an artistic vision.