Date the guy that reads

Date the guy that reads because it is easier to buy him a gift. He has an open mind and he seeks to develop it. It doesn't matter if it's a brand new hard cover straight off a bookshelf or a dusty second hand dog-eared classic from his favourite author. He will accept it because he knows the gift is merely an outward expression of affection.

Date the guy that reads because his compliments are straight from the heart. They are not shallow statements he says out of obligation. He sees the beauty in everything and everyone so when he tells you your eyes are beautiful; it is because they remind him of the stars that he reads about that decorate the desert nights in Kabul.

The guy that reads can teach you a thing or two. His conversations are rarely dull because he has such a wide perspective and he seeks to broaden it even further by seeking your view on a recent theme he uncovered in his current read. He may challenge your beliefs. And not in a way you approve. However, don't take it personally. It is just the intellect talking. He really means no harm.

The guy that reads can surprise you. He is just like the twists in the books he reads.He loves spontaneity. What do you expect from someone whose taste ranges from Chimamanda to Dan Brown? You might be sure you have him all figured out until one day he drops a bombshell. You'll hate him; because those surprises may not always be pleasing. But you'll love him. Because just like your favourite novel, you can't get enough of him.

But the most beautiful thing about the reader is he understands the writer. He won't chide you for those moments you zone out, lost in poetic thought,  because he believes that is a masterpiece in the making.
He doesn't belittle your little musings because he is aware you may not be as outspoken as he is. He knows your little scribbles are the only way you know to tell your story. He is not disturbed neither does he deem you weird. In fact it is these little eccentricities that make him fall deeper. So fall for him.

Date the guy that reads. He may not be perfect. He may come off as condescending. Date him, nonetheless. Because it is only the guy that reads that complements the girl that writes.

A.K.A The Intern

Fifteen unpublished drafts down the road.
I am overdue with this post, sorry. Hope I can write this to completion.
Thanks for allowing me to borrow 2 minutes of your life by reading this blog, by the way. Feel free to tell me what you think. And now for the post....

For those who have my number you probably noticed my WhatsApp status is something like A.K.A the intern[glasses icon] therefore we shall call today's post...

A.K.A THE INTERN *glasses icon*

I am one more papercut and awkward elevator moment with a member of staff away from dropping this degree and going to do something absurd like selling 100 bob tops by the roadside in Toi Market.(No disrespect to the people that keep we city females looking pretty)

Don't tell my mother. Or any other person who can claim a similar role in my life.

See I just landed myself a golden,no not golden because even gold cannot describe the magnitude of this chance. This is more of a once in a lifetime shot.
Life is more precious hence a suitable adjective.

But guess what this gargantuan opportunity got me doing? Photocopying documents. And stapling them.

That is my starting job description. Arranging documents.
That is what I just started doing 8 to 5, weekdays.

I am no environmentalist but me thinks if institutes stopped relying so much on hard copy there would be enough damn trees to solve global warming. Just saying.

That said, there is a lot more to bitch about. For example this new feeling; the way I keep asking everyone for basic things like where are the ladies? What do you do when the printer is out of paper?
And the worst, when a visitor asks a question and I'm just as blank as they are so I'm all blonde like 'umm... I don't know just wait someone will come help you.'

My working hours is another pet peeve. Last week I ceremoniously bid goodbye to all weekday plans. Goodbye Terrific Tuesday.

And the traffic on my way home at the end of the day is just annoying. Nairobi when will this end?

So many reasons to be annoyed. I guess because I had this glamorous misconception that my first day would be all fabulous and it would be like working with The Gladiators. Power suits and matching heels, a team I blend easily into and I'd be spending my days making people's problems disappear.

Not.

Could this be because I am no Olivia Pope?

But on a serious note, someone needs to stop watching too much TV. Really. These series need to stop being bought. Like last week.

But in the past 48 hours as the Intern what I've realized is it's never roses, rainbows and butterflies.
Particularly at the bottom.
And since clearly everyone starts from somewhere, I have no choice but to accept my reality and make the most of it. I mean butterflies don't just happen. It's a process i.e. egg then the larva then the pupa and voila the adult butterfly. (I passed science in primary school by the way:-D )

Therefore in humility,I accept my path.

Learn. Discover.Grow.

So those paper cuts I still don't know how to prevent them. Suggestions anybody?
But for those awkward elevator moments, well earphones blaring that sweet Afro House music can fix that all day every day.  And a smile. Definitely a smile. :-)

Make Up

Every day we wake up and we put our face on.
We walk around and we get compliments.
They don't see the huge black spots under our chins.
Neither do they see the black circles under our eyes.
And when we look at each other.
We see the same thing.
We know somewhere underneath are a bunch of blemishes.
We know the beauty is a facade;
Ain't no way our cheeks look so rosy naturally and neither is our hair so smooth and silky.
Our Afro-Caribbean kinks at least.
But nonetheless we cherish it.

It's sad though when it comes to character we see the opposite.
At least until one of us is gone...

It makes no sense to only see people's true perfection when they can't hear you speak of it.

Forget the flaws.

5FT 8 PLUS 4

And today I bought my first pair of 4 inch heels. 

Not 5 or 6 but 4 inches. Actually 4.5 inches. And given how medically the recommended maximum height is 3 inches I feel like an underage teen who successfully sneaked out and returned home after their first rave... Bad Ass.

And they are very pretty.

Now I know at this point one may wonder,  what is the big deal? I mean people rock 6 inch heels every other minute. So let me answer that query in one statement.

5ft 8.

Yes in words that reads FIVE FEET EIGHT INCHES.

For those more familiar with the metric system it translates to about 172 cm.

And when you are 5' 8", there are some things you learn to accept.

You learn to accept that no single pair of trousers will fit quite right. Lengthwise anyway. They will always barely be long enough. Thank Fashion for the crop trousers that only tall people can rock peacefully. Otherwise someone would have to consider menswear for day to day pantalons.

Another thing you have to accept is the fact that 5' 8 " means always being that awkward one towering over group photos. Sadly. Especially when you are slim. Add that to day to day walks with your friends and how you become the one they always look up to. Literally. Even if their 5' 3" selves wear those 6 inch works of art. You will still always be that tall one. And this you learn to accept.

And then you realise you definitely will always have the short end of the stick when it comes to potential suitors. In English it means that you will never get the satisfaction of having to stretch for a hug from your man. Because you are probably taller than the average guy and the tall brothers are hard to find. Really. Opposites attract so find them with the shorter sisters. And this you accept. Albeit sadly.

So after all this problems including how you have to bend so as not to hit your head when entering some rooms as well as how your legs never fit in most places so you rarely enjoy your bus ride home,  you'd think life would give you a break when it comes to footwear right?

Not.

It's already bad enough you have to accept the fact that your size 10 foot barely fit most decent flat shoes. You learn to accept that when all your female friends and acquaintances are looking all fab in their dresses and 6 inch platforms you will be that one looking good too. Just without the heel.  Why?

Well stability is one thing. That fear that you are barely stable in your natural height so you hate to imagine what may happen when you add 4 inches to your centre of gravity. That and the fact that everyday you go drooling over these cute heels but your dreams are cut short soon as you see the size.

When you are 5ft 8 there are some girly pleasures you will never get to enjoy. And you accept that... Until you meet a pair that changes your mind.... And possibly your life.

Agenda number 4 on my bucket list can officially be completed. And to all those people who kept asking me if I wear high heels. The answer now is hell yes. Rather high ones FYI.

And so introducing...Me. I am 5' 8 ". Proudly.

And I bought a pair of shoes that got me feeling all bad ass. So I am bad ass. And awesome.

And I am a tall black girl who wears heels. And I rock. :-)

P. S

The courage to talk about my problems at 5' 8" was inspired by this random article I discovered in my state of bad ass-ness.

And for all the bad ass black ladies who are 5ft 7 and above and be rocking them hot high heels.... RESPECT because you rock. :-*

Bravery

To be brave is not to step into a war zone with bullets flying all over in your jeans and faded Converse.
That right there is insanity.
Bravery is something worse.
Bravery is taking a risk. A stupid one.
Bravery is facing that giant that only exists in your perfect world.
Bravery is facing that monster that no one else knows about except you.
Bravery is facing it knowing very well you are going to lose.
Bravery is remembering your happiness matters.
It is growing some balls and daring to come face to face with your real fears. 

Chic Flic Induced Insanity.

And it is no secret why people that do not watch chic flics tend to have lower blood pressures.

So there you are, still coming to terms with the fact that this time it is for real.

Three tubs of ice cream later.  You decide to give it one last shot.

Hello email.

Suddenly William Shakespeare's finest lines seem like bad poetry compared to the characters your fingers are creating on the screen before you. 

"I love you, because it is you that I love, "

For some reason Pablo Neruda's words keep ringing in your mind. So you type them.

Letters build into words. Sentences. Paragraphs. Pages.

The last shot.

Because this one was real.

Or so you are convinced.

Three pages and a million I am sorry's later  you put the last words...

"I will be waiting."

"Love you."

Then you push send.

And suddenly your lucidity shows itself.

What have you just done?

Oh my gawd.

Now he will think you are desperate and basically it is even more over.

Then you are back to your 'cray-cray'  self.
You need to be.

He will read it. He will come back. He has to.

So you close your laptop and sleep tight.

Until the next morning, when you check your email.

No new messages.

And it is back to square one.

Ice cream.

Duvet.

Clearly the government needs to review their film classification criteria.

Lessons learnt on a Rainy Saturday

Dream Chasing: The Revelations.

That is the name of this blog.

What is the blog about?

I hate such questions.

It's like asking me 'M, why are you doing the course you are doing in Uni?'

Honestly, stop asking me such questions. I admit. I don't know but I'm hoping by the time I get a degree I'll have figured it out.

Hopefully.

I mean life is too short to have everything figured out because when you try so hard to do that you kind of miss out on all the fun stuff which are the little things that you discover along the way. Little beautiful things that you would have missed out if you were busy sticking to some well defined map of how everything should be. That said, I think I already answered the above question. Apparently this blog is all about the little things I discover as I get my 'leaf flying away in the wind on' trying NOT to figure everything out.

On that note allow me to talk about one of these many sweet little things.

I know this post is a tad overdue but honestly that should be blamed on my immune system which decided to go on a vacation last week leaving me wallowing in allergies and all other manner of infections. But your girl is fine now and the show shall go on...


let us call this piece a day well spent...

A DAY WELL SPENT

A few days ago I decided to do something different. Not the bad different but like the good kind of different. I decided to join some very beautiful people in putting smiles on the faces of more beautiful people like these sweet divas here...

So on a cold rainy Saturday morning, I woke up and decided to make my way here.

And well it was the best experience ever. You know that cliché saying that it is better to give than to receive, well I actually discovered that there is a lot of truth in it. I mean by just giving a little of my time and energy, I got so much in return. And no, not the physical tangible stuff but like the real stuff.

I learned a life skill no one could ever have taught me... how to cook great food for a large group of people. ( Apparently it is easier to learn this when you don't have season 3 of Scandal waiting for you in a room five feet from where you are)

I learnt how to be a great drummer from these two insanely awesome people.

I learnt what makes this sweetheart  annoyed but I got a chance to give some big sisterly advice...

yes, I had to take the selfie. I am a girl. It is what we do.

I also learnt that photography is a talent I sadly wasn't blessed with, unlike my BFF (the organizer of the event) whose great works can be found here

Imagine I took this with a freaking Samsung S4 and it came out this blurry :(

evidence of my lack of photographic skills

But most of all I learnt that going to the most happening of parties and wearing the most beautiful of outfits cannot compare to that warm feeling you get inside when you know that the secret smile on her little face was because of something you helped do.

And that right there was a rainy Saturday well spent.

Grief

Though my grief takes me to much different places,
I still have an idea, vague,
Of how it feels to be too broken to pray
And too shaken to have something to say
Life's greatest pain is sadness
Love's greatest pain is parting. Forever.
Because I may never understand your sorrow
And I can not lie to you that you will feel better tomorrow
Just know that I'll pray for you when you can't say a word
And I'll even shed a tear on your behalf... Because sometimes,
Sometimes it is okay not to be okay.

Megan Omare.
Wednesday, January 15th 2013

Letter to a 14.05 year old Me.

Recently I was insulted.
Yes, this is my blog and I shall unashamedly vent.
So anyway I was hurt not so much by the way person Y insulted me but more by how they thought I was reacting to the insult. See, they said something mean and in their head they thought I was reacting because I believed what they said but in actual sense what I was reacting to was this person's mindset that two people cannot agree to disagree. Also I was vexed by the way Y doubted my ability as an adult to have a wrong unchangeable opinion.
Well, I did throw a tantrum. One of those lock-yourself-in-your-room-throw-and-break-everything-kind of flip outs.
I felt better, then I felt bad. Really bad. This was because I felt like I was still this 14 year old kid who did not how to handle moodswings.
But then I was hit by one of those rare moments of clarity and I realized I was wrong to feel that way. I had changed and the difference between me and 14 year old me was the simple reality that at 14 I did not understand but now I understood.
I understood that I am an introvert and that's what introverts do, have unexplainable outbursts when they get tired of bottling everything inside. I understood that it was one of those simple things about my temperament that I could not change completely only learn to live with. I also understood that at 20 something, I was anything but ashamed of being this way.

Anyway... the whole point of writing that was to create a sort of prelude to this letter which was inspired partly by that outburst but mostly by this random article I stumbled upon

 http://www.wamathai.com/letter-to-my-thirteen-year-old-self/

Dear Me at 14yrs and 3 weeks,

I hope this letter puts a smile on your face because Lord only knows you need one. This is Me, a 20 year old version of you. A version of you that is way different from who you are now.Slightly different actually but still different.  Anyway I'm not good at letters because in the future we do WHATSAPP so I'll be very brief and to the point. I have good news, remember item number 3 on that list you wrote of things to do by the time you turn 18, well you do it. I only wish you hadn't put it on the list because it's not something you'll be very proud of. But anyway that should give you hope that dreams(even the most inappropriate)  do come true. But one thing you should learn before it's too late is never to take anything or anyone for granted for example Dad. Actually, especially, Dad.
Another important thing I'd like you to know is that you will make a very big mistake in your life. I wish you won't but there is nothing I can possibly do to change this but you may as well know it. The biggest mistake you shall ever make is not loving yourself enough and not being proud to be you. It costs you a lot, and later on it leads you to make another tragic mistake; believing you are not worth it. Child, if you can, I beg of you change this.(I still write this even if I know it is an exercise done in futility)
But other than that I don't have much to say.
I mean your braces come off and you have this love-hate relatonship with your smile afterwards but at least you do meet someone who falls in love with it, but that's a bit irrelevant.So we shall end it there.
Hugs and kisses,

Me at 20yrs and 4 months.

PS.
There is more to life than being a couch potato.
Also,  your eczema does not go away completely, sadly.

PSS.
Being this quiet bookworm isn't such a bad thing because someone actually thought you were cool. Just don't friendzone him accidentally at 18 when you start to come out of your shell.
;-)

Philosophical Anthropology, Feminists and Trying... Blogging Day 1

So I have started blogging.Again. But this time I'll try to be serious. Emphasis is on the word TRY. The last two years of my journey as a writer(well retired because I dont write the way I used to earlier) can be described using that three letter word. TRY.
It starts with me TRYING to wake up early one day and saying how I will TRY to work harder and be more of the that writer girl I was back then. So I TRY. I grab this classic that's been gathering dust in my room and put it in my bag and say I will TRY to read it in that crazy traffic on my way to campus. When I get to school I do TRY to read it in between sending unnecessary text messages and having random conversations. Then somewhere in the middle of a boring lecture where I can barely keep my eyes open, I decide to pen down a few random lines. Actually I TRY.
I guess that's how I know I'm not the writer/poet I used to be because coming up with those three lines is a struggle. But thanks to a boring Dr. Whoever, at the end of those two hours I do have something. It isn't all that good but at least it's something right?
And pretty much that is where the story ends.
I don't get to reading that classic.
And when I get home and log on to my social media page and see how so many people around me are doing it big with their talents and all I have to show for my gift is a few quickly scribbled lines, I do feel guilty. I have a gift but I confess I tend to sit on it a little bit too much. What's worse is that though I would rather die in silence than admit this to anyone, Daddy wouldn't want me to be wasting my gift the way I do.
So I tell myself that the next day I will try harder. And I do, kind of.

To sum it up I can say that guilt did make me try starting a few blogs which I abandoned after a few posts.
 
But I am done being that kind of a girl. So this time when I say I will try... It is for real.

I recently reconnected with some old friends who inspired me a lot.
And aside from the joyous feeling of being with people who share your same passion for earrings, nail polish and all things feminine, the reason they inspired me was the warmth I felt being with them. Being with them, I was reminded that I am loved and accepted the way I am and that gave me even more energy to be that quiet writer girl I am. See it had been two years since I had seen most of them but really it felt like it had only been a minute.
Now that is how you know who your real people are.

THANK GOD FOR THE GIRLS.


Anyway... I'm back in Campus. A lot of philosophy units this time round.




While I was sitting during one of those lecturers I had a moment of poetic inspiration.
And well let the poetry speak for itself here....

 PHILOSOPHICAL ANTHROPOLOGY: DAY 1
Because man's level of humanity is gauged by his decisions in relation to others
and faith can be viewed as an illusion baseless because it lacks a base that can be proved Socratically
In a society premised on philosophy, morality and all such like marking schemes...
That really leaves no room for a liberal mind whose only unchangeable opinion is that we are because God is.
It is necessary for the question to be asked
were we really made to believe that life is really this complex??
you know what... screw Philosophy.

Megan Omare
November 13th 2013.