Shameless Plug

Well, hello there!

It's true, I'm still alive, and a graduate, no less (MAMA I MADE IT!!!). Not really here to give an update on my life, it's been a busy and eventful year, and homegirl is still staving off existential crises, so there's that.
Enough about me:

1. Hope you're well. 
2. So about the title...like most people, I'm not so huge on getting news updates from other people's posts and consequent biased reporting, so before you open Facebook or Twitter first thing in the morning, here's . . . 🥁 🥁 🥁

theSkimm®️!

It's basically a subscription newsletter that sends you colourfully worded news summaries from all around the world, from royal government screw-ups to 6-year-olds in the UK refusing to give book referrals because reasons (I get you, kid), all in one quick daily skimmable email (that one fell right in my lap). Feel free to use this link to subscribe to their newsletter using your email address!

Well, that's . . . pretty much all I have for you.

. . . This is awkward. . .

. . .Yup.

Byeeeee

    It's been a minute! I dunno, I don't have much to report on, at least nothing I can spin in a way that'll make my life sound blog-worthy. I'm at home chilling after a 10-week summer internship, doing research on a really cool project I won't bore you with. Life's been good, can't complain. I'm just here hoping the whole 'pleas for peace' spiel we've been hearing has hit its target, for purely selfish reasons; homegirl's only here for 9 more days and there's a handful of people to see and Maasai market to visit, thanks. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, we (Kenyans) had elections this past Tuesday - which of course my mother woke me up for, jet-lag be damned; 23 years old and still gotta do what mama says - and we have a...past with fall-outs. I have faith in us, though.

    So...I've been flirting with the idea of closing the chapter of this whole casual blogging thing. Don't get me wrong, it's been fun, or at least it was fun, back when I got fulfilment out of penning my thoughts because it was somewhat of a creative outlet. I don't really feel like it does that for me anymore. For one, let's face it, my posts are very few and far between, and I guess my motivation to pour out my thoughts onto my keyboard kinda faded. Not to worry, I'll keep the blog up, so you can do back and reminisce on the good times (and laugh at the joke that is my life). I might pop in once in a while if the urge to do a post similar to the one with the Friends rundown strikes me. For now...

10 Obnoxious People

Two in one month! Personal best. Anyway, I'm bored and unmotivated. Let's go.

• The Loud/Open-mouth Chewer. How they don't irritate themselves is beyond me. Imagine someone having a handful of soaking wet paper towels. Now imagine them repeatedly squishing said paper towels in their hand. Combine that with the sound of someone smacking their wet hands together. Let that linger in your mind.
• The Dragon Breather. I have a couple of friends who do this. My experiences may be limited, but I have coined this as an American thing. In my first 20 years of life I was under the impression that breathing was a silent endeavor. Apparently not...
• The Public Spitter. Were you raised in a barn!? Listen, lots of people spit, for reasons I am more than happy never to find out. I'm pretty sure that whatever the cause, it can wait til you get to a toilet.
• The Flaker. I'll be the first to admit I have, on occasion, backed out of plans last minute simply because I didn't feel like going any more. I don't mind it being done to me; knowing me, chances are I'll be relieved. But the ones who have a special place in hell reserved are the people who back out of plans, but only inform me when I ask. On the day of. So it's pretty much safe to assume had I not asked, this girl would've been twiddling her thumbs waiting on someone she probably didn't want to hang out with to begin with.

.

• The Starer. Do I have food on my face? Is my hair on fire? A spider doing a weird dance on my head, perhaps? Is my nose distracting (thanks, dad)? What are you looking at?!?
• The Snoop. These are usually friends, so I suppose it would be rude to smack their faces. You do not go through my things. EVER. Even my mother's never done that (that I know of). Then there's the ones who blatantly stare at your screen with you as you unlock it, as if reading my messages is a team effort. 

• The "OCD Sufferer". Lower your pitchforks, I acknowledge OCD as a legitimate disorder. What I find mildly irritating is someone doing something mundane that's likely out of preference than anything else, then claiming they're "very OCD about that". It's such a lazy use of language (something my generation has down to a science). Meticulous, particular, anal-retentive, if you will. All words at your disposal. Sure, you can argue that it's a form of hyperbole, and it's not used literally, except y'all already butchered the word literally so much that the word has lost all meaning, so there's that.
• The British English Nonbeliever. I'm well aware I'm in America. You are well aware I have an accent. This need to "correct" my use of British English is beyond me. I said what I said, you understood what I meant, communication occurred. Let it go.
• The Incurrer (not a word, FYI) of the Grammar Nazi Wrath. I will say it, and I'm not even sorry; then and than, there and their and they're...see, this is where this accent of mine that amuses you so comes in handy, ye-who-are-so-ambiguous-about-pronunciation-you-can't-tell-words-apart. My favourite (I said it, favoUrite!!!) is 'would of'. This, I kid you not, is what people take to mean 'would've'. Some things you just need to reason out with yourself. Back when I was still frequent Facebook browser, I came across a post with something along the lines of 'irregardless' not being a word. A grown man actually left a comment saying, 'soon you'll be saying ain't is not acceptable. English is evolving'. I was tempted to quit the internet that day.

• Lastly, and possibly one of the worst ones, The Aimless Walker. I call them this not because they in fact have no destination in mind, but because with their lack of urgency and complete oblivion of their surroundings, they may as well be. It's a campus, and not a very big one. Corridors are narrow. Every 4 or 5 times a day you'll encounter some deranged soul who was apparently smart enough to get into college, but not enough to know not to stroll down the middle of the bloody hallway. Sometimes, they're not even walking down the middle; they are quite literally meandering down the hallway. At which point I'm thinking, they have to know I'm behind them, and they're just trying to mess with me. Nope. Just on their phone. Never has the urge to shove someone through a wall been so strong. 

I do believe I've earned applause for surviving this long without cussing someone out in Swahili. I'll admit I'm a fairly easy person to annoy, I just won't mention it. This is why you get to hear about it :). Apparently if you get annoyed by sounds people make, you're some kind of creative genius. Sure. Let's go with that. Well, there you have it, some of the things people do that make me want to scream into a pillow.

Great, now thanks to my Miranda-themed gifs, I'm in the mood to watch it. 

What have I done.

Hello There!

    I'm alive folks. I'm 23 now, which is especially weird for me because my mum had my eldest sister at this age. Not happening any time soon, but what a thought. I've been not so chatty for various reasons, mostly being I'm in school and I'm always busy (my idea of procrastinating is doing a different, more tolerable assignment).
    I guess this post is just to touch base with y'all and make sure you don't forget about little old me. My life right now is pretty much centered around my studies (cannot believe I'm graduating next year!!!) It's March, and already there's been a lot happening, most of it being personal stuff I won't bore you with. It's been crazy, but I think things are going in the right direction. The past three months have been a lot of reflecting of where I'm at in my life, what's next after school, that sort of thing. It's also been a time of teaching myself to be vulnerable to and appreciative of God's work in my life, and seek His direction. I try to keep in touch with whether I'm happy, figuring out what I need less of around me, and surrounding myself with people and things that encompass the vibe I want around me. Other than that, nothing groundbreaking has happened so far. It's been a month since I deleted Facebook from my phone. Can't say I miss it terribly.
    This girl is ready for summer!  Excited for new experiences and discovering potential career paths. Yay adulting! (Half of it is looking forward to getting a paycheck and indulging in my fashion addictions. I may be more into the grunge look than I realized. Stalk me on Pinterest). But it's Rochester, and it's currently flipping me off in that regard, so giant snow boots it is. Also looking forward to visiting home, even for a short while. Have you ever just zoned out of a convo because you started daydreaming about nyama choma (a special kind of perfectly charred grilled beef you will only ever experience in Kenya, East Africa. Take my word for it)? Anyway, yeah...chugging along.
    If you're interested in my occasional rambling, join the cool kids and hit follow!

Ta-ta

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

Perks of Being a Wallflower

    

    It's not often that I come across a phrase that gives words to the feelings. To be perfectly honest, I have a love-hate relationship with this reality. It's a side that I have grown to embrace and have come to accept as something that is an essential part of me, largely because nowadays I accredit all my "odd" quirks to my kind-of recent discovery of personality types, and the fact that I apparently fall under the INFJ bunch. A rare breed, we are. Anyway, I'm an introvert, did I mention? I somewhat feel it important to explain this tidbit to everyone I meet, especially those just meeting me for the first time. Maybe because I know there'll be many an awkward moment between us and perhaps if they're pre-warned then I can get away with it. And I'm such a cliche about it too: stuttering, variations of useless word vomit and saying few words as possible, eyes wandering as I look for the nearest exit when there's a lull in conversation, the works. Want to spot an introvert, watch out for the one everyone talks over.
    That last one is one of the not-so-perky perks. This happens so often it doesn't even phase me anymore. Honestly, the alternative is just not appealing, 'cause then I'd have to be louder than the loudest person (usually an extrovert) and that's just messing with the group dynamic. It's best not to tinker with the balance of nature. Sure, there's a danger to growing comfortable with this because sometimes you just end up slipping through the cracks. It's all peachy until I actually want to be heard and find myself with no audience.
    There really should be a how-to manual for people with introverted friends. We are, in some ways, a little high maintenance. See, it's like this: I want to be invited to that party, but I don't want to go. In the words of Audrey Hepburn, "I don't want to be alone, I want to be left alone". I'll come to you when I'm ready for human interaction. Much like a cat, if you will. You may also want to note, quiet does not equal sad. I am generally a quiet person, and that will likely be the first thing you notice about me. Please recognize the significance of me seeking you out to talk.
    Oftentimes I feel like extroverts have it made. It's nice to think that people will recognize this inner amazing being hiding behind all that awkward mess and take the time to get to know you and find out the gem you really are, or whatever. As magical as that sounds, first impression is everything, and I'm an odd cookie from the get-go. (Doesn't stop me from holding on to the dream of that guy who, for whatever reason, finds my awkwardness insanely adorable).
    This is the struggle: there've been times when I felt like I was using the whole personality thing to conclude that I'm simply not wired to be around people so I won't even try. Then I get the crazy idea to actually put myself out there, and It. Is. Draining. Small talk grates on my nerves. If I don't have anything to say, I say nothing. And, I kid you not, when I'm doing all that I can to come up with things to talk about, one of two things happens: a)totally useless trivia slips out of my mouth, usually followed by crickets, or b)I talk so much while smiling maniacally that my cheeks physically hurt. Don't knock it til you try it? Yeah, tried it, knocking the hell out of it, next?
    What do I do with all the time freed up by avoiding humankind? I read novels. Tons of them. (Side note: anytime someone asks me what I do for fun, and specifies that I not say reading, I kind of want to sock them. It's a legitimate enjoyable activity, dammit!) I spend an insane amount of time daydreaming. Believe me, it's quite entertaining in my head (I know that sounds a lot like something a crazy person would say, and I lack proof showing otherwise, but you'll just have to trust me on this one). I'm busy worrying myself over problems, some of which aren't even my own. I have my handful of friends I genuinely enjoy spending time with and talking to, who get and, dare I say, enjoy my special brand of humor. Who appreciate that I'm not broken; I don't need to be fixed. With whom conversations just flow.
Not forced. Not coerced.
Just present.

Blurry

    I feel like my move to the States has opened a huge can of mind-boggling worms. As someone who has spent their entire life in Africa with most of the population being black, there are just some things I have never had to deal with, things I never even knew were issues. For those of you at home still scratching their heads (stop it by the way, you're ruining your hair), 'tis racism that I speak of. And everything that comes with it.
    So, there are all these topics like cultural appropriation, which I'm still not totally crystal clear on, and of course the deaths of the African Americans at the hands of the police. Sometimes I feel like it is not in my place to speak out about these topics because I feel so out of my depth and it's not something neither I nor my family grew up experiencing. Most of the time I just fall silent because of some of the comments I read and I feel sad because some people seem incapable of empathy.
    What spurred this on was an argument I got drawn into about two weeks ago after the concurrent deaths of Cecil the lion and Sam Dubose. Now, for those of you who don't know about the latter, because I'm pretty sure everyone in the world heard about the lion, Sam Dubose is an African American man who was pulled over by a Caucasian policeman (political correctness is exhausting) and ended up being shot in the head by said cop, without sufficient provocation to illicit such a reaction. If you're interested, here's the story:

http://edition.cnn.com/videos/us/2015/07/29/university-of-cincinnati-police-officer-body-cam-shooting-vo.cnn

So, anyway, it was a Buzzfeed article about Cecil the lion, and I posted a comment along the lines of 'I wish people would cause as much of an uproar about the death of a human being'. Some guy then proceeded to begin a looooong argument about how I don't care about the life of the lion, and went on to explain to me that, in fact, the death of Sandra Bland was televised for weeks. Long story short, the guy hadn't even heard about Sam Dubose, thus proving my point. I actually had to convince him to watch the video for himself because already he had assumed that 'well, he must've done something wrong'. I cannot tell you how immensely sad that made me, that this man was tried and sentenced, without his story even being heard ,because let's face it, this is the version we often hear from the media. I'm assuming that it was an effort to save face or something, but he proceeded to try and prove that this was not indeed an act of racism, and was simply people of color pulling the "race card". After all (get this) he totally knows and understands the hardships black people face. I mean, as he put it, he is one of the few people in his family who is white.

Yes, make way for the authority on all things race. I'm still trying to grasp the full meaning of the phrase "pulling the race card". What exactly makes the cut for being a legitimate act of racism? It must be said, there's those weird ones that treat these incidents like a contest, as if we're keeping score. The "what about us?" variety. I mean, hey, if you'd like the monopoly on hate crimes against your race, be my guest.
    I also happened to hear about the whole Kylie Jenner-cornrow fiasco and Amandla Stenberg (click on her name for her video on cultural appropriation) calling her out on being culturally (in)appropriate(?), while others claimed people were just being, pardon my French, 'butt-hurt' about nothing. There was a whole Buzzfeed article about times the Kardashians have been called out on cultural appropriation, and I start to wonder where to draw the line. Does it apply when we buy Maasai blankets and wear their headdresses? I feel like I need to take a whole course on this!
    A William Wilberforce once said:

"Let it not be said that I was silent when they needed me."

I still struggle with making a call on when to speak up about something, and when to let it slide because some people simply get their kicks from getting a rise out of others, even when the argument is pointless (I loathe those people). There's something I read one day, and I kick myself every day for not saving it or writing it down somewhere, whose basic gist was, if everyone decided to fall silent about issues simply because they "didn't affect/apply to them", and everyone is left to fight their own battle, no one will be left to help you fight yours. Granted, the original sounded a whole lot more articulate and wise. But. yeah, basically. I know, ever so eloquent. Just something to think about.

eDating for the Socially Awkward

    I can see how the title can mislead one into thinking that 1) I actually have advice for the socially awkward and 2) I am an experienced dater. Do not be fooled, neither of the above is true. I have not been on a date in 3 years, and in the words of Chandler Bing, I'm hopeless and awkward and desperate for love. Well, sorta... In any case, the following post contains accounts of my botched up attempts at dating, and is not in fact anything you should emulate. This is solely for your entertainment, capisce?
    So one of the joys of being a 21 year old freshman, and by joys I mean whyyy, is that everyone in my class is fresh out of high school and is my age...three years ago. Big deal, right? Well, it is. It's just a thing I have, I can't bring myself to date anyone younger than me. I feel like a cradle robber! Solution: hang with seniors, who are actually, for the most part my age. Easy. If the title of this post was in fact, eDating for the Social Butterfly. I am, for all intents and purposes, a 12 year old stuck in a 21 year old's body. To illustrate,



So smooth. Heaven forbid he smiles. At which point I revert to default mode: resting bitch face with a sudden and morbid fascination with the ground. Why? Well, if I knew the answer to that I'd quit doing it, now wouldn't I? I mean, ugh, I'm one step away from drawing maps with my toe and giggling!
    You can't accuse me of not trying. A while back, I joined an online dating site. Don't judge me. You've read everything preceding this, I have problems! One thing to note, I may be a wreck in the one-on-one social skills department, but I am an absolute hoot on paper, e- or otherwise (as evidenced by this blog, if I do say so myself). Another thing to note, I have recently discovered, I can be a little picky if so inclined. I can't help it if I enjoy intelligent conversations with interesting, and dare I say, funny people. The guy can be sporting a twelve pack with the face of Jason Momoa, and shut it all down if he can't so much as distinguish between 'your' and 'you're'. It also seems that everyone is, to quote, um, a lot of them, "a laid back, easy going, sensitive guy". Can I just clarify that, and allow me to speak for all women, at no point will I read that and think, 'Well, it's on his profile so it must be true'. Then there are the over-sharers. If in the first 5 seconds of reading your profile, I know about your ex-wife and your terrible divorce and your reservations about love because she broke your heart, maaaybe dial it back a notch.
    Not to say there aren't some, seemingly, decent guys out there. Who, because I'm so gosh darn lucky, also happen to have a child from a previous marriage (call me crazy, but that's a lot going on at age 24). and/or are a good 10+ years older than me. Or 5'4". Yes, I'm superficial, sue me. Also, it has been mentioned that I'm old-fashioned in some ways, and I personally don't think it's asking for a lot to want the guy to make the first move. I'm on one of those sites that require membership, thus a monthly fee, in order to see who likes your profile. Nope. So, according to the site, 148 people have clicked 'Like'. Funny that, seeing as tumbleweed is rolling across my inbox. The ones who do message me turn out to be guys with some sort of 'swirl' fetish. Pass.
    My love life, ladies and gents. Thanks for reading.

Saddling The Horse

    I feel like, if I write it, I have to commit to it. So, old news, weight loss journey and all that jazz continues still. It doesn't really ever end. Definitely not for people like me. I'm one of those unfortunate souls who break their backs losing weight, but so much as smell a slice of bread and gain it all back. Ain't life grand.
    So, this is somewhat part 2 of the journey, because, honestly, I haven't worked out all that much post-boot camp (can't believe that was a year ago!), and I have 2 kg to prove it. Ugh. But, twas not all in vain. Since part 1 of my journey, I am definitely more conscious about what I put on my plate. I have been exposed to a world where no thigh gap be damned, girls break out them short shorts and crop tops (there are some courageous souls out there, people!) and while my very African upbringing is embedded deep within me, I'd like the option should I succumb to a particularly fabulous pair of shorts.
    I won't lie, exercise is not exactly up there with my list of favorite things to do. If I'm running, let it be clear to everyone that there is imminent danger and it is coming fast. There's a stack of things against me, one of them being my introvert tendencies, coupled with my love of books = sweet treats cozied up in bed getting lost in some fantasyland. At least, this had been me for the longest time, til a little channel called TLC came along and terrified me to my very soul. How, you ask? Where to begin... 'My 600-lb life', 'Weighing up the enemy', 'My weight is killing me'... you get the gist. Now, I am an extremely far cry from 600 pounds (that's ~272 kg FYI), but it's been enough to instill the fear of God in me.
    It's a hard concept to grasp if it hasn't been a personal experience, but there's a period in a big girl's life when she goes from looking at herself in the mirror and mercilessly picking herself apart, to feeling sorry for herself because she's so unhappy, to simply being sick and tired of feeling sorry for herself, and having a pile of clothes in her closet that will be revisited 'when she's smaller'. That, friends, is the point of no return. No thought is more terrifying than the possibility of reverting back to that girl, after mastering up the courage to drag herself from there.
    So, as always, bitch I shall about every burpee, every sit-up, every bloody lunge I do begrudgingly, and I'll day dream about that delicious chocolate chip chocolate cake with chocolate fudge and be content with the idea of it (and of course get me some of that once in a while. I'm no masochist) but I'll suck it up and do it...I owe it to that girl.

Fifty Shades of...Well...

    I'm really glad I didn't watch Fifty Shades of Grey as soon as it hit the big screen, because then I got the chance to hear about other people's disappointment and so lower my own expectations for when I did actually watch it, i.e. earlier today. It's been said to death, the movie is never as good as the book. As a former dedicated fangirl of the trilogy, this just didn't do it for me. I expected more intensity, more emotion, just...more. To be fair, I am a tad biased because I was never really that thrilled with the choice of cast. Dakota Johnson does a pretty good Ana, but Jamie...meh. I am probably gonna sound a little too critical, but...he smiled too much. Maybe it's just me, but when I read the book, the picture of Christian Grey in my head was this tall (sorry Jamie), dark, brooding, intense, devilishly handsome man who could intimidate you with one look. Him...not so much. He has a nice voice though!
    Some parts of the movie reminded me of Agnes  in Despicable Me 2, practicing her recital of her poem for mother's day in front of Gru, especially during the interview at their first meeting. I do understand though that it must be quite challenging to fit an almost 500 page novel into 2 hours of acting, more so one with so much detail. No one is more thankful than I am that they spared us the gory details of the tampon bit. Gross. I must say, the soundtrack is pretty cool.
    I'm not sure that I'd want to watch the sequels to that, mostly because I'm pretty sure the imagery in my head from reading the books would still be better. I am looking forward to reading Grey. It should be a refreshing change of pace from all the 'oh my' of Ana's incessant monologue. I came across a post on Tumblr that had me in stitches:

"This is Anastasia Steele every five seconds:"

       

So yeah...fingers crossed.
    I last read FSOG about 2 years ago, so it was kinda nice to relive it. I was also reminded about my change of heart concerning my love of the book, all things considered, and exactly why Ana was bat-shit crazy to not have ran away screaming from the word go, or at least dump his ass solely on principle of his enormous ego. "Rectify the situation." Pfft!
    Suffice to say I clearly lack the makings of an Ana, but me thinks next semester would be a good time as any to make buddies with journalism majors, yes?

Breathe In. Let It Out

    I think, probably, every parent's nightmare is the moment their child begins to have a mind of their own and forming their own opinion. Much as it's awesome to essentially 'be your own person' (delusions of teenage years), there are individuals like myself who don't always know what to do with that kind of freedom. I'm a self-proclaimed opinionated person (albeit not out loud, ironically), and ideally I'd like to be that 'IDGAF what you think' person, Big Sean in the background and everything, but, much to my ire, I do. Just a smidgen. Sometimes. Even when I want to post or share something on social media, a small niggling part of me is mentally doing a rundown of my list of followers, wondering if any of them might get offended, or might think differently of me.
    It's not a totally insane notion though. God knows the world today isn't all that great with greeting opposing thoughts with arms wide open. The immediate reaction is usually along the lines of "This is why you're wrong." and you can almost see them lifting their leg ever so gracefully as they mount their high horse. Personally, the worst thing that ever happened to the human race was the ability of anonymity in the internet. This is basically the domain of the bigots, racists, homophobes, and general assholes of the world. Lucky us.
    One of my favorite things about having this blog is that it's mine. Anyone who types in my URL does so to read about what I think about something, take it or leave it. That this is my forum. (Once upon a time I had a journal, then laptops happened. Big fan of the written word, but cataloging thoughts is exhausting!) Cathartic, if you will. I highly recommend it, actually. Writing, I mean. I read a quote once:

"You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better." -Anne Lamott

    So, moral of the story, don't be a pain in the behind then clutch at your pearls in horror when someone finally decides to call you out on your bull. On the other hand, be careful not to choke yourself in your valiant effort to hold your tongue. Sometimes things need to be said.  Stand up for someone who isn't 'like' you. Do what is right, not what is easy. Speak your truth.

   

Mid-Year Post...Or Something

    So...back in the 254 for summer vaycay (I will never say that again, I promise). Just enjoying not being ridden hard (hah hah) by assignments and all that good stuff, and embracing my new 'the cool fun aunt' role. It's all good. Not a fan of the showers though. Rain, that is. But, could be worse. BELIEVE me.
    I don't know about you, but I always have these blah-life crisis/crises where I get these random urges to do something spontaneous and/or dramatically different. Case in point, my big chop and hair dye last year, and my four sessions of piercings. Okay, so maybe that's not exactly up there with getting tatted up or buying a sports car (as if), but they usually do the trick. The mood struck again about a month ago (I kinda wish it was about a week agooo...teehee...I'll stop now), and Pinterest, the little temptress, put the idea of a fifth piercing in my head, which I got very recently. One word: OUCH. My cartilage is not very forgiving, and I kinda have to sleep positioned like a corpse now, but I'll deal.
    I'd like to think my subconscious is deeper than that, but not really in this case because let's face it, this is the crazy poking its ugly head, but no permanent damage so...meh. I'm known (to myself) for taking the phrase 'train of thought' and straight up Usain Bolt running with it. *clears throat* *prepares self for profoundness* I started thinking about the pursuit for self-growth (I don't know how I leaped to that either). First off, it's a testament to my age, or maturity if you will, me thinks, for thinking about my future in a way I've never had to, because to me that's always entailed career-family-30-year-old related stuff, and it's finally hitting home that the 'future' is fast approaching (2020 is 5 years away! Mind=blown) and I actually need to make decisions, important ones at that, concerning said future. Which freaks me out a tad since, from my new year's post about switching career paths, I'm more or less going down a much uncharted one. I've always been one of those people who function by making lists and schedules and having thought-out plans (textbook INFJ) so the pressure is on to formulate a clear concise plan post-undergrad. I'm in a fairly new and considerably wide major that has opened a world of possibilities, and it's kind of overwhelming. Y'know, the more the choices the harder the decision and all that.
    At the same time there's this whole world of adulthood. There is very much a kid in me, and it's a bit daunting that the government trusts me to vote, drink, drive, own property and a credit card, all the while acting sane enough to keep my behind out of prison. Is anyone ever really ready for it? God knows I occasionally meet people who immensely restore my faith in my ability to handle my shit. Can't run away from it, so might as well embrace it, and hey, maybe even have some fun while I'm at it. Carpe diem, always.
(Speaking of, the promised FSOG movie review is coming up soon).

Now that I've touched base, laters!

I am a C-H-R-I-S-T-I-A-N

    People, I survived NEGATIVE 20 degrees Celsius and lived to tell the tale! To my fellow Kenyans, you have officially lost your right to complain about the cold, ever again. Ever. The next post was supposed to be about the Fifty Shades of Grey movie, but seeing as I haven't watched it yet, that's still in the works.

    I feel like I'm about to open a can of worms, but then not really, depending on who you ask. In all my 21 years I've been a Catholic, and in 20 of those years I've lived in a country with citizens who all identify with either Christianity, Islam or some form of religion. Fast forward to 2014, I'm transplanted to a country that is all about individualism and their rights and all that good stuff. Prior to coming here, I'd been forewarned about culture shock, and I'd been actively waiting for it to happen. I've grown up watching a lot of American shows, and surprisingly the reality wasn't all that different so for the most part what they did didn't phase me. Four months in, I was convinced that I'd dodged that bullet, but in the recent past I realized that I am living it, right now.

    Like I said, I grew up in a mostly religious community. Prayers and Bible verses being read in schools and national functions, plenty of churches everywhere and generally people being open about their religion because for the most part it was a common factor among them. That being said, I've always been, I guess somewhat secure in my faith, in that spiritually I was in my comfort zone. I was firm in my beliefs in the sense that I didn't question them, but I had never been in a position whereby someone else questioned them. As a Christian I never really took time to think of the whys, always being content with Christianity simply being my reality. But in an environment where I relatively often come across a nonbeliever, I've had to do some soul searching. 

    These past few months have been somewhat of a struggle for me, acclimatizing to a place where a good number of people don't relate to my beliefs, and who, for them, science holds more weight. I struggled with the ability to proudly identify with Catholicism, having an underlying fear of being treated differently, because as a Christian, it's not uncommon that I'll be assumed to be pre-conditioned to be a gay bashing, narrow-minded prude, and all the other typical labels Christians are subject to. It's definitely a struggle hearing and reading demeaning things people have to say about my faith, taking jabs, and I get that the extremist Christians are the ones people associate the Christian faith with, and the bad experiences said people have had with these Christians tarnish their view on Christianity and give the rest of us a bad name (We're pretty decent, me thinks).

    This has been my contemplation for Holy Week. When I hear or read about the bad things Christians have said and done, and the backlash that follows, and I feel like I'm reaching the point of tearing my hair out in frustration, I remember the song 'And They'll Know We Are Christians By Our Love'. I realize I can only do so much, but if I live my life in a way that my words and actions portray me as the kind of Christian I'd like a nonbeliever to know, and give them the kind of experience I'd want them to associate Christianity with, that's something. So the plan is, smother them with love and affection. "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ who lives in me." (Galatians 2:20)

    To answer the question: why am I a Christian? Because it makes sense to me. Because it feels right. Because I believe it and I live it. Because I belong to Christ.

Africanese 101

    Hope the new year's being good to you. So, I've been in the US for about 5 months now... I think this happens to everyone when they're somewhere foreign to them, that they'll find some oddities in the behaviour of the people they're around (and it's so annoying that the word 'behaviour' is underlined). Anyway,besides the point. So, naturally, I am a bit of a spectacle to some of the Americans I meet. I've noticed most of them are people with little to no filter, and the questions they ask and comments they make, which are seemingly harmless, have the potential of grating nerves when asked and/or said frequently enough.
    First off, I'm pretty sure when you ask someone where they're from and they answer Europe (but who does that, surely?), naturally your follow-up question would be "Where in Europe?". Interestingly (and by that I mean not at all), when I say I'm from Kenya, the only thing that sticks is that I'm African, and as such any future follow-up questions will be focused on how things are done or the state of affairs in Africa. I tend to think these people are of 'the country of Africa' mentality variety. It's irritating, it really is.
    Here's another thing I could live without hearing: "I'm from Kenya." "Oh, you're from Africa? I've always wanted to go there." "Where in Africa?" "I dunno, I've just always wanted to go there." This is an actual conversation I had. Bypassing the fact that my mentioning where exactly I'm from had no bearing whatsoever, it begs the question, will you jump on a plane and land somewhere off the coast of northern Africa and simply wander? There are 53, yes, FIFTY THREE countries in the continent of Africa; we have more countries than there are American states. Pick one already.

Area: 30.22 million sq km (America covers 9.857 million) 

    Sometimes I wish I could take some of the people I know on a trip to Kenya so that they see the non-existence of the rock they think I've been living under. Scenario: in the spirit of throwbacks, I was feeling a little Linkin Park and was playing Encore. Someone asks the question (brace yourselves): "You guys know Jay Z in Kenya?" WHAT?! Really? I still get looks of surprise when I sing along to a popular song or sing some old ones. We know them. We know them all. We listen to songs as they come out. All. Of. Them. This is up there with "I don't know how you do it in Africa, but here we...". In no scenario is that leading statement necessary. If it's not gonna kill anyone, just do it.
    Now, this may be hard to believe, but we don't all live in a perpetual oven. It rains. It gets cold. It even snows in some parts of Africa (gasp). You know how California and Alaska don't have the same weather? That makes sense to you, right? Then why on earth would you think the whole of Africa has blistering heat 24/7/365? The whole of Kenya doesn't have the same climate. Africa has deserts, rain-forests, highlands, and all the other good stuff you can find out about. How, you ask? Well, there's this amazing creation I like to call G o o g l e.
    My point, and I do have one: I don't expect an American to know all there is to know about Africa, heck, even I don't know it all, but there's a distinct difference between a lack of knowledge and ignorance, especially when it seems like someone doesn't mind sounding ignorant because it's Africa. I highly doubt that any African would mind answering questions about their home (who doesn't like talking about their culture?), but, it would be nice if an outsider bothered to learn a thing or two about basic trivia. Impressive even. Believe me, you'd be such a novelty, and a welcome one at that.
    I recommend watching African American by Trevor Noah, a South African comedian, available on Netflix. As usual, he puts a...fascinating spin on things.
    Enough about that. Plans for Valentine's weekend: go to the theaters and watch Fifty Shades of Grey as I judge every second of it, alongside my fellow single girlfriends. Keep an eye out for a follow-up post. This should be interesting...

Laters