Shame shame!!!

Today's post is dedicated to a group of people that I think need a serious sit-down.

So yesterday I was hanging out with some pals and we got to talking about break-ups. Actually this came about when he confessed to us that he was still in love with his first love and six years later, he was messing up potential relationships as a result of these feelings that he had not dealt with (remember unrequited love and moving on?)
Anyway, as we listened to how he missed her and wished things would be different, my friend Ally asked him what happened to lead to the break-up. He explained that their relationship was somewhat not conventional; if he was upset with her he would write her a long email and she would respond in kind. And that there is how they would iron out issues in their relationship.
No problem there, for me. I mean, to each his own. My problem came up when he told us that he sent her an sms telling her it was over. An sms! What?!?! She replied and said, "OK." This upset him so much. I was like, "Hold up, let's back up a minute here. You are upset that she said one word! What did you just do? You broke up with her via TEXT!" The story goes on and on and I am so angry at the fact that he would break up with her in such an impersonal manner after a relationship of two years. Ally, definitely in Corner CM, said that that was a coward's way out (she later informed us that her ex had sent pizza to her with a note attached to it explaining that their relationship was over, and how it was him and not her... you know the usual babble).
Ladies and gentlemen, a break-up that is not face-to-face is cowardly, shameful and despicable. You owe it to this person that you once professed love to to sit down and explain why the relationship is over and even maybe discuss if there is any hope. You take this opportunity, if possible, to end things amicably. Maybe then, we'd have more friendships sustained over time.
What do you think, good people? What creative, yet inappropriate, methods has someone undertaken in dumping you? Or how have you broken off with someone? Do share!

Grey areas that require no grey matter to get into

Being different has always been the curse of the bold. Galileo Galilei was ordered to stand trial on suspicion of heresy in 1633 when he defended heliocentrism, a theory that places the sun at the center of the universe. The Church forced him to recant on penalty of death rather than change antiquated notions.
In the world over, many communities believed and practiced FGM, given the importance given to virginity and an intact hymen. Waris Dirie was nearly crucified (metaphorically speaking) by her people (and others of the same beliefs) for running away, and eventually becoming UN's Special Ambassador for the Elimination of Female Genital Mutilation. She still lives under the shadow of threats from fanatics who consider FGM a holy rite of passage.
There are many examples of bold people suffering because of speaking out littering the paths of history. Conformity has been glorified from time immemorial. Even in traditional Kenya there are proverbs and sayings that promote conventionalism as a way of being. Contemporary Kenya has perfected the art of toeing the line to the point where having an opinion or stating a clear stand seems irrational. After all, if everyone is doing it or saying it it must be right, right?
Grey area (n): an area, situation, etc., lacking clearly defined characteristics.
Grey areas have become a cesspool of everything "sensitive, delicate or socially offensive". This is the place where we throw in anything that makes us feel anything from mildly uncomfortable to deeply offended. Abortion, gay rights, the ever-widening poverty gap between the rich and the poor; you name it and you cringe, it's in there. Do we still wonder why things never ever get done in this country?
From one POV, one could say that by not taking a stand, one is taking a stand. After all, I choose not to align myself with either camp because both have valid points (or none at all). But the danger here is that there will always be only one voice being heard: the voice of the majority which is not always right. And when the majority quieten down, there will be the deafening sound of silence from you and I who choose not to speak up.

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.
Edmund Burke

To be a booty call or not to be...

chips fungwa (v, used with females): a condition in which a woman proceeds to the lodgings or abode of a member of the [usually] opposite sex after being convinced through different methods inc., but not restricted to, coercion, major kiswahili, chemikali, and black out, and sometimes wakes up in the morning and proceeds to do the Walk of Shame.
sausage fungwa (v, used with males): see chips fungwa.

I was listening to Lyfe Jennings' new single Statistics off his new album, I Still Believe. That song preaches it like there is no tomorrow!

RULE #1
Don't be a booty call
If he don't respect you girl he gon forget you girl

RULE #2
If he's in a relationship
If he will cheat on her that means he will cheat on you

RULE #3
Tell him that you're celibate
And if he wants some of your goodies he gon have to work for it

RULE #4
Be the person you wanna find
Don't be a nickel out here lookin' for a dime

I wonder, what defines relationships these days? Or rather, what defines the dating scene? A typical night out at the rave consists of a group of friends going out for drinks and a night of fun. At one point there is a sort-of "courtship" ritual that goes on. The guys have seen some chics they like and are out on the prowl... Ladies are acting coy as the guys are busy being innovative in their attempts to impress the ladies in question. Before long, it is time to leave and those who are successful will have their chips funga or sausage funga (after all, we are in the times of liberated women who take away the guys).

It is the superfluous things for which men sweat.*

What, really, is the point? Does it mean that old school courting is out of the window? Could it be that our ways of doing things are contributing to the major vacancies in people's heart that come about after a short period? Are there people out there who are fed up with the status quo?

*Lucius Annaeus Seneca (4 BC-65) Roman philosopher and playwright.

Return on Investment: the Beauty-Money equation and the Gold-digging concept

I came across this very interesting blog article that I leave with you to mull over.
Gold-diggers and the beauty pageant gorgeous women, please pay attention. This is not me hating, rather it is a candid conversation.

SHE SAID:
What am I doing wrong? Okay, I’m tired of beating around the bush. I’m a beautiful (spectacularly beautiful) 25 year old girl. I’m articulate and classy. I’m not from New York. I’m looking to get married to a guy who makes at least half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don’t think I’m overreaching at all. Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could you send me some tips?

I dated a business man who makes average around 200 - 250. But that’s where I seem to hit a roadblock. 250,000 won’t get me to central park west. I know a woman in my yoga class who was married to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she’s not as pretty as I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right? How do I get to her level?

Here are my questions specifically:

- Where do you single rich men hang out? Give me specifics- bars, restaurants, gyms

- What are you looking for in a mate? Be honest guys, you won’t hurt my feelings

- Is there an age range I should be targeting (I’m 25)?

- Why are some of the women living lavish lifestyles on the upper east side so plain? I’ve seen really ‘plain jane’ boring types who have nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I’ve seen drop dead gorgeous girls in singles bars in the east village. What’s the story there?

- Jobs I should look out for? Everyone knows - lawyer, Investment banker, doctor. How much do those guys really make? And where do they hang out? Where do the hedge fund guys hang out?

- How you decide marriage vs. just a girlfriend? I am looking for MARRIAGE ONLY

Please hold your insults - I’m putting myself out there in an honest way. Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I’m being up front about it. I wouldn’t be searching for these kind of guys if I wasn’t able to match them - in looks, culture, sophistication, and keeping a nice home and hearth.

HE SAID:

I read your posting with great interest and have thought meaningfully about your dilemma. I offer the following analysis of your predicament. Firstly, I’m not wasting your time, I qualify as a guy who fits your bill; that is I make more than $500K per year. That said, here’s how I see it.

Your offer, from the perspective of a guy like me, is plain and simple a crappy business deal. Here’s why. Cutting through all the B.S., what you suggest is a simple trade: you bring your looks to the party and I bring my money. Fine, simple. But here’s the rub, your looks will fade and my money will likely continue into perpetuity…in fact, it is very likely that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won’t be getting any more beautiful!

So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning asset. Not only are you a depreciating asset, your depreciation accelerates! Let me explain, you’re 25 now and will likely stay pretty hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you!

So, in Wall Street terms, we would call you a trading position, not a buy and old…hence the rub…marriage. It doesn’t make good business sense to “buy you” (which is what you’re asking) so I’d rather lease.

In case you think I’m being cruel, I would say the following. If my money were to go away, so would you, so when your beauty fades I need an out. It’s as simple as that. So a deal that makes sense is dating, not marriage. Separately, I was taught early in my career about efficient markets. So, I wonder why a girl as “articulate, classy and spectacularly beautiful” as you has been unable to find your sugar daddy. I find it hard to believe that if you are as gorgeous as you say you are that the $500K hasn’t found you, if not only for a tryout.

By the way, you could always find a way to make your own money and then we wouldn’t need to have this difficult conversation. With all that said, I must say you’re going about it the right way. Classic “pump and dump.” I hope this is helpful, and if you want to enter into some sort of lease, let me know.

What say you?

Death to Gender Violence

“Sexual, racial, gender violence and other forms of discrimination and violence in a culture cannot be eliminated without changing culture.”

Charlotte Bunch

Rape threat stalks Kenya's slums. Worrying trend of gang rapes in Kenya.
These are just two of the numerous headlines that are constantly captured in the media on rape and gender violence. A small voice representing this terrible scourge plaguing our society. Please, dear reader, take a moment to read the two stories on the two sites. Is it that we are void of any emotion and can attack one another in the most brutal of ways such as this? Is our humanity and basic concern for one another dead within us? Charlotte Bunch was spot on when she said that we cannot eliminate gender violence without changing culture.
Tina and Tim had been dating for seven and a half years. They had a beautiful daughter, Noni, named after Tim's mother. When Tina told Tim that she got was pregnant, five years ago, we all thought that this was the end of them. Shock on us when Tim stood by her side and supported her through out the pregnancy and even after Noni was born. We all were envious of Tina and hoped and prayed fervently that we each would get a man like Tim. Now, they were planning their wedding and we all chipped in, hoping to make it a huge success. No one was deserving of a happy story like they were.
Two years into the marriage it began to crumble. Tim took up drinking, smoking, and had frequent extra-marital affairs. He even began to beat Tina, blaming her for the course of his life. I do not know the full story, but I can tell you that Tina is back at her parents house, two children, a miscarriage, a divorce and scarred heart later.
As a volunteer with an NGO in Nairobi, I had the opportunity to interact with many children that were less privileged than I was. I heard many nightmarish stories from our social workers about the abuse the children we worked with endured, but the one that took the cream was the story of one of the most beautiful children I have seen called Halima.
Halima was six years old at this point in time. Small in stature for her age, she made up for it by being very active and boisterous. She had limpid brown eyes that seem to reflect their depth. One could drown in those eyes. One day Halima did not come to class. Unfortunately, in this slum this was the norm and was no cause for worry. However, after three days of being a no-show, the social workers went to visit the family and inquire why Halima had not been to school.
Several hours later the social workers trudged in, and one of them was carrying the little girl in his arms. Amidst the flurry of activity in trying to get an ambulance to rush her to hospital, the social worker explained to me that the slum dwellers had heard her father, brother and uncle come into her mother's house and forcibly kicked her out, then proceeded to rape Halima. No one knows how long the ordeal lasted, but the effects were clear to be seen. Halima, in three days, had been reduced to a shadow of her former self and had refused to talk. To date the memory of that little girl sitting in the office breaks my heart.
Change is now. Change is over-due. This kind of violence has no place in our society.

If you are interested in making your mark, however small, please get in touch with Muthoni and Gathoni of Kimbilio Gender Violence Hotline through their email addresses: muthoni@kimbilio.or.ke and gathoni@kimbilio.or.ke

Alternatively, you could do one or more of the following:
1. Please tell people about the Kimbilio Gender Violence hotline. The number is 0 800 720 072. The service is free, confidential and anonymous so people should feel safe utilizing it.
2. Kimbilio will be receiving a monthly bill from Safaricom for all the calls received. Whatever you can pledge to help defray this cost would be greatly appreciated.
3. Volunteer! If you can commit a few hours a month you can volunteer at the hotline or assist in the various administrative tasks that Kimbilio requires assistance in.

You can't make someone love you if they don't

I’ll close my eyes then I won’t see
The love you don’t feel when you’re holding me
Morning will come and I'll do what’s right
Just give me ‘til then to give up this fight
And I will give up this fight

Coz I can’t make you love me if you don’t
You can’t make your heart feel something that it wont
Here in the dark, in these final hours
I will lay down my heart 'til I feel the power
But you won’t, no you won’t
Coz I can’t make you love me if you don’t

Boyz II Men, I can't make you love me

Insomnia

I can't sleep. I can only think. I remember the last time I saw you and what you said to me. I replay those words in my head over and over like some mix tape under scrutiny for words, meaning, nuances. Any bit of hidden emotion I can glean I do.
I can't sleep. I can only think. I remember walking away with tears in my eyes, but you pulled me back. And when a tear did finally fall, you quickly wiped it away and with a sad smile you whispered, "Don't cry."
I can't sleep. I can only think. I am enveloped in your scent. You permeated my skin and brain and now all I can smell is you. I remember how your shirt felt against my skin as you held me. I remember how your fingers gently ran up and down my spine. I remember thinking that this was the hardest thing that I ever had to do in my life.
I can't sleep. I can only think. I remember pulling away and looking at you as if to memorize every detail of your characteristic face. The dimples that danced when you smiled. The eyes that looked at me as if I were the only woman in the world. The lips that kissed me sometimes softly and sometimes with a force that astonished me.
I then picked up my bags and walked through the airport entrance to board the plane that would take me to another place and time, to another, to a different dream and reality, knowing fully well I had left a huge chunk of my heart with you.

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Reflections and thoughts

After a really long minute, I realized that I need to update CM on the many wonderful things happening to me...

I'M EXCITED ABOUT...

The numerous miracles that have been happening in my life. The understanding that I am wired for greatness and that the only person standing in my way is myself. Coco Malaika the company finally took off and did her maiden event on April 15th for Gallery Watatu. As a result I have gotten several requests for proposals, all of which look like they will pan out into business for CM. All love and gratitude to God above!

TODAY I'M FEELING...

Grateful for new friends (@rogerinc - ati mad shout-out); old friends who always remind me that I can do it. Grateful for a sounding board called Edu who takes all my mood swings and severe bouts of insecurity. Grateful to my folks for letting me mess up and still loving and supporting me. My siblings. Kui.

WHAT I AM LISTENING TO...

#myplaylist I wanna be a millionaire so freaking bad.... la la la

THIS WEEKEND...

Again, I shall be indoors typing furiously to keep up with the numerous ideas coming to my mind. The proposals must be written. Must be well-presented. Must be...

I"M CRAVING...

Food. I don't care which. I am STARVING!

I WISH...

that Kenyans would realize that they are first Kenyans then whatever tribe second.

QUOTE OF THE WEEK...

"When you are finished changing, you are finished." Benjamin Franklin

the raindrops that welcomed me

Big fat drops. Big fat raindrops fell from the sky in a rhythmic pattern. All around me big fat raindrops embraced different surfaces. I paused and glanced up at the sky. The big fat raindrops showed no signs of relenting and giving me an opportunity to recollect. I sighed with a mixture of acquiescence and resignation, dragging my torn suitcase out into the rain. I had no solid plan; only to get into a cab and find my way to the hostel I was booked into.
Nothing prepared me for the assault on my body. They said that the temperature was 6 degrees Celsius and the wind chill minus 30. Wind chill meant nothing to me as it was my first time in Holland, in Europe and in a country that experienced winter. The wind penetrated my faux pas winter jacket, deep into my bones in a way that made me feel like I was standing naked. My toes curled in an attempt to stay warm. I felt my breath condense every time I breathed, and my lungs burned from the extreme cold.
I stood there, outside of Schipol airport, unsure of what to do.
“Excuse… madam… taxi? Here. Enter.” A hooded man to my left, seemingly a cab driver, ran to grab my things. He took one look at my battered suitcase and paused, as if contemplating whether I would be able to afford his fare. I clicked in exasperation. How many times would I have to explain that the damned airline had damaged my suitcase and refused to compensate me?
I showed him 100 Euros and an address written on a slip of paper. “Kindly could you take me to this hostel?” I asked, barely masking the irritation that I felt.
“Here. Enter,” He said after opening the car door for me. He lifted my bags and put them into the trunk of the cab. I got into the back left and was immediately grateful for the cab’s warmth. I rubbed my fingers to get the circulation going. My teeth at this point were chattering so violently I thought I would eventually unhinge my jaws.
We began pulling out of the parking space. The driver was a tall, young man with a mop of dark unruly hair that stood up in tufts where his hood did not cover.. He ran his hands through his hair and muttered something in what I assumed was Dutch. I gazed at him blankly. He tried again in his halting English. “Madam. This place. Where?” I felt the stirrings of fear in my stomach. If the cab driver, a local, did not know where I wanted to go, how on God’s green earth would I know and manage to communicate with our obvious language barrier?
I felt that I was going to hyperventilate, when he said magic words that calmed me down. “I check GPS. Aaahh. Den Haag. No problem. We go.”

to be continued...

Lessons

Someone once told me that you will forever be in a situation until you learn the lesson in it. I look back at my life and try to reflect whether I have learnt all my lessons, as there is nothing as frustrating as feeling as though you are stuck in a senseless rut.
As I ponder, I remember some of my trying moments in life and wonder how I even managed to get out alive. Situations in which you wish you could curl up and die. Betrayals and lies that run so deep you feel like you could never possibly recover from that blow.
The process seems to be the same. The shock, anger, and pain. The screaming and fighting. The disbelief and absolute denial that someone you love could ever hurt you in such a manner. Then the tears come. You weep like your heart would break. The apologies and self-absolution. "Oh my God" and "It wasn't me".
The tears finally run dry, and there you are. Spent, but no closer to the truth. Your brain begins its feeble attempt at rationalizing the whole issue. Your heart cowers every time the mind speaks, afraid of getting hurt again. It's at this point you look in front of you and realize that you are at a junction. To your left lies the truth. Investigations, so to speak. Harsh words exchanged. The truth must out, so help me God. "Silence, dear heart of mine! You are too biased to be involved." I find out the truth. But what do I do with it?
The other road, the one to my right, looks less trodden. Why? I ask myself. It is the road of blind faith; the road that lets go with no question. It is the path that demands of you absolute faith - sometimes more than that the mind can have. It speaks to the heart, and the heart listens. The mind rejects all notions that the road suggests; it is, after all, contrary to what it believes. The heart responds gladly, for it believes in the goodness of mankind.
And after contemplating, after fighting the battle between mind and heart, I am walking down the road. Some look at me and think I am foolish or naive for making this choice, but the road less traveled gives me peace.

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Oh, the pain...

Pretending that life is ok,
At least when you are around.
Inside of me I am crumbling but I will
Never let you see my tears.

Part of me just wants to lie down
And never open my eyes again
I could only hope and pray that a
New beginning awaits me somewhere.

Please understand I do not have strength
As I go about my daily day
If this is the plan I
Need an uplifting of my spirit.

Poverty of good will and love
Absinence from the pleasures of life
Intricacies of heart and mind
Neglect of body and soul.

He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven - William Bulter Yeats

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Where do we go from here?

Let me tell you a story.

Long ago, I learned that the easiest way to avoid heartbreak was to guard your heart. And guard it I did. Slowly but surely I erected this brick wall around my heart. An impenetrable fortress that stood against the tides of flirtation, proposals and romances. Until you came along.

I thought I had tried that love thing and given up, but brick by brick you took down my wall. Soothing words, concern, and friendship won me over without my consciousness, until the day I woke up to your voice and realized I was naked before you. We had become more than friends and I let you in.

I know you might feel guilty babe
Don't let the mind do the speaking
Just let the heart do the leading
Cause we gave each other what we both wanted
Look what we've started

After all that has been said and done, even if my heart feels so much fear, where do we go from here?

Colors of Hate...

The cold in her body,
chilling blue.
The hate in her brain,
scorching fire.
Her dripping hair,
velvet black.
Jealousy in her heart,
unripe green.

She's colder than ice,
yet too hot to handle.
She'll strike with a passion,
so strong and intense;
her heart stone;
her blood fire;
her soul coal;
she'll revenge...

I do

All I ever want is to be a part of your heart,
And for us to be together, to never be apart.
No one else in the world can ever compare,
You are perfect and so in this love we share,
I love you more than I ever thought I could.
I hope you realize how perfect you are,
When you are seen through my eyes.
I love you.

By Oriah Mountain Dreamer - copyright © 1999

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

The most difficult phase of your life is not when no one understands you; it is when you don't understand yourself

Of late, I have been having what I thought was major writer's block. It turns out that, after long days and periods of soul-searching and taking a step back from life, I have not been at peace. Something is amiss in my life. I still do not know what, but I do know what the symptoms are. They include a feeling of lethargy all the time; a blatant disregard for things that used to make me happy; a sense of confusion over when, where and how; a consistent fear of the unknown; a discomforting feeling that I have lost control over my life and that everything is rushing past me; constant mental self-flagellation.
I have been sick for about three weeks. I have been plagued by a cold so vicious that it seems to be crafted only by the Devil. I had ulcers that made me believe that my insides were slowly being turned out. Yet, through this time, it was not so much the physical infirmity that brought me down, it was the mental strain that took a major toll on me and caused me to have some form of depression brought about by insomnia.
I am better now, at least physically I am. Mentally, it has been a struggle. A struggle understanding that I am not being irrational. A struggle not to silence that voice within that was warning me that something was seriously wrong. A struggle accepting that things have changed; that I have changed, and that this is not necessarily a bad thing; a struggle to decide that though I may be my biggest critic, I should also be my own greatest fan. And in my darkest hour came that epiphany that I had been fighting to get: He was not in the wind, the fire, or the earthquake; He was in the quiet voice. Be still.

THE SITUATION
In Washington , DC , at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, this man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, approximately 2,000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After about 3 minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule.

About 4 minutes later:

The violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

At 6 minutes:

A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

At 10 minutes:

A 3-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent - without exception - forced their children to move on quickly.

At 45 minutes:

The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

After 1 hour:

He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before, Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music.


This is a true story. Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the D.C. Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities.

One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this:

If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made . . .


How many other things are we missing as we rush through life?

Impossible by Christina Aguillera featuring Alicia Keys

It's impossible
It's impossible to love you
If you don't let me know what you're feeling
It's impossible for me to give you what you need
If you're always hiding from me

I don't know what hurt you
I just, I wanna make it right
I'm sick and tired of trying to read your mind

It's impossible
Oh baby it's impossible for me to love you
It's the way it is
It's impossible
Oh baby it's impossible
If you making it this way

Impossible to make it easy
If you always trying to make it so damn hard
How can I give you all my love, baby
If you're always, always putting up your guard

This is not a circus
Don't you play me for a clown
How long can emotions keep on going up and down

It's impossible
Oh baby it's impossible for me to love you
It's the way it is
It's impossible
Oh baby it's impossible
If you keep treating me this way
Over and over

Impossible baby
If you making' it this way
Oh baby, it's impossible
If you making it this way

You shot your arrow through my heart - written by Brian McKnight, performed by Az Yet Share

Quietly I watch you sleep
Hopefully you won't hear what I say
Wondering if I turned the clouds
Happy the moment I tasted your rain
Tonight was the night
That I saw my first sight
Of how pleasure wins over pain
Now I know what I know
Don't wanna ever let you go
I just hope that you feel the same

You shot your arrow
Through my restless, shaking heart
You came down on me slow
Drew back your bow
My lady, you shot your arrow
Straight through my heart

I kiss your mouth and stroke your hair
Intently I hang on your every breath
I know what I'm feeling right now
Is more than just lust
For the sake of your flesh
Girl, I need you now
I'll try my best to learn how
To be all that my words might say
Caressing your skin
I never imagined
That I'd ever feel this way

Girl, I need you
I'll try my best to learn how
To be all that my words might say
Caressing your skin
I never imagined I could
ever feel this way

Diary of a disillusioned woman - Feb 1st

OMG!!!! I can't believe Sally is getting married!!!! Jack proposed to her last night!!! I mean, I am so happy for her!!! Though I must say she has to be a bit careful with that man; he's known to have a bit of a roving eye. Nonetheless, this is good news! Now Tony will start feeling the pressure of the need to get his house in order as Jack is soon-to-be a married man. I hope they don't pick my dream wedding month, February. That would be catastrophic considering that I want to be totally involved in her wedding, which is not possible if I am getting married around the same time. By faith I am going to be getting married this time next year.

Note to self: Valz plans!!!!
Ask Sally what Jack says that Tony said about the wedding issue
Doctor's appointment tomorrow

Diary of a disillusioned woman - Jan 12

Ok. I know many will get so mad at me at this point, but here goes. Tony and I are back together. There, I said it, and I'm not making any apologies for it. I can't help myself; I love him so much. I understand that the alcohol got the better of him, and who am I to pass judgment considering the state I myself was in?
I met him today in Westlands and he looked such a mess. He told me that he was so sorry and that he had not managed a wink of sleep since 2nd, when he realized what he had done. I thought it was really sweet seeing him tormented and distraught all on account of what he had done. Besides, I really had missed him. I told him that we could try again, but on condition that something like that never happens again. You should have seen the relief on his face; it was as if I had just handed him a life line.

Diary of a disillusioned woman - Jan 6th

Should I even listen
Should I even try
Will I just be hearing the same old lines
Baby
See it doesn't matter
What you say this time
Cause our whole relationship
Is built on one lie
You say things aren't the way they seem
But still you can't come straight with me


I mulled over those words. I felt that Toni Braxton was speaking to me in her song Love Should Have Brought You Home Last Night. I took another sip of the chilled Simonsig white wine and sunk a little lower into the bath tub. The water had become tepid but I didn't notice until much later.

How can you think that you're in love
When you don't know the meaning of

Love shoulda brought you
Brought you
Home last night
You shoulda been with me
Shoulda been right by my side
Baby
If you cared anything for me
Then love woulda brought you
To me last night


I still was not talking to Tony.

Diary of a disillusioned woman - Jan. 1

Happy f***ing New Year. A toast to the worst beginning in history. I can't believe that I am here all by myself. Yet again, why am I even surprised? Anthony is capable of anything.
I'm sitting in K1, looking around me, watching couples kiss and hug and wish one another love in the coming year. I am all alone. In K1. I have been trying to call Anthony for the last two and a half hours but nothing. He is drunk and passed out somewhere in Westlands with his "friends". Some tramp actually had the guts to pick up the phone and tell me to stop calling him "coz I will wake him up." Wake him up? He has passed out in a club! What amount of noise could his ringing phone make so as to rouse him, compared to that din in the club?
Earlier today, Tony called me and asked me to meet him in K1 for dinner and then we would later go out. It was his way of apologizing for the shouting match we had several days earlier. My initial reaction was to refuse, but after much pleading and cajoling, he managed to convince me to meet him. I insist I agreed, albeit reluctantly.
Dinner was to be at 9 p.m. I arrived at K1 at 9.30, knowing very well that Tony did not have a punctual bone in his body. True to form, he had not arrived. I decided to find a table and order a drink as I waited for him. A live band was playing jazz on one side. On the other, a chef was vigorously tossing and turning some pieces of chicken in an attempt to keep up with the orders coming his way.
At 10, I called him and impatiently told him that I had been waiting and I was already fed up. He apologized and promised to be here in the next twenty minutes. "And not a minute more," were my snarled words as I hang up.
Eleven o'clock. The optimist in me was slowly losing hope. I ordered a meal and told the waitress to keep the martinis coming. Seeing as I was so mad at Tony, I may as well be plastered by the time he got here.
Midnight, January 1st: Happy f***ing New Year. I lifted my glass high in the air and said, "I love life and loathe men! A toast to all the single ladies," as I took a swig of my martini and promptly threw up on the pool table.
Nat and Vierra, two high school friends of mine, just happened to walk in and witness me making an absolute fool out of myself. Vierra took me to the ladies and left Nat negotiating with the club bouncers who wanted to throw me out. In the ladies, I broke down and told Vierra that I wanted to go home.I had had enough.

I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for another chance. In all honesty, it can't even be called a second, fifth or even tenth chance, because they have been so many. Nonetheless, I just want to say thank you.
That time that I fell, you picked me up. The point at which I was so weary, you carried me. Nights that I cried myself to sleep, you held me so close and whispered that it would be ok. Even when I messed up, turned away and against you, you still loved me.
Now, I'm back on my feet and I have no one but you to thank. I'm so grateful for the stability you brought back into my life. Thank you.

Like the waves from the shore

I must now ebb
the time has come
to sail my oceans
Rolling away from you
like the waves from shore
rippling out to the vastness of the sea
that beckons my ship to folly.

I'll not ask you
to stand the night vigil
on the shoreline
of memory

You are here on the beaches of my memory
even though I drift the tides
If you should look
into a starlit night
and see a reflection of me
know only that
I will one day
come crashing again
to the shore
swept homeward
by the pull
of the tide
and you.

Marge Tindal

A compilation of thought...

the compelling forces that lie deep within all humans are muted into a muffled cymbal hope seems to trickle away and be replaced by despair when peace fritters away leaving anarchy in the mind but.
Still waters run deep.
Seek the oasis.

What’s the point of wishing?
When my wishes never come true.

What’s the point of hoping?
When I have no reasons to believe.

What’s the point of pretending?
Yet tonight I’ll be crying in my bed.

What’s the point of smiling?
When you can still see my tears.

What really is the point?

Ba Hamba

Go on now, I'm tired of crying. You can leave now, I won't stop you. I'm so tired of crying. Many times i've pulled you back in my arms and stopped you from leaving, but now no. Go on now.
If this is love, then it's not real. For every smile i have, two tear drops take its place. Enough now baby, I can't take it anymore.
You saw me as your queen; you treat me now as your servant. You talked to me as your equal, your partner; now you ignore me. I was your friend; now I'm just your subordinate. Leave, my love, I cannot take anymore.
As I watch you walk away, proud and never looking back, my heart breaks. But I will not cry. For I know no man is worth my tears, and the one who is will never make me cry.

Angel eyes...

Notice the color of your eyes when you cry,
and the smiles you let pass by, and
how your eyes hurt
when your angel weeps.
And instead of asking why, or when this will be,
love truly and deeply
the language never to be understood by men.
Maybe then, there'll be one more winged life in the world...

from miles to miles
we were apart
ever since our
relationship started.
day to day
i pray
but all i get is loud silence
I've gotten used to the
sounds of my heart beating
really loudly every time I
hear your voice behind me
and realize that it is not you
but the sound of some other man's laughter
gazing deeply into his love's eyes
and I sigh and continue walking
thinking all the time to myself
"don't think about it"
Tripping over my thoughts and
my emotions
hugging my pillow so tight afraid
that if i actually listen i
will actually break down and cry and
totally lose it.
Time
has stopped.
Eternity
as I do not know it
has begun.
day stretches out and I
feel every second of every
minute of every hour
and the night becomes even
longer i'm cold
and alone
and i miss you