Random Rumblings- F is for…

Feelings, so incredible and mighty fine

Fleeting yet forceful

Foreign yet so familiar

Frantically letting go, all fired

Fraught and distraught with fear

Forgive she remembers, but don’t forget

Never forget


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Hezekiah, My Hero :)

My recent relocation reminded me just how far I have come and how much I have grown as a person. I am someone who is usually described as shy to a fault. Being this way doesn’t bother me as much as it did before though. I just accepted it as part of who I am and I do get out of my shell when I get comfortable with a person or situation. But I learned something crucial about myself which is that I limit myself because of my condition (hyperhidrosis). I allowed it to dictate what I can and cannot do, how I interact with others including romantic relationships I was involved in.

Moving reminded me of things I have accomplished in the past few years, things I never in a million years dreamed I could do. I had to give up my guitar – Hezekiah when moving because I couldn’t afford to pay for it to come with me. So I decided to give it away to a friend, someone I know will take care of my baby. Hezekiah not only served as a bass guitar but also a constant reminder of strength drawn from within. He taught me that I could when I thought I couldn’t.

As some of you know from previous posts and in person interactions, I live with a condition known as hyperhidrosis. It is basically excessive sweating and it affects people differently. For example, you could only sweat in your hands or both your hands and feet or other body parts that can sweat. Different strokes for different people. And it has no actual known cure. There are “treatments” people have tried but sometimes many lead to compensatory sweating which is basically you just sweating from a different body part which could be worse than what you had initially. I have personally never tried a treatment especially not with the current side effects I’ve read about.

My life is complicated enough as it is without the added stress of exploring a treatment plan that could potentially lead to disastrous results. I am not sure I can recover from that. I have been aware of my condition since I was about five years old and it affected me in numerous ways. There are certain activities I couldn’t participate in because they required having dry hands. Monkey bars come to mind. One needs dry hands to be able to successfully play on those things otherwise they become something of a death trap. So you can imagine a young me trying to swing from those bars and failing to get a grip because “butter fingers” could never get a grip. Reading was a safer option. Although books did tend to get wet and I had to constantly wipe my hands to prevent creating holes in them if I held onto it too long without drying my hands.

I’m sure you’re wondering how Hezekiah fits in here. Hezekiah was my first bass guitar and Hope my first acoustic guitar. I always wanted to play the guitar but couldn’t quite fathom how to considering I couldn’t maintain dry hands long enough. And if you know anything about guitars, especially bass, you’ll know that you need dry hands to be able to strum the strings. And those strings are thick!

I didn’t think I could do it but one summer, I was jobless and wasn’t in school and there was a music program going at my church that I decided to join for lack of anything to do. The music director asked what instrument I was interested in learning and I told him and explained my hands to him and he said we can work through it. And somehow, we did. He helped me buy Hezekiah and by the end of summer I was able to perform with the others in church. Sweat and all.

I found an inner strength I didn’t know I had through Hezekiah. He taught me to push through and that with determination you can accomplish anything. I was always very self-conscious about my sweating. But I allowed others to see my dripping hands and didn’t care. When I strummed up my guitar, I was taken into a whole new world and it felt good. I temporarily forgot about the sweat, forgot how much harder it was because I had to strum through wet hands. I forgot that others could see, that they would have questions. It was just me and my music.

And for that I thank my teacher and my baby, Hezekiah whom I had to give away because I couldn’t take with me back home. You will always be my first baby, the one that taught me that it may hurt, you may want to give up but if you push through and if you practice, it gets better. The reward is well worth it. It is only a guitar to some but to me it’s more than that. It’s a sign of something I thought I would never do, could never do. I don’t play anymore but I will take it up again because I really miss it. I let life get in the way but saying bye to Kiah reminded me of why I loved playing in the first place.


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More Than Friends…

He listens when I speak, and hugs me when I cry

He rejoices with me when I am happy and consoles me when I am sad

When I need him, he is there, ready and waiting

All I need to do is call and he answers.

When I am proud of myself he comes to mind, he is the number one person to share my accomplishments with

When in doubt, I know he will calm me down and guide me, pointing me in the right path

He makes time for me and treats me like I am the only girl in the world

He is my rock, the one I can confide in knowing my secret is safe with him

I am the luckiest woman in the world.

See, he knows me like no other. He respects me as a person

Unlike other guys who want me for my looks and body, he wants me for my mind, my warmth, me as a human being

He tells me I am beautiful in a way that makes me believe him without a doubt

He asks not for my body but for my mind and we engage in intellectual banter

I am overjoyed; ecstatic doesn’t begin to express what I feel.

I am pretty sure this must be love. This is what all those fairytales alluded to but I never understood until now

This feeling makes me giddy, and nothing can take it away

Or so I think.

And then reality hits. And I learn that something can take this giddy feeling away

And my heart can break into a thousand tiny pieces.

He says we are just friends. Those two words are powerful enough to break this euphoric feeling I have been riding

No way are we just friends I tell myself. He must have felt everything I felt. Good friends don’t invoke such intense beautiful feelings. No. I refuse to believe this.

This is a relationship of boyfriend and girlfriend. We just didn’t define the relationship, that’s all.

He is mine and I am his. He is just a little slow to come to this conclusion. Yes, that’s what it is. Just friends we are not I say to myself.


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I’m Home and There’s No Wifi *Cringe*

I arrived home yesterday. Picking April Fools as an arrival day was fun. So many people didn’t believe me when I told them I was home. It was hilarious to me. Anyway, I just realized its a whole new ball game for my blog now. I no longer have the privilege of blogging whenever I have the whim. By this I mean I can write as per usual, I just cannot publish at lets say midnight or whenever I want to like I did before. I no longer have access to WiFi like that.

I now have to learn how to navigate the bundle buying lifestyle of data. Not sure how that works for laptops but I will soon find out. Also, I don’t like using my phone to post but I have a feeling this will soon change.

I knew I should have published my last post when I was still in Chicago. Don’t ask me why I didn’t because I honestly don’t have a concrete reason why I didn’t. I’m a work in progress. One day at a time.

For those that are curious, I am in Zambia. Yes, WiFi is available in most places, just not in my current home. Its still considered a luxury in this part of the world. Sucks to suck as my friend would say. Now I just have to unlearn the little luxuries I got used and get into the thick of things and life will be good.

Until then, I can be found in my little corner missing Chicago WiFi. Just kidding. I’m reading a non existent manual on navigating living back home. Fun fun fun.


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Her Virgo Beau, His Virgo Cinderella

When he smiles, his eyes light up and little crinkles form at the edges. Because they are small, his eyes almost close when he smiles, his cheekbones high, and his lips are slightly thin.

His laugh is full of joy, an intoxicating sound I could spend all day listening to it.

He walks like he has not a care in the world, relaxed, but with purpose, unhurried exuding confidence, unaware of his effect.

He looks my way and I melt, glowing deep inside just at the sight of him. A hundred questions fill my mind as I try to smile and wind up blushing. Yes, even black people blush.

I feel the heat creep up on my neck and onto my face. Thank goodness for my dark skin otherwise I would be bright red for the world to see!

Does he see me? Can he tell I am crushing on him like a high school girl meeting her favorite boy band?

I look away pretending not to see him despite the fleeting eye contact but hoping he will walk over anyway. I look at him again and our eyes meet and hold this time. My awkward self doesn’t know what to do so I stare awkwardly and perhaps smile or frown it’s hard to tell which one.

We play the lock eyes and smile/frown in my case game for a few weeks, never saying a word, a game we share between the two of us which is kind of exciting (I’m sure you can tell how exciting my life gets right).

I should have mentioned that all these exchanges have been taking place at church between and after service. Opportunity comes banging and we are face to face, not expecting it but not unhappy about it either.

This time I feel a full on KC grin come on and I can’t control it. I extend my hand just as he extends his and I see that gorgeous smile of his. I really could drown in that smile.

“I’m Mike,” he says. Of course I forget to introduce myself until prompted because we all can’t be perfect and have nice things now can we?

And then I walk away right after. Just straight up walked away. No bye, see you later, nothing. I can’t be trusted to be socially normal. I don’t do social right. Even when I want something. I kicked myself for this later.

Next Sunday, he seeks me out and we chat for a while. As fate will have it, my pastor is having a birthday bash, the big 50 and we make plans to hang out at the event later that night.

Mike comes in a bit later and finds us already seated and joins our table. How we wind up side by side I do not know but I am not complaining. We spend the night ignoring everyone else at our table, absorbed in each other’s conversation.

I am floating on cloud nine and hoping the night will go on forever. It is after all summer and they tend to drag on. We somehow wind up at birthdays and we were born on the same day!

I swear Cupid must have had a hand in this one. It’s a sign. We must be soul mates. How can we not be? He made me laugh all night, and he is tall, and has the cutest smile ever and is just perfect. Also, we were born on the same day. This must count for something right?

Sadly, all good things must come to an end and this night was no exception. My friends were tired of me ignoring them and ready to home. I really didn’t mean to ignore them, it just happened. Or they were just ready to go home.

Mike and I exchanged numbers before I walked out and I simply told him “I will be right back.”

Of course I wasn’t going to be back but I didn’t care to explain that then. It was picture time with the girls and then Mike texted wondering where I was at to which I replied “I’m outside taking pictures.”

Mike being Mike responded with “Cinderella is taking pictures without me?” The smile on face said it all. I responded “My prince, come and take pictures now before midnight strikes and I disappear.”

Mike, “Hold on Cinderella, I am coming. Thou shan’t disappear without your prince. I am here to save you this time.”

This is what happens when you are both dorks. And sure enough, he showed up, all six feet of him, all hot and unbothered. I couldn’t help but take in his beauty, the goatee with the flecks of grey and wondered how and why he was attracted to me.

I questioned it no more and took pictures which of course were perfect. He hugged me goodnight and whispered “goodnight Cinderella. Thank goodness for technology. I have your number and not your shoe. And y/our pictures!”

I giggled and responded “goodnight prince charming and take care of that ‘shoe’.”


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He Died In My Dream And In Real Life…

Wednesday January 12th 2000.

I woke up to silence and found my brother sound asleep next to me. Normally he be in his bed but there was nothing normal about this day so he was in my bed. I looked around the room to see who else was in the room and saw my cousin across the room, he too asleep. All the adults were awake in the living room it seemed except grandma who I spied on the other bed directly across from mine.

She seemed to be awake so I called out to her. “Grandma. Grandma. Mbuya!” she ignored me at first. But after I persisted she answered. I knew she was awake. There was no way she was asleep knowing her son was at the hospital.

“He’s dead,” I said to her. “I just saw him die. He is not coming home tonight.” She gave me an angry look and told me to go back to sleep, telling me I didn’t know what I was talking about.

I wasn’t sure if she understood me. My grandma and I never really got along. I didn’t know if it was because I couldn’t speak my native language or she just didn’t like me. I could speak a local language which I knew she understood and I used. I grasped bits and pieces of my native language but it was pathetic to say the least.

I think she hated the fact that she couldn’t converse with me or my young brother but she didn’t seem to dislike him (go figure).

I lay back down in bed thinking about my dream. I had just seen my dad in a corridor seated in a chair seeming just fine when he stopped breathing and was gone. He didn’t seem to be in any form of pain. He looked all peaceful and serene, like he was ready.

He had one arm folded across his stomach, the other stretched along the side of the chair. His head was leaning back on the head rest and he looked like he was closing his eyes for a nap but I somehow knew he was gone.

And sure enough, about an hour later, my mother came home wailing, announcing his death and my grandmother looked at me like I was the angel of death but she never spoke of it.

During the funeral, after my mother had calmed down, she gave us details of my fathers passing and it was word for word what I had seen in my dream.

You should have seen the daggers grandma threw my way. If I thought she hated me before, it was confirmed now. She packed her bags and left after the funeral and our relationship was more or less the same after this. By which I mean she greeted me whenever she saw me at family gatherings and that was it.

I am pretty sure she was convinced I somehow killed my father or I had something to do with it. Mind you, I was eleven when I had this dream.

I never mentioned my dream to anyone. She was the only one I told.


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I’m That Blogger That Fails To Deliver A Promised Post

I just realized I am that blogger that promises to deliver something in another post but never really follows through with it.

This has happened in a series of posts where I nonchalantly or blatantly say, “I will complete this thought in another post.” and I never follow through with it. More times than not, I have the post in a draft, I am just not sure why I am not posting it.

It is either unfinished or complete and just sitting there. I am working on getting rid of all posts in my drafts folder before putting anymore new stuff in there. Of course this is easier said than done considering the type of person I have chosen to be.

I am someone who will have an idea and not jot it down only to forget it and then irritate myself beyond belief trying to remember something I could have easily jotted down.

i will remember this

Image from google

On the other end of the spectrum, I jot down ideas and decide to never finish them and at times complete but never post them. Not because they are not good enough, some are better than some of the stuff I have published on here but there’s probably a button in my brain somewhere that resets at some point and decides ‘hey, this looks awesome sitting right here so let’s just leave it here OK? Good talk. And it’s literally still there as I type. Yes I make poor decisions, I know this.

I am a random writer and will write on my phone, laptop or notepads and it ranges from fiction to real life and sometimes paths are crossed. I also write wherever I get the urge to do so. Be it the bathroom, in the park, church, work etc, when I get the drive, I write.

What’s funny is I own about three journals and they are all empty. Apparently, I have trust issues and cannot jot down thoughts onto something that might be read by family members (read mother) so I keep them because of the comfort of owning them.

I used to journal a lot in my teenage years and no one had the energy to read neither my musings nor the eyesight to squint through my tiny handwriting.

But living with my mother is a whole new ball game and she clearly has time and even though her eyesight really isn’t the best, she manages to make out my pathetic handwriting but cannot for the life of her read printed writing with her glasses on. Go figure.

Anyway, I was talking about not keeping my word on following through when I say I will and I digressed quite heavily. I will devote this week, not sure how considering how much packing I still have to do, to working on the undelivered posts and completing my unfinished thoughts in all my drafts folders. I have drafts on my phone, iPod, notepad(s), laptop and WordPress drafts. *sighs*

This is the year I will do better in all aspects of my life. I can feel it.


GIF from google

Hopefully I wake up from this flat line first. Do you also have any of my issues? Multiple draft materials wasting away in your folders not being used? Not following through on your promises to deliver on a post? Let me know in the comments section below. As they say, misery loves company. LOL.


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Ten Things I Learned When I “Gave” Up Alcohol

  1. I am a big social drinker. I rely on alcohol to be social. Without alcohol, birthday dinners and social outings are tedious especially when there are strangers involved.
  2. Non alcoholic drinks are a waste of money. Why do people order cranberry juice at a bar? Or a virgin mojito?
  3. Speaking of which, it is hard to find a great non alcoholic drink. They totally suck and are full of sugar! I was out and decided to order something whose name I forget but it was some virgin cocktail. All I remember was it was sweet and I was on a sugar high and then felt like crap afterwards. Total waste of money.
  4. Some friends are not accepting of your non alcoholic ways especially when you drunk like a fish. They can’t fathom you without alcohol especially when they know you are socially awkward and probably can’t function outside your social circle without an alcoholic boost.
  5. On hard days, all you can think of is going home to a nice chilled bottle of red wine until realize you gave up alcohol for a whole year and you wonder why on earth you thought that was a great idea and curse the living daylights out of the day and go home and curl up in your bed and turn on Netflix and feel better because who knew Netflix has such super powers?
  6. I have saved myself at least $11 every week from not buying my usual wine. My choice of poison is Riunite Lambrusco red wine. This wine gives me life, figuratively speaking. They say ‘you know you’re getting old when wine becomes your choice of alcohol. I guess I’m getting old now (lol).And then I discovered it was $16.99 for the 3L container and my life was never the same. I switched from the small one to the bigger one. But now I’m back at zero since no alcohol. This year is draaaaaaaaging I tell you.


    Image via google

  7. Did I mention everything seems to drag when you are off alcohol? The weekend seems to last longer than usual, dinners take too long and we are still in march! Why aren’t we in September already? Just me? Ok. I will find a seat somewhere.
  8. I want to quit every day. I just want to go back to regular old wine drinking me every single day. Every time I am invited to a dinner or social event I die a little inside knowing I cannot have a drink and I really really would like to have a drink.
  9. I have survived every social outing I have attended since I started my no alcohol for a year challenge. I have been social some of the time and I have been passively passive at most. I have wondered why I was even invited to some and wanted to leave except for the fact that I didn’t drive and was at the mercy of others and didn’t want to spend money on a cab or uber from the city to the burbs. It would cost too much. But I sat and contemplated it.
  10. I have decided I will not participate in social outings I have no business participating in such as the one I just described above. I have survived roughly three months alcohol free and it has been meh.

Have you participated in anything that seemed hard and felt like giving up? Did you give up or soldier on? Let’s talk about it. Help a girl out here. Have you been through anything similar? What was your experience like?


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Goodbye, Shalenipo, Adieu, Adios, Kwaheri,


Image via google 

Driving down Golf Rd to church this morning, it hit me that this is my last drive to church and I started tearing up. If you know me, you will know that I am a hardcore G and don’t cry (I cried my eyes dry when I was a baby).

I had to talk the tears back real quick saying, “Hey you can’t ruin this makeup, not this early in the game. you have to stay slayed for Easter.” And that’s how I managed to talk myself out of bawling like a baby and got to church and service went on smoothly.

It was after that I started saying my goodbyes. Most people thought I leave next week, and others don’t even know I am leaving.

I didn’t make the big announcement this time around. My pastor thought my last Sunday is next week Sunday so he didn’t make the usual big announcement in church which saved me from a lot of tears(not mine of course since I don’t cry. Stealthily done. I know I will get a few angry/hurt calls for this.

I didn’t think it would be this painful to leave but it was. I actually made some great friendships and I am sad to leave some people. Goodbyes are so hard. Some really did break my heart but I hope we can continue being friends through the distance.

I have been able to maintain some friendships through long distance and i hope I am to do so with some of these. I do not care for some and will not devote a thought to them but there are some I will work at maintain and hopefully its a two way thing.

Leaving is a bittersweet experience for me because I am going back home to family while I leave some of my family here. Friends and family alike await me back home as I leave some here.

Life must go on through the pain and while I will miss this part of my life, a new experience awaits me. New opportunities and new lessons, new smiles, new hurts and new friendships.

Who knows, I may wind up here in Chicago in a few years. Until then, live your life, live your truth and enjoy it. I was always quick to say I want to leave Chicago because of the weather but once the time came to make the decision, it was not as easy.

But it was finally made, and life must go on and be lived. Life is all about change. It is what we do with this change that makes all the difference.

I leave this Wednesday and I am both excited and sad. Bittersweet.


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A Good Barber Is Hard To Find

You know how I mentioned I have an impulsive nature? Saturday night, at about 11 pm or so, I got the bright idea to cut my hair and so I did.

Armed with kitchen scissors because I couldn’t be bothered with finding regular ones, I zipped and zapped to my heart’s content. And just as you guessed, it was uneven.

Sunday morning, I washed it, combed it and patted it down and went to church because I am gangsta like that. Not really, but I pulled it off.

And because of how my luck is set up, it wound up being a long Sunday, with back to back meetings after church service and a friend took me to lunch after (yay me). By the time I was done, all the hair dressers around me were closed and I had to sport a bad hair do to work for a while.

Anyway, I was able to get a barber yesterday after work. Again, the way my luck is set up, I got the barber that no one wants. I told them I’d wait for the guy but it was getting to closing and there was still one person ahead of me.

It’s not that I thought she wasn’t any good. She’s good at what she does. But cutting hair the way I wanted isn’t her primary specialty.

I am an African female with extra coarse hair who wanted something close to a Mohawk but not really. That’s why I wanted the guy to do my hair.

Anyway, I conceded and sat in her chair and knew from the get go it would be a battle. She couldn’t really speak English. I tried to convey what I wanted in words.

“Just a trim please,” knowing anything else would be misinterpreted at this point. Of course she didn’t understand even this and started doing her own thing.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Whoever “they” is is a liar! I showed a picture. I showed her pictures of me, of my previous hair cut. Do me like this I said. She nodded as she pointed at the picture.


I showed her these and others so she had an idea of what I wanted

We are getting somewhere I thought. Great! Glad I kept the pictures. Sure glad I showed her the pictures. Let’s just say I am happy to report that I was not butchered.


And this is what I got. My fades.were not right nor was my trim. But it’s cool. It can be fixed. Later.

This too shall pass and this can still be fixed. By another barber. And before I sit down and let them do anything, I need to make sure we can have a conversation about salvaging my hair you know.

Phew. I was dreading having to rock a bald head for the next few weeks. I wasn’t mentally prepared for that.

If there is one thing that’s either a hit or miss first time around, it’s a barber and a hair dresser. Once you find the perfect one, keep them as close as possible!!

Have you ever had a bad experience with a barber or hair stylist? Let’s talk about it in the comment section.


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