Did NOT Wake Up Like This

    Hey! This is one of those posts that are (what I hope is) humorous at my expense. So, I was the stereotypical teenage girl with the phase of fighting against being mainstream, and for the longest time I resented the idea of being perceived as a 'girly girl'. A few years down the line, and I realize, that I am, in fact, just that. I am the textbook stereotypical definition of girl. I don't like sports. Not even a little bit. (And girls, it's really ok to not pretend that you do. But then...maybe don't take advice from a single girl). I like makeup. It's fun to see my eyes go from deadened to popping because of one swipe of eyeliner. Actually this post is about my journey to where I am today, makeup-wise. Which is really just 'looks put together...ish'. [Side note: I'm listening to Rihanna's 'Te Amo' and I swear, even though I know the actual lyrics, I thought she said, "Listen, we can dance but you've gotta wash your hands", and I thought, an unusual request but not unreasonable. But I digress.]
    I'm a little fuzzy on the timelines, but the first time I used eye pencil on myself was probably when I was 16 in Form 2 (equivalent of 10th grade). I was likely bored at home and I got into my sister's makeup (because this is the sole purpose of the existence of The Little Sister). My makeup knowledge was sub-zero at that point, so the extent of my expectations was, 'Oh, my eyes look different. Cool'. When really "different" meant "raccoon-like". Yeah, for years I used to draw the liner on my lower lid, and for people with oily faces, it ain't pretty friend. Then there were the eyebrows. Sweet Lord. I'm equal parts wishing I had evidence of the massacre to my face, and immensely glad no such atrocities exist. As one of my classmates ever so helpfully pointed out one time in primary school, back then from afar you couldn't even tell I have eyebrows (this was before the discovery of the wonders of castor oil). So sixteen year old me decided to overcompensate for this shortcoming by drawing on some Angry Birds eyebrows. This may or may not be an exaggeration, I'll let you decide.
    Fast forward to post-high school, and homegirl gets formally introduced to Sleek (and briefly experimented with kohl eyeliner, which felt like I was applying menthol. So many tears. There was a short stint with liquid eyeliner, but the sensation of it pouring into my eyes and damn near blinding me is not one I relish). I got my act together and learnt to draw human eyebrows. Even got a complement from a girl I didn't know all that well, (she thought they were real!) and perfect eyebrow status was achieved. Sadly, Raccoon Eyes phase was still a thing. This proved most inconvenient my first winter here, and with that, the discovery of this delightful 'wind tunnel' on my path to class that made my eyes water every time. Which made me swipe at my eyes. Which smudged everything. Fun times. So anyway, summer of freshman year, and I'm not exactly sure how this happened, but one day I randomly decided to draw my liner on my upper eyelid instead, and my life was inadvertently changed forever. I mean, can I do a decent cateye? ...Bit of a stretch. But it's something. Of course that is very little consolation when YOU WEAR GLASSES AND NO ONE CAN SEE A BLOODY THING YOU DID AND WHY EVEN BOTHER. But then there are those occasional moments when you need to remove your glasses, y'know, to clean them or something, and then you can showcase your hard work. LOL.
    So, here I am. I'm a fan of makeup, but my abilities on the art are (clearly) limited, so my makeup routine is five minutes long and consists of 3-5 items. It's also too much work for someone who touches her face as much as I do. And if Sephora's magic wand thingy can't find me a foundation colour that doesn't look like a mud mask on my face, is there hope? Not left to my own devices, that's for sure. Not to say I don't have 2 makeup bags' worth of stuff and own like 15 makeup brushes, even though I couldn't tell you which brush did what. I should mention that freshman year Amazon came into my life and 15 brushes for $3.50 made a lot of sense. I'm probably more in love with the idea of makeup. But, yeah...that is the story of my evolution. The goal is pretty much to look nice and still look like the same person the morning after. And since nowadays liking one thing is immediately misconstrued to mean being anti-the-other-thing, this is not to say caking your face is a bad thing. It's your face, go to town on it if you want. (I love those 'boys don't like girls with lots of makeup' posts. Can we please have a chat so that we can pinpoint the point at which in my decision to load up my Sephora shopping cart with $25 worth of shimmery and/or matte awesomeness and thus earning even more awesome free samples, a boy got factored into the equation). So, yeah. Do you, and please get yourself at the very least one friend who will tell you when your beloved hot pink is a hot mess on you. There is hope for you yet!

Real Talk

    So, a few days ago I was scrolling down my Facebook homepage, and noticed the #BlackLivesMatter tag and accompanying gifs were everywhere. Again. Friends expressing their heartache, solidarity and pleas for change. Again. You know those notifications you get everyday from Facebook with 'You have memories to look back on today'? Several times I see posts I shared or made a year ago, on shootings, and I'm like, 'Wait, this was last year!?' It's this bizarre vicious cycle we're stuck in, and, to be perfectly honest with you, I don't even know where the latest shooting was (Isn't it just sad, that? Latest.). I used to be on top of these stories, knew every detail, read reports, sat through the videos. I could narrate every incident like I witnessed it myself. That was me, a year ago. Back when this was the most appalling thing I had ever heard of, the shock that such a thing could happen on American soil. Back when I would scrutinize every detail, wondering what I was missing, what had escalated the situation to have that end result. I found none, and began my search for kindred hearts, the collective outrage and out-pour of support, wondering what America would say to that, such blatant injustice and racism in the Land of the Free. And promptly learned that the comment section is the place hope and humanity go to die.

(Semi-rant: 'Murica, you have freedoms and liberties, and you are very proud of them, something you have made abundantly clear. And as you should be. But you are so completely over-the-top obsessed with your freedom of speech, most days it feels like you're afraid you'll run out if you don't use it enough. I'm a (mostly) positive person, and I am incapable of intentionally hurting someone else, whether I know them or not, so maybe I have too high expectations of people. As such, I fail to understand why Americans armed with their freedom of speech act can like children left with crayons in their living room. Yes, the crayons are yours, and yes, you can use them as you see fit. Can you use the crayons to draw on the nice white walls? I mean, sure you have the capacity, but you won't because, as a person entrusted with said crayons, frankly, you should bloody well know better. Case in point: "I'm voting for Trump because he speaks his mind." So, an openly xenophobic and racist president. Score.)

For shits n giggles. Side note: when you're bored, Google 'Most American picture ever'

    These days, I don't read the reports. I don't know the individual stories. And I should. Those people deserve to have their stories heard. But there's a certain despair that creeps in and wholly grips your core; the realization that this is the reality that we live in. That no matter what you say or do, there's a healthy number of people who simply don't give a shit about you. When it becomes so routine, black person gets shot, 'investigations' occur, outrage in whatever city it happened in, a section of social media goes nuts and expresses outrage and flimsy excuses in equal measure, somewhere along the line someone brings up the issue of race (to which, of course, Tomi Lahren will have something to counter. My God, that woman makes my ears bleed), it dies down, and then, for a while, we simply wait. Apathy is the ugliest trait, in my opinion, and I do not wish to ever be so jaded to the point of indifference. But sometimes I wonder if opening myself up to feel, everything, the hurt, the despair, the feelings of injustice, the silent cries of please, hear me and understand, really is better than shielding myself from it all.

    I am both amused and mildly irritated by the phrase 'I don't see colour'. This is high on my list of most ridiculous things ever said. The mere notion that that is supposed to mean 'I'm not racist' or something along those lines is baffling. To whomever it may concern, I don't believe it is particularly difficult to not be racist. I reckon hate requires a good amount of energy. However, 1) being non-racist is not equated to being pro-black (also, and you may wanna repeat after me, pro-black and pro-police are not mutually exclusive!!!), and 2) while being non-racist is dandy, it does not require you to ignore the existence of black people or their culture. I see people bend over backwards trying to describe someone without mentioning their race, as if calling me black is an insult. You acknowledging my race is not an insult, it is merely stating facts. I may have been the only black person in the story you're relaying (it happens). May save you some time.

    I'm a tad low on hope and good vibes to dish out, so just be aware of the possible internal battles people around you may be facing, stuff you maybe never have to think twice about. There's nothing left to say that hasn't already been said. You can't change something you refuse to acknowledge. It's a tough time to be black in America.

- Insert Witty Title -

    So, the internet's been a tad depressing lately, so not touching that with a nine foot pole. That said, this is one of those posts that have no deep meaning to them, or any meaning at all really, other than to entertain myself, and possibly even you. Another snippet of the life of an INFJ, and maybe I've hinted at this before, is the fact that INFJs are sapiosexuals (but, and believe me when I say this, this is not an attractive thing to say on your dating profile. It's up there with 'I'm a really nice loving guy looking for a girl to shower with affection'. Kizuri chajiuza and all that) Why is this remotely relevant, you ask? Well, you might be familiar with the very fine specimen of man that is Brock O'Hurn, a model and IG sensation. He'd stumbled into my feed one day, ages ago, and after hours of staring and fanning, I snapped out of my musings and figured he's probably a conceited prick (his account is made up entirely of selfies and shirtless pics, which I suppose makes sense since he's a model, but logic had taken the back seat that day). I promptly exited the app and decided (to myself) that he was too pretty, and I sorta didn't like him all that much anymore. (Make that the boot. Logic was stuffed down right at the bottom of the boot). Fast forward a few days ago, I was watching a Buzzfeed video where he was being interviewed, and the guy interviewing him (I forget his name, but he refers to himself as 'Single AF') mentioned that something not a lot of people know is that he is a genuinely nice person, and for some reason I believed single AF dude. And just like that, Brock was sexy again.

HOW ARE YOU EVEN REAL!?!

    Am I going somewhere with this? Sorry, no, it was just an observation that amused me. But since we're on the topic, I had a conversation with my good friend very recently about this guy. I said something to her about how if, hypothetically, I was dating him, how much of a struggle that would be, what with deranged fan girls threatening death (mine), ending up in some gossip column and all that other good stuff, and bless her heart (I love her so much for this) she misunderstood and took it to mean I actually had dated Brock. I was touched. I mean, sure, I'm cute and lovable, but...well, you've seen him! But in any case, there's only a 2 year age difference, never say never. Trump's gotten this far, the world is full of possibilities, apparently.
    So, still on that dating app. I even have a system now for weeding out the ones I'd never get along with. Under questions we've both answered, there's an 'Unacceptable answers' category. So basically all the answers I indicated would be a deal breaker if the other person chose them. There is legit a question that asks 'Would you be willing to date a Catholic?' and there's a surprising number that pick 'Hesitant, but willing'. (Oh, you brave creature, are you sure you are ready to sacrifice yourself to undertake this burdensome task?). These are all Christians, mind you. What did Catholics ever do to you? So, yeah, we don't have the greatest track record throughout history, but come on! (We're really not that popular in the States, sigh). Okay, maybe I'll let that one go. Then there are those of the opinion that women have an obligation to shave their legs.



Yes, Loki judges you, and the patriarchy. Whether my legs are gorilla status or soft as a baby seal will be as I decree it! (Or if there's a wedding I'm going to, whichever comes first).
    It gets better. There's this guy who seemed interesting, so I decided to message him (breaking my rules for him already. Dishonour on me and my cow). This was during the period when curiosity got the better of me, and I had a bit of money in the bank, so I got myself a subscription in order to be able to view my 'Who Liked You' list. This also enables me to see when someone has read my message, which he did, then didn't reply for a few days, and when he did, his message took me back to 2014, when the letters from the universities I applied to were coming in and I was reading Mt Holyoke's reply. This guy quite literally wait-listed me. I kid you not. He was from another state, location unknown to me, I'm bad at geography, so he mentioned that he'd like to date people nearer to him. Made total sense. If only he ended there. No sir. He went on to say that he'll be sure to keep my name around in case the situation changes and contact me, and he "wishes me the best of luck." Brilliant.
    I do wish there was a point to this. I just felt like internet doodling. And calm myself from excitement about going home soon. Some have drug dealers on speed dial, Kenyans have their 50 bob (~50 ¢) pirated DVD guys. Can't wait to be home.

'Til It Happens To You

    The contents of this post are of a disturbing nature, attaining to sexual assault. I know, I know, it's never a good idea to speak when you're angry. I for one can get downright hysterical. HOWEVER, I am mad. Livid. Disgusted. Helpless. My heart hurts. My stomach is in knots. So I'm an old maid, I watch The Talk, and I just watched a segment of the ladies discussing the case of the 20 year old waste of space who raped an unconscious woman behind a dumpster. It gets worse. Originally he was to get a 6 year jail sentence, but the ever so intelligent judge of sound mind and body decided, 'Oh, this poor defenseless little boy was drunk and didn't know what he was doing. No need to ruin his bright future, I'll just give him a slap on the wrist. 6 months should do it. Go sit in a corner and think about what you've done.' But wait, there's more! The little shit's father DARES to refute the 6 months, stating, and I quote, that it is a steep price for "20 minutes of action." This is what a young woman's dignity is worth to him, what he has taught his son.
    The victim of this monster's actions wrote an open letter to him, (link here) which I started reading, and could not stomach finishing because it was absolutely gut wrenching and disturbing, the clear evidence of the failure of the justice system, and a stark reminder of the existence of white supremacy, because don't even for a moment fool yourself into thinking that the outcome would've been the same if someone of a different race and social status was involved. The fact that the judge, a freaking judge, justified his ruling by stating that a long sentence would have a "severe impact on his life" blows my mind. Yes sir, because that's who we care about, whose rights we're trying to protect. The rapist. Never mind the woman whose life has been irrevocably altered. Whose morals were put into question, because, obviously, she has to carry the blame. Whose savior was so distraught by what he'd witness being done to her that he couldn't coherently speak to the police, he was sobbing so much.
    I'm mad. And I'm scared. For myself, for victims of rape and sexual assault out there. What do they feel when they see stories like this? Where it seems the very system that is supposed to protect them from the monsters is looking for every opportunity to pin the blame on them. Like every other pressing, important issue pertaining to the rights of human beings whose plight does not afflict us, we're not talking about it. We're the first to rally and protest and downright raise hell when a gorilla is put down without cause, the media and news outlets all over stories like that. This we gloss over. This, the story that we hear is of a swimmer with a high GPA who made a drunken mistake he shouldn't be held accountable for because it's nobody's fault.
    As I read her letter, I tried and failed to even begin to imagine what she has been going through, and I admire her strength for making her voice heard, despite all she had endured from the trial. Words fail me, and had I been in her place I can only imagine having such a yearning for vengeance that only the wrath of God could satisfy. I've seen the offhanded comments. It's the internet, after all. Shifting blame to her. The "I'm sure he..." comments make my blood boil, because no, you'e not sure of anything, and are basing assumptions off of the warped realities of rape culture. So let me end with this: I appeal to you, and particularly the men out there, to speak up about these issues. Raise your kids/cousins/nephews/nieces right, and lead by example. There are far too many injustices we have grown tolerant to.

Catching Up

    Hello lovelies, it's been a while. About that...my mind has been decidedly uninspired for a while now, so I'm just gonna give updates on life and who knows, you might learn something new. Just finished my sophomore year (time is moving crazy fast), and it's warm again. And humid. Bugs rule the land.
    My year so far has been interesting. You hear about how you're supposed to grow as a person, and sometimes you think it'll happen all at once in one grand revelation and life stops sucking from then on out, and other times it's not really something you think about until you reflect on the change in you. One thing I've definitely learnt a great deal of (prepare for the cliche) is putting things in perspective. Sometimes I tend to open myself too much to pain and chalk it up to being naturally sensitive (I'm an INFJ and a Piscean. Never stood a chance. Ironically, I can't swim). My moment of grand revelation came by way of some disappointing news of having something I'd wished and prayed for so much fall through. It wasn't pretty. In my moment of grief I uttered the words, "Lord, why me?" and it was like He answered by tipping an ice bucket over my head. In an instant a wave of shame swept over me, and...you know that episode in Friends right after Ross and Emily's wedding where Rachel confesses to Ross that she's still in love with him, then starts laughing, explaining that it was as if she floated out of her body, and looked down at herself? That's the only way I can describe that moment, when floating me could not believe what sniffles me was saying. I berated myself, and how quick I was to let this one instance outweigh all the amazing and wonderful things the Lord has done in my life. Then I pictured someone walking into my room at that moment, and I pictured the conversation we'd have as to why I was that upset, and I realized I was being silly, and I needed to calm my ass down. I've had a serener existence since. ('Serener' is a word, apparently).
    Hm, what else...I'm also learning to fight the impulse to respond to comments on Facebook. Pushing down sarcasm is hard, let me tell you. But then you just have to remember the Internet is filled with the most dangerous species known to man: bored people. Why anyone would say stupid things just to get a rise out of people is beyond me, but alas, there they are. Just today I took a Buzzfeed quiz about something like choosing from an array of pictures, which person is the vegan. I scrolled down to the comment section, looking to get a laugh from humorous comments. Well, laugh I did, at the staggering number of people who actually took offence to the post! (Ding ding ding! Found the vegans). I have a meme saved on my PC that reads:

'Good morning, America! What are we offended by today?'

No truer words have been spoken. Honestly, it's a gift. AFV trolls are my favorite. Like, no Linda, I will not feel bad for laughing at the baby who face-planted into a chocolate cake, or the toddler who got jumped by a cat! Pretty sure the cat and the tot were unharmed in the making of the video, and no, they're not terrible parents for filming it, they possess what I like to call a sense of humor.
    I took out my braids at the end of the semester, and went all out! I'm talking pre-pooing, overnight mind you, deep conditioning my hair for a good hour, and detangling my hair using just my fingers. I even went out and bought a spray bottle and ingredients for a moisturizing spritz. I salute women like Tabitha, a.k.a Craving Yellow, who do this religiously. A week into the whole thing, and I was determined to braid my own hair, just to save myself from the torment. I can't with this regimen. I tried, I really did. Frankly I'm doing the world a favor by braiding, because if anyone would've dared touch my mane after all that TLC, so help me God...Maybe I'll be more willing to let my hair down, literally, when it's longer. 4C hair may defy gravity, but it seems the winds of upstate New York will not be ignored.
    That's as much growing as this girl has done so far. You know that voice you sometimes argue with in your head? Mine's speaking in Swahili more and more. I also found myself watching YouTube videos of Safaricom's Niko Na ad. Someone misses Kenya.

...Is That A Gray Hair?

    I'll keep this short, just letting you know I'm still alive...and older. Honestly, I need someone to sit me down and talk to me about how exactly it is I should feel, because I can assure you, I, in no way, shape or form, feel like a 22-year old. I feel like there's an office in charge of handing out adult cards, and I should march down there and make my case. Or write an open letter to them. Kinda like this...

Dear DMV for Adulting,
    There seems to have been some sort of mix up. Facebook, Google, and, allegedly, my birth certificate, all claim that I'm 22. You know what people in this country "my age" are doing right now? Getting married. Making babies. Buying houses. Holding 9-5 jobs. Would you care to know what I do with my time? I watch The Amazing World of Gumball, and laugh my ass off because I think it's bloody funny. As far as my progress in my journey down the aisle, I shall refer you to my blog post from 8 months ago. I randomly reminisce about playing kati (a game that consisted of making a ball out of socks and basically trying to hit people with it). Ask anyone who's spent more than 10 minutes with me, I make random sounds. I wish I could tell you why. I could go on, but I don't really think I need to.
    Also, I feel like I've been shortchanged. A little heads up would've been nice about how way less exciting birthdays are after the big 2-1. Now it just seems like people are entirely too gleeful about rubbing it in my face that I'm getting old. I mean, if you're gonna make me go through this, the least you could do is keep me away from the toddlers....I mean, teenagers, for that one day.
    OK, so it wasn't all that terrible. I got to jam to some T-Swift all day (and all year, just so you know). And I hang out with some pretty awesome people, so props for that. However, I am not so easily appeased. Just two things, no big deal. Can I, for the love of all that is good and pure, be cured of this incessant social awkwardness? Weighing a bit less would be nice, too, but prioritize.
    Me thinks y'all are in need of an overhaul, pronto, is all. Maybe a handbook?

Sincerely,
Disgruntled...*cringe*...adult

P.S. You can tell that I'm trying, because I had a golden opportunity to point out that my birthday was about a week agooo, but I have risen above that.

To Sum Up...

    Congratulations, you lived to see another year! The joys of the leap year are once again upon us, for which I am grateful, because now my birthday will be on a Thursday :). I can't complain much about 2015...to be honest the first half of it is such a blur. It wasn't the greatest year for America though, what with the sky rocketed incidents of racism, domestic terrorism, and the icing on the cake, Donald Trump. Although, pretty much everyone can get married now, and Trevor Noah is on the Daily Show, so there's hope for them yet. For Kenya, I'd say we've had worse. Westgate mall was reopened, props for that. A visit from the US president AND the Pope ain't too shabby. But then we reverted to thinking attempts at westernization is a good idea, and the horror show that is Nairobi Diaries was born. Seriously, if you haven't checked it out, please do. It's on YouTube and, yes, it's as awful as I'm making it sound, but even so, try as you might, you just can't look away.
    I turned 21, finally went clubbing (wasn't too bad after some liquid courage), and got to meet my so-ridiculously-adorable-it-should-be-illegal nephew. Went to school with braided hair for the first time and had to re-introduce myself to the entire campus. I no longer scoff at the idea of people not being able to tell that Clark Kent is Superman because of his glasses; apparently braids have the same effect. Also, and this was a monumental moment in my life, I finally got a pair of glasses I like, which, in almost-blind world, is basically up there with winning the lottery.
    I'd like to say I checked off all my 2015 resolutions, but I don't remember them, so let's just assume I did. This year, I intend to keep it simple. I'll be turning 22 (best believe that song will be my ear worm for the entire month of March) as my classmates are still sporting -teen in their ages, but I shall welcome it gracefully. This is my list (kindly disregard my earlier Facebook post claiming otherwise):

• Bake more (turns out I'm bloody good at it). I've actually made headway with this one, with a red velvet cake and brownies. Contain yourselves.
• Be more conscious of what foods I eat (sometimes naughty me stares good me down as she orders a large pizza from Papa John's).
• Curse less. (Not very optimistic about this one. Might actually get booted off).
• Revert to British English (saying 'elevator' just feels wrong).
• Keep my grades up (i.e. have no social life and stock up on chocolate and wine).
• Practice walking in heels. I have a pair of 4 inch whose outrageous purchase needs to be justified.

    That's pretty much it. I suppose it's too much of a stretch to hope that use of the word 'literally' will die with 2015. Along with the creation of new labels. Honestly, how often does the topic of one's sexuality come up that it warrants the bombardment of new labels popping up every other day? Latest one I heard was 'heteroflexible' which basically means "mostly straight". I just...can we not? Another one, and probably a pipe dream as well, is people making out racism as something black people made up. Frankly they annoy me more than the actual racists. While I'm at it, Donald Trump. It baffles me that there are actually people out there taking him seriously. PRAY THE CRAY AWAY.

    Parting shot: I found this gem sometime last year and almost peed laughing. Get yourself a corner and, for your own sake, don't drink anything as you read:

http://www.techeblog.com/index.php/tech-gadget/haribo-sugarless-gummy-bears-become-internet-sensation-for-unexpected-reason

    So, yeah, it's day 5, so 360 361 more to go. Don't screw this up!

Favorite meme of 2015