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Where Do We Go From Here?

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  Everyone recommends writing things down, they say it  helps give one clarity”. I hate writing things down,it is too close to accepting  defeat. It is a seal of everything, it is an  end for me, it is too final_it happened and now it has ended-The End. Whilst when it stays in mind, intertwined with my thoughts, it is just there floating endlessly, open. I don’t want it to end, I don’t accept that it has ended.  He sits on the edge of my bed, watching me as I carefully apply lotion on my body, I catch his stare and smile, I want to tell him again how beautiful his eyes are but I am interrupted with a question, “what are your intentions with me”. I laugh like how I usually do when I am trying to avoid answering a question. He asks again, this time with more seriousness to it as he holds my stare, I laugh again giving myself time to think of a perfect response, a response which doesn’t scare him off or expose me, I fail, and I just stare back at him instead. He takes that as a response
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A Fisherman, A Lawyer and A Philanthropist (a Made Up Story,Well,Kinda)

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Foreword : Every man I have ever met, thinks he is the best thing that has ever happened to me, I don't blame them. Have you met me when I am in love, in like or in lust ? I forget myself.  When anyone asks about my dating history, I am quick to respond that I don't date, but  everyone knows that's a lie. I just hate having to explain my dating history to anyone, so  in future if anyone asks, I will refer them to this blog. I want to refer to him as " T he Banker" because I can't remember what he did for a living or what his role was because I never bothered to ask, all I knew was he had an important role at the bank. Even on a steamy October afternoon, he was immaculate and exuded a fresh scent. His usual, most basic white shirt and black pair of pants made him look like a Ralph Laurent model. He was almost the best thing that has ever happened to me, if only, I could swallow my pride and be honest for once. He met me when I was a girl, with her head in the c
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Where Am I ?

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 It's been ages since I last posted . Well, a lot has happened , without being stingy, here are a  few if not all of my life updates : I  moved out, and no longer stay Lilongwe(I still make occasional trips to town), I got my nose pierced (my father hates it), I loc'd my hair and colored it  (best decision ! My locs are now a few inches long and shake when I move my head to say no) . Look at me, a walking stereotype ! If you're Malawian you know that a woman's character is judged based on such mundane things. "She has a nose ring! it must mean that she is very loose" I have been feeling a little disoriented lately, and this is the only place where I am free to express myself. Every time I want to open up to someone, a little voice in my heard quickly ridicules me, " all girls do is talk about their feelings". I gotta admit , I really like talking about my feelings and listening to people talk about their feelings. The only think that gives me comfort
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To Label It.

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    I am the kind of person who usually seeks clarification first  before answering back, saying a comment, stating my opinion  or doing something that might affect  someone. Some people however find this habit of mine very annoying. I have been unjustly described as   "difficult . " "someone who complicates things, or someone who takes things very seriously." Just to give an example of what I am so that you can judge me accordingly, say  if you say something to me and I am not sure whether to take it as a joke or seriously,  I will ask so that I can respond accordingly, if a friend comes to me with a problem, I will also ask if they are just trying to vent or are seeking help from me.  This character flaw , ( I actually don't believe it is a flaw) makes me want to label things, relationships, or situations so that I act accordingly. Just yesterday, I found myself fighting the urge to ask my work  colleague-Glowey, ( someone who i have allowed to get under my
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BEAUTY IS.

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  A guy in my office says beauty is pink lips, light skin He says, light skin makes other features pop out unlike black skin He believes most light skinned people are beautiful, I try to tell him beauty is more diverse than that, Before I finish my sentence, another jumps in, no beauty is dark skin, tall, , white teeth, clear, soft, slender.   Good hair, and by good hair she means the opposite of kinky, coily hair. No, beauty is Short, tall, big eyes, Narrow eyes, brown, blue, black eyes , Straight, coily hair, black, white, big, small, two legs, one leg, big
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NOT CHRISTIAN ENOUGH

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I consider myself  a religious person, a Christian, I am an Adventist and was born in a family of Adventists. Over the years  i was just going to church because my dad said so, it was what was expected of me as an obedient child. When  I was able to make my own decisions, I still chose to be an Adventist and realized  I enjoy being an Adventist even though I don’t seem to fit the image of a true Adventist. By a true Adventist I mean a girl who wears her natural hair, wears long skirts and dresses, doesn’t apply any makeup, except on her wedding (because that’s what it appears to be acceptable), no jewelry, listens and reads Adventist materials. Unfortunately, I find trousers comfortable, fallen in love with simple jewelry, apply makeup, wear my hair short except, I color it, I wear short skirts and dresses. You get the idea, so inside and outside church I get stares, people, fellow Adventists judging my looks, calling me names, I remember a friend of my brother’s called me Babylon t
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MOM DIED.

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My father, who was a Head teacher at one of the rural secondary schools liked travelling long distances at night or very early in the morning to attend Teachers meetings in different education zones which were very far from where we lived. Those were some of the most dreadful moments of my life, when he travelled at night or very early in the morning. We all hated it, loathed every second of what we had to go through as we waited for him to get back home safely.   I and my siblings would crump up together on the sofa or on someone’s bed waiting for his knock the knock which would assure as of that he was alive and well.  No one said it out loud, but all knew what each of us was thinking at that particular moment, the silence among us was loud enough to be heard by our souls, the fear of losing the only parent we had. I lost my mother when I was young, 7/8 years old I don’t  really remember when, and it’s unfortunate that I  can’t  also tell if the reason is because I was  too young to
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