Since we came on here, I have been barraged with harsh questions of why I dropped ‘feeling’ from my site title. I am about to answer that. But first, allow me to digress. I think it’s humbling that people care. And I’d like to once again thank all of you loyal folk for hanging on even on those weeks my creative juices were as low as a eunuch’s libido.
As I’d said earlier, Django (kenyandjano.wordpress.com) was to join us here. And he still will. We are giving him time to say his goodbyes to his blog then he’ll come on.
Back to the harsh questions. I want to believe I’m not a bad person for dropping that ‘feeling.’People have done worse. You don’t believe it? Go to YouTube and watch ’10 Most Disgusting Things On The Internet’ then go watch those listed videos.
You see, time came to grow. I have said previously that as a generation Y, I have to try everything because I have the opportunity. Dropping ‘feeling’ was one of those. But there’s another reason for dropping it. A deep-seated, profound reason I wish to share.
There hasn’t been much in my life to tell you about. It’s been the usual fracas it usually is, the unnecessarily difficult studies, rude touts, even ruder campus girls, and the mighty writers’ block lurking somewhere behind all this. I don’t know how to deal with it, the block.
I’ve tried asking around; the-know-it-all’s like Google, Wikipedia and a fellow blogger and friend. They’re telling me the same thing, ati I should go on hiatus. Ati I should go to some exotic hotel somewhere in Utah and dance with those old red Indians that drink and smoke things harder than coke. But no. I can’t.
I see taking a break as a means to an end. I think I’ll miss the first week, then the second, third and that’s it. I’ll be done. I’ll be another has-been in this our blogosphere. And I dread that more than that text, “I missed my period.” Writing is fulfilling, you see. I started off knowing only that I want to write, not taking it seriously and not thinking of the future. But then, it grew, the passion grew, in me and I mulled over it here. I realized I want to write until I’m old enough to accept Pampers into my life once again, when I can make racist comments without anyone caring or steal from a supermarket and pretend I didn’t realize it.
I tried pumping up the juices. I really did. I read books, blogs, watched Chimamanda Adichie’s talks and fell in love with her, read Binyavangah Waianana’s writings on a U.K site that’s prettier than a Rwandese girl, and watched philosophical TV shows like Westworld. All these failed. Then I got a hack; I, we, decided to create a website.
You see with a real site I can’t slack off because it’s real and serious. I can’t draft posts and halfway through go read a gossip blog. I have to struggle and trod the through the block even if it kills me. Also, as Django says, with this new blog we attain longevity and immortality.
As for the guy that told me about Utah, I know you meant it as a joke but I’ve been considering it. I can feel some folk judging, ati ooh rich kid, ati ooh be humble about it. But if you knew my life, you’d have a good laugh about it. It’s been tricky for me to afford a cold sweaty beer on a Friday night, how about a ticket to US? Si I’d have to sell myself…literally, to those human traffickers in Russia, then work for some guy with a beard that could house a beehive and still kiss their mother on the lips, save up and finally leave for US. I don’t want that. I’m just considering it cause of where life has me right now, broke and juiceless, cut me some slack!