Looking for whom to hang out with. Finding a new crowd and fitting in. Some are too old for my nocturnal activities. Selectively picking topics of discussion, so no one gets offended when exes start getting bashed. Picking and dropping the kids off to those exes for visits. Avoiding eye contact when the new man with me meets the ‘old’ man who I left.

“Ever get the feeling you are settling?” my-ride-or-die chick friend, enquires.

“Who, me? After the nit-picking I’ve been through? Why would I? It has had its up-sides. It’s so interesting how this has played out”.

Venturing into the online dating space was no walk in the park. Bumping into “oldey-foggeys” on the internet highway was an eye opener; men in mid-life who are simply looking for a ‘sunset’ companion. Too feisty for that!

Suddenly, the play boys make their unceremonious entry. The “yahoo boys”. Quite by chance, I stumbled upon this phrase. Young, smooth talkers after the generous, free spirits of “Mama wa Harrier”. Resident in packs like wolves, their prey is the undiscerning but wealthy, bored businesswoman/neglected housewife who can sustain the lifestyle of a gigolo.

Brazenly driving flashy cars, smelling (and looking the part), accommodated in green leafy suburbs, you wouldn’t catch on to their haunts. Unsuspecting friends regaled me with tales of conmanship from these street wise young ‘uns. Those I could pick from a mile away. Perhaps chalk it up to age – older and wiser

That notwithstanding, the night scene has its hazards. The “mchele” drugging culture still runs through the veins of this sleeping city. Both gender have lost valuables and sometimes precious lives, in their quest for a “good time”.

Despite these mishaps, the secret is out…you must be Singly Single again!

Photo credit:

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Our father-daughter relationship is an eternal bond. This will make or break her future escapades. I can still hear his cultured, controlled voice speaking of all things Art, Music, Architecture, Cuisine…and Fashion. That’s how well rounded his knowledge base was. He seemed to know everything there was to know about these artistic expressions. Little girls just have this thing, unspoken, between them and their daddies. He knows her. He understands her. When she is moody or twisting him round her little finger, more often than not, she tends to get her way. Hahaha.

It’s a funny thing…this father-daughter relationship, we have. I am the gentlest thing he has encountered. There are some deeply ingrained habits and nuances I notice about him that will greatly affect my choices in men later in life.

“I need to balance this out”, I share with Mum, introspectively.

There are “requirements” my future suitors will subconsciously be subjected to: comparatively, some will fail appallingly. Qualities that I will seek with fervour and zeal. Subsequently, it may sometimes proves to be a relentless search filled with landmines of heartbreak. Surely no man can be expected to realistically fill such shoes. The resident romantic won’t rest.

On numerous occasions she will miss his wisdom deeply and not even the knowing, comfortable, reassuring hug of her partner will match it.

So, what is it that these beloved males carry in their well-worn understanding that consistently rules her universe?

First, he’s the first Male relationship she encounters…straight from the womb. Present. Security. Strong. Available. Protective. Provider. Right?

As a matter of fact, he’s the one who teaches her how she should be treated; handled; cared for. He loves her mother as His PRIORITY. This, in itself, gives her such a foundational sense of security. He’s hawk-eyed about my male companions after school. Invites whoever dares to cross the threshold of his doorstep into his unflinching gaze. Asks the questions that not many dare ask about me… the apple of his eye. Interestingly, he can feel this same protective way, not matter how many daughters drop from his loins!!!

Third, he will encourage my curiosity, my beguiling nature, draws out my Femininity. Reassuring my hesitant first toddling steps. Calmly comforting me through my mushy “crushes”, he knowingly tells me, “You will live to tell the tale”. Then lets out a belly laugh to my sniffly giggles.

With dexterity, he guides in managing her expectations. That’s a lot to ask of any man. But he remains steadfast…undaunted by this task. As if his forefathers had shared the secrets to reading the female soul.

Additionally, I will learn things about Men that they wish he hadn’t ever unveiled (smile).

At this point, I can just see the eye-rolling by most men. “Here goes the comparison again!!! Are we not man enough without having to measure up to an unreasonable expectation?” Well, the saying, “women marry their fathers” may be here to stay… Despite her best efforts, she uncannily selects the same man from the vast, masculine gene pool.

Although this may be true and if discerning men were wiser, they would seek out her father. Not just his approval for her hand, but his nature/demeanor/decorum/culture. For indeed, it’s not just clothes that ‘maketh the man’.

Suffice it to say, this one relationship will dictate many decisions on my journey to finding the next man whose name I take.

“My fellow men, any wonder then, that I am her Hero?” he quips, as he winks and saunters off into the dusk…

Photo credit: unseenob

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I don’t know how she thought she would succeed. Looking at their appearances. Pooh-ing this one but smiling beguilingly at that one. And would you know it, as some checked out, the hefty tip left with a nod or wink showed that her efforts were not in vain. Her fellow receptionist insisted that these guys didn’t have the real dollars. After all, they came in on foot or rode on bicycles for long safaris cross-country…looked somewhat disheveled. Hadn’t slept for days on end and were watching every penny spent at the hotel. The mega guys to hunt were the ones who came in wearing a certain cologne, shades. Such superficiality never ceases to amaze me. Wouldn’t the men also be here on a hunting spree and had to ‘play or dress the part?’

Poor fellas…

Fast forward to a few months later…I visited the same hotel for brunch with a friend. I curiously enquired if the receptionist was still on the payroll. The new lady cheerfully confided that she had been found sneaking up to guest rooms during the night shift to make an extra buck. The caretaker had been in on it but turned tail when the fire became too hot. Turns out she had simply been on in a whole bevy of beauties that were paraded through the rooms…the men hadn’t minded parting with a few green ones if they could secure a ‘night of comfort’ every so often in that hotel. That she was eager and readily available was a plus for them.

Guess she had not wanted to bother with such things as integrity, character or reputation…she was what?…23 years? Life was a playing field with so many options. Young, old, middle-aged, fat, uncouth…who cared? As long as her bills were paid and agreements were understood between the parties from the onset, let the games begin!

However, when management discovered the shenanigans being carried out during the wee hours of the morning at their establishment, she was shown the door. Her ‘friend’ winked as she shared that she had permanently taken up with an elderly man on his travels from Europe, who needed a companion but was willing to fund necessities.

“With such an offer, her receptionist friend quipped, ‘who could refuse?”

‘Offer?”… (sigh) Only God knows the end of that story.

So, these downtown hotels and day rates coming up…we shall visit that another time.

Photo credit: aseltz

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My family and friends keep saying am the strongest person they know! I walked away from an engagement. I saw it fit to drop everything and take up a whole new tangent. Oh don’t get me wrong…the journey was very, very scary and super difficult in the first few steps and days. I switched off my cellphone for 3.5 weeks just to let it set in that I was ending a lifetime dream of mine. Letting it all collapse in every way. Away from the prying eyes that wanted to know every detail of my movements. Solitude, when I needed to let it all out. Peace, when I discovered I was starting to let go…of anger, pain, hurt, vengeance, betrayal, rejection, mistrust. I introspected. I argued. I soul-searched. I debated. Having tried all avenues to make it work, there was no option but to walk away. I was inconsolable some days. some days were bright and cheery. The downward spirals were the worst. They hit at the most unexpected moments…in a matatu on the way home, the scent of a perfume similar to hers would stop me in my tracks, the evening breeze hitting my face as I walked home would send swift tears to me eyes as I remembered the giggle of her laugh and the way she sweetly reached out to clasp my hand in hers.

I think the ‘finding out’ that someone significant has been cheating on you over a long period of time, is the hardest bit to accept. That it even slipped past you?! Yeah, you actually get through a ‘self-righteous’ stage like that. It seems like a dream happening to someone else. You’ve read about it, watched the drama unfold on the news, read of men who stayed on to hash it out…I seemed to be a different breed. I’m a one woman man. I don’t co-share. Period. I trust deeply. I love even deeper. That’s why, I don’t for the life of me even get how people discuss a three-some or multiple lovers and reach an ‘understanding’???

I journaled. Was a very foreign concept to me just 2 years back. I wrote down every single feeling and thought. I jotted down dates, times, activities. I worked with a children’s home…keep me distracted. I joined a new profession and worked long and hard. I saved religiously for getaways. I spoilt myself. I journeyed back and forth about that day, many times in my mind. I drenched my pillow with angry, lonely, self-pity tears on many nights…and some days. I searched relentlessly for clues, giveaways. Some were too scary to pursue. Some nicely settled in place, letting me know I had seen the signs, but ignored them. Initially, I had a pull and push game with my emotions. I chose to physically walk out of that space to avoid going back. I’d been burnt too many times, and still hoped they would change. For me. I changed. I became what they required of me. I hated myself for it. Then I started choosing me..again. Dainty steps at first. Going half a day without reading their texts. Avoiding friends who kept asking what happened. Seeking to visit loving people. Watching inspirational movies. Taking up newer challenges (mountain climbing, writing, cycling long distance, public speaking, mentoring other men etc).

I’ve found myself talking about the relationship in past tense, I don’t wince anymore when someone calls her my fiancee, I even laugh at some of the memories. I’ve even braved the Clubbing scene..hahaha! I could actually dig this. I gave away albums, books, burnt many photos. Stopped calling them. Deleted their numbers from my phone. Re-read the loving texts one last time. Set new goals for my life. Focussed on me. Eventually mustered the courage to send them a Thank you and Goodbye text. I closed that door, finally. I wished them well. I wished them Love, just as I hoped to find again.

And so, I tentatively started dating, again. Just good friends hanging out on a weekend. Driving out of town, barbecues, sports festivals, cook-outs and Rugby matches. What d’ya know? Am better for that sordid relationship! Ha!

Yeah, this year has been good to me…as I’ve been to myself. Cant wait to see what awaits me in the next 6 months.

Photo credit: Glendali

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I found myself asking this question in my late thirties because there is so much changing and ‘morphing’ we put ourselves through…sometimes to fit in. Sometimes from love, fear or retaliation. But whom are we loving or hating on? What is it about me that I simply accept and just love? Why must I hate any part of myself? Inherently, I give out what I perceive of myself. If scared, I hide. If loving, I open up to experience the beauty of it all. If angry, I would lash out, wouldn’t I?

So why not just love myself?

And who taught me that I could avenge? Or retaliate? Why not give better back?

Recently, I have thought long and hard about people I misjudged. People I condemned to the hog heap of hell. People I distanced myself from because I felt I had no energy or time for them. I called it ‘guarding my space’. It was too much energy having to engage. Didn’t bother to even see or hear their explanations. In my view, wasn’t worth the time.

Now, in hindsight, I listen more. I jump to conclusions less quickly. I count to ten…literally, if a situation arises that irks me. I actually find myself asking (in the midst of the ‘crisis’…what is the best course of action here? What are the likely consequences if I do this or that? Can I live with those repercussions?

Then I watch those consequences in my mind’s eye, past and present.

I have evolved. I have come a loong way. My responses are more measured…cautious…weighed. Some conclusions cannot be avoided. I have stopped berating myself about it. Some I walked away from, unscathed. Some, I wasn’t so lucky. The scars remind me of my humanity. Can I perhaps extend mercy and grace now?

Time will tell…

Photo credit: Micheal Wu

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Separated, new job, new town, a kid on the way…she collapses in a heap on my shoulder. “Why don’t they stay? Why do I keep looking for love in intimate entanglements that get me nowhere? How will I feed this young ‘un with no ‘second hand’ to feed him/her?” she wailed, dramatically. She has been posted to Kakamega to open a new office for her bosses, and the countryside is just not her thing!

I slithered out of her wet embrace and quickly put on a pot of ginger tea. I watched the changes of time on her face, figure and personality and realised life can be heartless. She had been such a fighter. Now, she regularly found solace in the arms of unknown lovers, skillfully gaining economically from the unsuspecting males. But I’ve come to learn that some know the gold-digger from afar and still choose to get entwined. Others…wel….Some were one-night stands, some half yearly liaisons, one was a long-standing on/off ‘relationship’ now running into its 3^rd year (that seemed her best bet for permanence). Yet, it was she that was running scared from the thought of settling down with this Adonis!

“So, Hannah honey, some tough decisions must be made…”

1. You’re pregnant and weepy…expected. So he doesn’t want none of it. You’ll make it through. Don’t wring the sympathy too much out of that one, though. Eat healthy, think healthy and Focus. There’s another human being depending on you. Selfishness stunts must go. Careless living must be curbed.
2. Take the bull by the horns. It is what it is. You got here somehow…let’s keep walking. New environments can mean a fresh start. New decisions, having learnt from past mistakes. New friendships can also elevate what’s already present. Relocate and see what you find on the ground (we laughed at that pun).
3. Take time to let things fall in place. Too many drastic decisions, hot on the heels of each other, can be disastrous. Anger and self pity are terrible companions around which to make life decisions.
4. Socialise…don’t be a recluse just coz it’s ‘Kachmek’ (slang for Kakamega)! Networks can be therapeutic too. Hot ‘Khumundu strong’ Baluyia men can be all the rage again. Look at the Injera and Khayange boys…men!
5. Introspect every so often. Don’t be so busy doing, you forget to take time to BE. Live in the moment. Savour it. FEEL. Every last bit of emotion in this intense new phase. Heartache, desolation, freedom to be yourself doing your thing again, opportunities to learn and grow.
6. Start new stuff. Learn a skill. Take up a hobby. Mental engagement at this level takes the attention away from the sordid deeds of the past.
7. Ricardo, or his romantic Mexican ilk, will find you by and by. For now, stay on the straight and narrow.”

“Well, that’s easy for you to say! I get lonely. I know myself. I need adult company more often than most”.

“Isn’t that what got you in this spot, playing the field on a loyal hubby?” I asked, incredulously.

“See,”…her eyes danced mischievously…”am now away from prying eyes even more. Who knows me in the backwoods of nowhere-land? I could introduce some civilised Nairobi culture and zing there. I won’t show for some months yet. Besides, there are ways to terminate, that are safe. My life lies ahead in so many ways,” she contnued, oblivious of the horror on my face. “I also have a choice in this matter. My body, my choice. If he won’t play, then I don’t have to.

Did she just say ‘terminate’? A foetus? For the sake of some fun?

“And if you die in the process?”

A risk I will have to take. Who is going to hang around and marry a mama with love handles, kids on her arm, trying to make ends meet?”

Did I mention this was her second born from her 3^rd live-in boyfriend? I know…hard to believe.

She probably had come to me because termination was too scary and she needed a second nod. My head was staying put! She either carries it to term and gives it up for adoption, or raised by family. But I wasn’t being caught dead handing her the knife.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. I guess Change is strange like that…

Photo credit: Marcos Santos

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Love sure breaks hearts but businesses break even more hearts! Raised expectations followed by massive disappointments in many cases. Massive debts, unreliable people, disappointing numbers, tested passions and broken dreams.

It helps to be positive but it saves a whole lot more to be realistic. In the calculations, do you account for the fact that not everything goes according to plan?

There is a blueprint that most of us follow: Pass your KCPE exams and get a good high school. Then pass your KCSE exams and go to a reputable University. Get your First Class Honours degree then get an awesome job after. This blue print does not factor in reality checks. That even after being through the education system meant to be a path to success you might not be as successful as imagined.

What is the formula then?

Money and success is God given…plan all you can but if it isn’t in your script you won’t have it. Poverty is real. Problems are real. But so is wealth and success.

Part luck, part wit, part hard work. You got this!

Photo credit: yokayo

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Doesn’t know how to love you, how to treat you, but for some mad reason, all of you remains stuck in memories and images of you and them. You replay the good and forget the bad (and there was more bad than good).

The what-ifs hold you back. Replaying what you didn’t do right. But it is never that you never loved them enough.
You might even end up with someone who loves you ten times better and treats you how you should, but your kryptonite is the last thing on your mind before sleep carries you away every night.

Years later, they walk into a room and your heart still races and stops at the same time. You choose to love with your mind and ignore your heart. That person is nothing but trouble. Instead you learn to love the one who loves you right. Slowly, but surely.

The love might never be the same as it was with the other, but neither will the pain. You surrender to the fact that that person will always remain a part of you, but you will never act on the emotions. A dormant volcano!

You will never get over it, but you will reach a point where it doesn’t bother you so much.

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Instead of asking veteran mothers questions, I Googled and Googled. I read all the “How to” motherhood books I could lay my hands on and YouTubed “little” things like breastfeeding, changing baby diapers and washing baby.

I remember a mummy friend suggesting to me to go for classes on motherhood at one of the local hospitals.

“What for?” I asked.

“They can teach you how to deal with your baby as a new mum.”

“I am a reader,” I replied, slightly annoyed, “I have read all I need to know about motherhood, I do not need those tu-lectures on the same.”

That was the beginning of my downfall.

My pregnancy was smooth. Everything went like Google and “What to Expect when Expecting” book said it would.

After twelve hours of labour, I held a healthy, beautiful baby girl in my arms, ready to start applying the knowledge I had accumulated in excess on the poor little child.

“Breastfeed the child immediately,” the doctor advised.

I put my baby girl on my breast, just like Youtube had taught me. And….nothing.

“Why is she not breastfeeding?”I asked anxiously, turning virtual pages in my head trying to think of which page in the books I had read had some advice on breastfeeding.

The nurse, a sturdy woman who looked like a retired weightlifter, lifted my breast and shoved it into the baby’s mouth.

To say I was uncomfortable is an understatement.

Baby struggled to fee for the next two days. Eventually, she had to be put on formula. I walked out of the hospital on the third day with wounds for breasts.

In retrospect, I should have refused to leave the hospital until I could breastfeed without pain or anguish. But I was itching to go back to my other bible at the time: “Secrets of the Baby Whisperer” to learn how to breastfeed.
I spent the next six weeks crying each time the baby breastfed and madly searching online for solutions. I bought creams, popped painkillers, prayed- nothing seemed to work.

And then I decided to do what I should have done in the first place.

I asked for help.

I called up my friends who were mothers. I called up my friends’ mothers. I talked to people on Kilimani Mums and Pregnant Mum Support Group on Facebook.

I got encouragement, suggestions and cheap, workable solutions for my problem. I was referred to a lactation specialist who, thank heavens, was also a trained counsellor.

She charged me consultation fees, yes, but gave me so much value for my money that I almost cried in gratitude.

I used Avent breast shells on her recommendation and little by little, my healing started.
The shells protected my breasts from further damage or contact with my clothes. I also kept moisturizing and holding my baby the right way so that she could latch on to the breast properly.

“Speak positive things to yourself. Tell yourself you are a great mother. You wake up three or more times at night to feed your baby. Tell yourself you will breastfeed without pain one day. You carried her for nine months. Laboured for hours and finally got her. She is a healthy, beautiful girl. You must be doing something right,” I remember her saying.

I went to the supermarket after that talk and got myself yellow sticky notes. I wrote down every word that she had said, even added my own like: “You are beautiful”, “You are a great mum”, “You have such a cute baby” and stuck them on the bed’s headboard.

My husband was puzzled when he came home later that day and I could see him struggling not to ask what was going on.

“I am tired of negativity in my life,” I offered before he could ask.

He nodded. Perhaps understanding that it was not in his place to understand what was going on.

The journey to pain-free breastfeeding was painful, slow but totally rewarding in the end.

I learned the hard way that friendship and advice from people that care for you cannot be Googled.

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I had reached that ‘shoot-me-now’ point when the last vendor walked in. My evaluation booklet was filled with abstract doodles and sketches I had so ardently drew in a bid to pass time. I didn’t even bother to look up when they walked in, set up their equipment and set about to introduce themselves.

“Hello everyone, my name is Yvonne. This is my colleague Prakesh…”

Life stopped. Everything, from the sound of the birds to the whispers of the trees outside stopped. My fingers froze and the masterpiece I was about to sketch on my notepad lost its appeal. I knew, that very instant that the moment I raised my head to see the beholder of the orifice from which that golden voice emanated, my life would not be the same again.

I wasn’t wrong.

I didn’t hear anything else that was said in that presentation by Prakesh, who turned out to be the main presenter. I shamelessly kept my gaze upon her. And I could swear she wanted me to, as our eyes kept locking and a subtle beam would manifest itself on her gracious face. Only I noticed it, or so I believe. Whenever she interjected to clarify some point Prakesh had massacred his way through, she spoke to me, and only to me. She was beautiful! Everything I ascribe to beauty; from sparkly eyes, to full lips, to flushed cheeks, to long natural hair, to a full bosom plus more. Her skin, boy her skin! Flawlessly chocolate, just inviting you to touch. No amount of decency in her dress code would have prevented me from mentally ripping that silk top off, messing up her hair, hold her in my arms and…

Sigh, I’m sure you get my point.

Two hours and endless fantasies later, the insipid presentation was over. Being the last pitch of the day, the camaraderie between us and this vendor was much better. We even invited them to join us for coffee. I sat on while everyone else stood up and headed to the pastry spread table.

Had it been a year before, there would have been no question about what I would do next; but not this time. I was married. “I am married, I am married, I am married..” I kept muttering to myself, suddenly interested in the score sheet whose existence had been totally erased from my mind two hours before.

“Are we are getting a perfect score?” That voice. Behind me. Was she talking to me? No way. Is she? Turn around idiot! I did.

“Wha…what? Oh!”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt”

“No no no! You are not. You did well, all the best”

“Thanks! This is my first pitch at Technocity”

“No way! It wasn’t obvious at all”

“I hope not! My boss took a big gamble bringing me along”

Awkward silence. Say something Lawrence! The girl has brought herself over to you!

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it. I just wanted to give you my card.”

“Of course, let me get mine as well. Not having our coffee?”

“I’m not much of a snacker I’m afraid.”

“That’s sad. We actually give more marks to vendors who drink our coffee”

Laughter.

Not bad Lawrence. Come on now. Look at her! This is the one thing in the world you are good at. Go for it!

“In that case, I’ll have some!”

“Awesome. I’ll join you.”

That evening, Milkah and I sat in silence in the living room, her watching yet another wedding related TV show and me, my mind miles away.

“Babe, babe, hun. Babe! Lawrence!”

“Huh! What!? Sorry, yes hun?”

“Jeez, where are you today? I’m saying, I don’t think the gas will last past tomorrow”

“Oh, ok. Will pass by the gas station after work”

“Thanks, so what’s distracting you today?”

“Nothing, just work stuff”

Days passed. A week, two weeks. I still had her business card in my wallet. My mind still drifted to her radiant presence at the pitch every time I had to sit through a boring presentation.

I convinced myself that that was just a good day at work. A really good day. She wasn’t the first, and she wouldn’t be the last pretty girl to have to pitch to me as this was a big part of my job. I’m in Marketing for heaven sake. The nirvana of pretty girls! High chance I’d never meet her again.

“Lawrence!!?”

“H-h-hey! Yvonne, right?”

“Yes, oh my God what a small world!”

A hug later, everything I had worked so hard to suppress came flooding back. I wanted her. Oh dear Joseph guardian father of Jesus I wanted her!

This was no office pitch. This was a club. And she was dressed for it, while somehow still maintaining her decency.

“You didn’t strike me as a club goer honestly!”

“What!? This dude is mayor of the club! I’m Steve!”

“Oh forgive my manners! Steve, meet Yvonne. Yvonne, my friend Steve.”

“Nice to meet you Steve! This is my pal Rachel!”

“You guys have a table?” Steve wasn’t about to let them out of his sight.

“Actually not yet, we just got in”

“Well join us then!! You can have our chairs. Right Lawrence?”

“Uhm, sure. Steve was getting boring anyway!”

Laughter.

Think Lawrence. You are married. You are married. Make sure she sees the ring. She’ll get the point. Show her the ring!

Forget the ring! Look at her! Look at those legs, you hadn’t seen those before! And she’s let down her hair. Imagine your fingers in there as you kiss those salacious lips. She wants you! You know she wants you!

I had promised Milkah I would be home by midnight, and I intended to keep that promise.

Yvonne’s friend turned out to be the life of the party, just how Steve likes them. As she and Steve gyrated against each other to the rhythm of the dance music, Yvonne and I engaged in conversation about everything from work to relationships to money to God. She wasn’t much of a dancer, a fact that I was grateful for. If she and I did what Steve was doing with Rachel that instant, there would be no going back for me.

“Lawrence, I need a smoke! Can we go outside for a minute?”

“Sure, you smoke?”

“Yep, sorry, bad bad habit!”

“Not at all, I smoke too. Let’s go!”

I checked my watch. It was 11.30 pm. I had 30 minutes to somehow get past the amazing time I was having and head back home. Milkah would most certainly be awake catching up on Movies.

12.30 am we were still outside, blowing smoke at the stars and joking about how by now Steve and Rachel had probably abandoned us.

“Rachel isn’t that loose is she?” I asked

“Oh she is!” retorted Yvonne.

“Just the way Steve likes them!”

“What about you Lawrence? How do you like them?”

“Decent, seemingly unattainable. I like a challenge”

“Do I fit the bill?”

I knew where this was going. And I was beginning to feel sleazy. I liked Yvonne. Not just how beautiful she was, but everything about her. Her personality, her conversation skills, her laughter, her mind. I liked it all! I hadn’t seen a single thing that didn’t make her the perfect woman, and God knows I would have paid to see that one thing that would put me off! I was losing control, and she clearly knew where she wanted this to go.

“Honestly, yes, plus some.”

“But?”

“What do you mean but?”

“There’s always a ‘but’ Lawrence!”

“But…”

Tell her! YOU ARE MARRIED! With a child at home. Tell her Lawrence! You are already an hour late!

My phone was ringing. I knew who it was. I chose to ignore it.

“Weirdly Yvonne, that’s the ‘but’. That there is no ‘but’. So far you are perfect. And while that should be a good thing, it’s my ‘but’. What I’m I missing?”

“Well, if you call me up after tonight, you’ll have a chance to find out” That intrepid smile said it all. She was daring me to call her again. She wanted more smoking under the stars, she wanted Lawrence!

“I’m getting cold. Can we go back up?”

“Sure.”

Surprisingly, Steve and Rachel hadn’t abandoned us. They had however relocated to a corner. Steve seemed to have lost something in Rachel’s mouth and was using his lips to find it. She on the other hand had lost something in his pants and was using her hands to find it.

1.30 am. I had found the strength to announce that I had an early morning meeting and needed to head out. Yvonne had had it for the night as well, and since as it turned out she lived along the way to my place, I offered to drop her. Steve and Rachel were happy to keep looking for what they had both lost.

That drive home would be one of the longest in my waking life!

Photo credit: Shru22 and duchesssa

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The post Where were you when I was single? – Part 2 appeared first on The Lily Review.

“Wapi! Maybe she thought it was bling”

“Bling on your wedding ring finger? Stop making up excuses for her Man”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying she wants you to give it to her like a Spartan!”

“He he he, I’m a married Man”

“Lawrence bana, what happened to you? Now I believe in Miracles kabisa!”

“I don’t know. You really think that girl wanted me?”

“Dude, she was all over you the whole night, took your number, introduced you to her friends, refused to dance with all the other guys at the table except you, the only guy at the table with a wedding ring on his finger. Are you retarded?”

“Damn. That chic was fine though!”

“Oh yeah! I’d do her in a heartbeat!”

Oops, getting carried away here. That my friends was a conversation with one of the boys my Wife Milkah (remember Milkah?) doesn’t really approve of. Every time I tell her I’m going out with Steve she cringes. But Steve is awesome, always provides a great distraction when I feel overwhelmed with this marriage stuff.

So marriage is great. Yeah, that’s me saying that.

Except for one little problem.

Before we get to that though, here’s a recap of what’s happened since we last talked. I got married, got a Kid (little girl that’s both cute and irritating in equal measure), stopped frequenting Kamau’s (Milkah made sure of that), changed apartments (she said too many Women had been naked in it) and changed jobs (apparently when you get married things like Pension fund and discounted Loans start becoming a career defining factor).

I am, well, satisfied. I am tempted to say Happy but that wouldn’t be entirely true. I was happy. Now I simply feel satisfied. I’m so satisfied my mid region is beginning to testify to it.
To be honest I miss Kamau, and once in a while I call him up to catch up. I miss late night conversations about Women with Maasai my former gate man. I miss leaving my shoes anywhere I want in MY house. I miss loud music in MY house. And of course I miss being a ‘Spartan’ as Steve would put it.

I have added a few new words to the list of things I hate. Previously this list only had Carrots (I hate Carrots!) and Kenyan Cops. It now has the following in addition to these:

1. Chamas
2. Playdates
3. Instagram (Coz Milkah loves it so much it eats into my ‘Lungula’ time…)
4. Padded Bras (You know why…)
5. Baby on Board Stickers
6. Daddy Duty (God knows I love my sleep!)
7. Budgets (Before the Marriage, all I cared about was that rent was paid. Not anymore)
   This list keeps growing, and I recently added a new one
8. Girls who ignore the Wedding ring

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the flattery of a pretty girl finding me appealing, but when it goes to the extent of her blatantly ignoring my Wedding ring’s existence and shamelessly flirting with me, I hate that. I hate it because I know how I weak I am. I hate it because I fear eventually breaking under the pressure. I hate it because these girls seem to be much much hotter than the ones I nailed before I got married. I hate it because “Where the F&^% were they when I was a free bird???”

I would like to tell you about this one girl. Yvonne. The girl that nearly made me bid farewell to my wife and child and relapse back to my old ways. Oh Yvonne, that tempting damsel!

But first, tell me this. Why on earth do girls choose to ignore the Wedding ring?

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The post Where were you when I was Single? – Part 1 appeared first on The Lily Review.

I had never imagined though, that my daughter would raise me.

My daughter is raising me to be a morning person. In my hey-days, I was the ultimate 10 hours a night minimum kind of girl. Now, I am the ultimate early riser. Her wails at 4am every morning leave me with no choice but to save my eardrums and pick the poor girl up.

My daughter is raising me to be practical. Decisions on what to wear are often based on how quickly I can remove my breasts to breastfeed her. It is no longer a question of “will I look good in this?” but rather;

“Will I be able to remove my boob in the fastest time possible with least amount of nudity if in public and she demands for food?”

My daughter is raising me to a multitasker. Images of myself breastfeeding whilst talking on phone whilst watching the news whilst eating ugali whilst talking to baby were hitherto very foreign to me, but you should see me in action.

My daughter is raising me to be an entertainer…my days with her are spent leaning to make the next funny face, funny sound, funny noise….anything to make baby laugh, because that is what always melts my heart. Churchill Live comedians have got nothing on me these days.

My daughter is raising me to be patient. When she poops immediately after a diaper change. Or throws up all over the top I planned to go work in. Or wakes up just as I thought I was finally going to call it a night.

My daughter is raising me to be loving, more loving than I thought my heart was capable of handling. More loving of my parents. Each time she traces the contours of my face with her chubby, saliva-slippery fingers, each time she raises her hands at me to be held, each time she screams ( with that I hope, is joy) when she sees me, my heart expands.

My daughter is raising me to be grateful. Grateful for her health, her milestones, each new day that she lives, each new sound that she makes, each new expression that she learns, each gulp of milk that she takes, for every little thing that she is made of, and for every little opportunity I have of being her mommy.

My daughter is raising me to be courageous. From withstanding labour pains ( More like screaming, cursing, scratching , biting and sweating, really) to listening to my heart break on her first jab ( why do those needles need to be so big?), my daughter has raised me to be courageous. My daughter has made me learn to fear things I did not fear before (Like the possibility of falling while holding you, or dying without a will) but made me courageous in facing those fears.

My daughter is raising me to be creative. With her, I have whole hour conversations based on phrases like “papapa, kikiki, bububu’. With her, anything goes as a toy…from the kitchen towel, to my phone, my hair (She swings on my dreadlocks!)-So I get creative. There is really no other option, really, given that her attention span is like 2 seconds maximum.

My daughter, it seems, will finally make a grown-up out of me.

Photo credit: subhadipin

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The post My daughter is raising me appeared first on The Lily Review.

Then I thought to myself; that I should stop beating myself up. Indeed I have woken up to a sad and introverted routine that is not me, but I have the most inconspicuous yet most valuable lessons at hand throughout the months.

I have learnt that love is powerful. In a subtle but oh so violent force. It is beautiful but a beauty with such capacity to turn ugliest. Love is rare, but in such great amounts it is barely quantifiable. It is a ballad that turns any second to a dance song. It is pure but so tainted with our human nature and that purifies it even more. Love is an oxymoron.

I have learnt that forgiveness is as freeing as it is the best form of revenge. That friendship is the quiet peace amidst a loud and rowdy company of acquaintances. It is the amnesia inducing drug that we crave every second so pursued by thought of our troubles. It is the genuine laughter amidst chaotic sobs. Friendship is that rare gem as costly as it requires virtue in a world eroded by vice.

I have learnt that we are limited only by ourselves and fear. That we have nothing to lose by trying except respect for ourselves.

Am I the wisest person that ever lived? No! But I intend to pray for the same every day. Because right and wrong are real and they define our next move more than we can imagine. Our attitude shapes our future and I intend to put on the best hat for every occasion.

So there, scrape for something good every second and you will find smiling is not as strenuous as they make it seem.

Photo credit: marceloto 

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My first thought was, perhaps it’s because I did not answer his call, because I was in the shower and I did not hear it ring, dah! This seemed a silly reason for someone to go off on me so I dismissed it. Could someone get angry at you and call you names because you missed their call, nah, I don’t think so! That was the silly part, long story short, it was actually because of the missed call!

Now dude shows up at my door three days later after a total black out from me, with a whole cake written ‘I’m sorry’! psssshhhh, a little dramatic don’t you think! Ok, fine I am a cake person, cake gets me anytime, I will not pretend. As it stands, I have already eaten a huge slice off it and I am tempted to devour the whole of it, alone; except it will be a slow guilt-laden journey filled with calorie miles for the next ten-thousand years! Sigh….!

Why did I eat the cake you may ask. Well I always welcome creativity, just saying sorry by mouth does not cut it so blow some bells, look for a matching band, the mexican type would be best, do something! Ok, or bring a cake. If it’s on a scale of 1 to 10 (1 being the lowest) bring a cake!

This whole episode got me thinking, why do people screw up so easily in the first place, then atone for it as dramatically as they screwed up in the first place. My brother suggested I get as dramatic and return the cake, well, aside from the fact that I already started eating it, this sounds like a good idea. Relationships are rollercoaster rides, the chances and potentials for screw-ups are lined up every step of the way. It is like driving, right? You always keep in mind that the only sane person on the road is yourself; so you have to keep your cool and realize not just anything and everything can set you off. A MISSED PHONE CALL! really?

I once was told that the way a guy treats you in a relationship is the way he will treat you when you are married. Nothing, or very little will change. So what makes someone think that showing up with ‘forgive me for getting mad over a missed call’, will make everything hunky-dory right? Do people think wrapping gifts in pretty bows actually atones for their bad upbringing and careless tongues/ fingers(it’s a Whatsapp-ing age!)? Should one just be easily let back in simply because they ‘wrapped their sorry in a box?’

We have miles to walk, rivers to cross and oceans to sail through before we get to okay land! However, people need to start being tolerant of one another from the start. The stuff that seems mundane today will only blow-up and fester if not nipped in the bud early. So its straight talk from here on out. Adults do not need to be calling each other names over stupid, silly things. The world is ending, how about we argue over that, or the war in Gaza, or that Barack Obama is a Luo and not American! Serious arguments only! Then the dramatic apology wrapped in a box will try to make sense!

A dedication to all those who take things too seriously…
Hunkey Dorey

As sung by Christy’s Minstrels.
Air – “Limerick Races”
One of the boys am I,
That always am in clover;
With spirits light and high,
‘Tis well I’m known all over.
I am always to be found,
A singing in my glory;
With your smiling faces round,
‘Tis then I’m hunkey dorey.

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The post Apology wrapped in a box! appeared first on The Lily Review.

To Identify ourselves as Muslims. When I put on the hijab, people identify me as a Muslim and what we stand for. The hijab identifies me as a woman who knows her worth..

We are not judged when we wear the hijab,  by what I have or what I don’t have. In this ‘modern’ society, women have been objectified, the more flesh you show you are seen as modern, independent but one thing we forget, is that men take advantage and be little us. The hijab lets people judge me by my brains and ideas and not by my looks.

A sign of worship.. When i put on the hijab, I am worshiping Allah. He commanded us to wear the hijab and we will be worshiping Him every time we wear the hijab.

The hijab is not a sign of oppression. I wear it to serve my duty as Muslim woman. Those who say hijab is a sign of oppression are wrong. I wear as a sign of worship which means every time I wear hijab, I get blessings. I am a colorful person and my hijab colours vary with my moods.

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The post Why I wear the Hijab appeared first on The Lily Review.

Being single allows you to sleep over at your girlfriends house without worrying about anyone or what may go wrong at home. There is no one to walk outside with bathroom slippers and proceed to get into the house with them; or leave the toilet seat up! You can book that hair appointment or mani/padi for after hours without even blinking, your only irritation being that your salonist keeps worrying about her people. That reminds me I have to look for my kind in such situations, sensitivity is key.

So back to the enormous challenges I was talking about. My car has a problem, it is a tiny problem, except it has refused to go away. It makes a cracking sound when the car is turned, I am told it is the CV Joint that has a problem. Now I should give up I know, just throw in the towel and admit, as someone advised me, a car cannot be 100% ok. This, especially after several visits to my mechanic and several thousands out of my pocket, later! It is not loud, neither does it pose any danger, mechanics words not mine, but for some reason I just can’t let it go. The sound coming from that car just irritates the hell out of me.

So this CV Joint has been changed and rechanged and rechanged again. I respect my mechanic, mostly because he is my dad’s mechanic. If you knew my dad, you would understand why I am for this mechanic. Not just anyone touches my dad’s stuff! However, I recently discovered why my car is not getting the same treatment as my fathers, because he knows all about cars, he knows his stuff. Me, I am just a girl, a single one at that, I go to the garage alone when I cannot find an escort somewhere to act as my wing man.

Mechanics can smell frailty from a far. It does not matter whether you are tough talking, heel slinging, serious faced, as they come. They know when you do not know your stuff and they go in for the kill. So it has been a year of trying to repair this small noise emanating from my car without luck. The other day I decided to seek a second opinion, now my car is packed at home with a busted gear box, and a dangling sign reading Kshs. 40,000 in repairs plus replacements. My main mechanic is of course thinking, you thought I was the devil, right? So as it sits there, I have come of age and I have learnt lessons.

Lesson 1. Everybody thinks their mechanic is the best...especially if it’s a man, same reason as above, mechanics know that men know their stuff so they cannot mess; or if it’s a lady with a man as their wing-man. ”That is why I wanted you to go to my mechanic, he is the best. He can paint the sky blue and fly to the moon. He part-times as God himself.” Seriously if I hear these words from anyone again I will scream!

Lesson 2. It is not about the mechanic. It is about their perception of you. Well, I’ll admit there are good and bad mechanics. I am talking of mechanics worth their salt. Everyone’s mechanic may be good, but if you do not know what they are talking about, they will talk the money out of your pocket, quite literally.

Lesson 3. If you are not sure ask. Let not your Mechanic convince you to repair or pay for or buy things you do not understand. Most probably that is not what you came to repair, that is not what you came to fix, and unless you have confirmed that it is life/car threatening and needs to be repaired like yesterday, step back and take a breather.

Lesson 4. A trip to the mechanic does not have to turn to a full blown service. Just as I have mentioned above, not everything needs to be done just because the mechanic thinks it should be done. Sweetly say…”oh, that also needs work? I had not planned for that, but if you could just get back to why I came here, I will be back another day.”

Lesson 5. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Not everything they say is car threatening is. Ladies like panicking, and mechanics sure do know what to say to make us go there. The other day a car passed by the office making some high pitched noise that could be heard from miles away. I have seen men drive cars that are so badly beaten and run down, the parts are literally hanging on to each other for dear life. Okay, that may be bad, but really what I am trying to say is, if your car is nowhere near 0.0000001 of that, do not fret. Ladies know how to maintain their rides and so big words from mechanics should be met with an ‘oh really’!

Lesson 6. Everybody wants to help, but do they really? Going to the garage is no fun, no one likes it. I would pay good money to have someone do that for me. When you vent out about how your mechanic is not giving you good service and all you get is the ‘you should have gone to my mechanic’ phrase, do you not ask yourself a series of questions. ”Why are you not offering to take the car to your mechanic for me? Okay, why then do we not go together? Oh your busy; okay, when will you not be busy? Oh you will let me know?” Lovely, ain’t it? Me thinks the reason you fear is because you are afraid you will have the bill pawned off on you, you know, like a date where the man is always expected to pay…ehe! The things men run away from these days! So read there, unless you want to get down and dirty quite literally, just keep your mechanic to yourself and let me vent, when I finish we all go home!

Lesson 7. ‘Gari ni spareparts‘ (A car is its spare-parts). If they are not available locally, you are in problems.
I think with that, it is time I sold my car and pass on its problems to the lowest bidder, any takers?

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Friends
I got an injury and the doctor said no travel for two years; my phone is old, can’t communicate, seriously I do not even know what the fuss is about this whatsapp thing; you saw me where? No that was my sister, we do look really alike you know! I was swallowed by a whale and disappeared. These are just a few of the excuses I give people for not keeping in touch. I know it is wrong, I know I will need them at one time, but for the life of me I cannot keep communication lines open. Seriously, I do not have a whatsapp compliant phone, why? I do not know! If you do not call me, I will not call you. If you do not keep in touch, well this friendship was not meant to be. I take two days to reply to a text, if at all I reply. I usually draft the message in my head, then make as if to respond, then put the phone aside to handle other business and that is how the send button is never hit, now you know! I was going through my photo album the other day and realized I only have photos in there of myself, yet I know I have taken many photos in my lifetime with people. That made me worry!

Men
My defense here is that relationship standards are at an all time low and I am just not willing to stoop down to that level. People want to date without putting in much effort, be it time, money, space. They want to sit in the comfort of their home and wait for you to come to them and give them a ‘good time’. Another misused phrase.

I have a car, I know, but expecting me to come to your place across town every now and then after work is taking it a tad too far. Get your behind in a cab, or a matatu, and get back the same way you came. Show me some effort first then I will be kind enough to reciprocate. Guys want you to be the one to call them, all the time, because they do not think much of you to load airtime into their phone and call you? I am picking the mundane things that really piss me off and make relationships a non-starter. Oh believing you are God’s gift to women! Scurry on little fellow, you knocked on the wrong door. Harsh? I do not think so, arrogance is the number one deal breaker in my list.

Let me not even talk of coffee or lunch dates, those do not exist in this part. Men are preserving all their hard-earned cash for a 100 bob beer for some dinghy joint, why again would they want to spend 500 bob on you at that restaurant? ”If you want a date baby girl, why don’t you show me your cooking skills in your house, then let’s have a ‘good time’, afterwards you can drop me at my place, what do you say, baby girl?” Seriously what happened to …boy meets girl or vice versa, they talk politics and laugh, become fast friends, boy asks if girl is in relationship, girl says no, boy expresses his intention, girl says we will see, boy pursues girl with gusto to impress her with the roadside flowers he plucked from a fence somewhere, girl says yes and they date into happily ever after…Am I asking for too much? Do I again have to explain why this part of my life is not happening right now? Unlike the rest of my relationships, this one will remain on pause for now!

Long live me, long live the relationships that make me want to be a better person everyday!

Author : Monica Ogada
Bio: I live and work in Kisumu. I like to laugh, I gravitate towards all things funny! I have multiple personalities, I conform to whatever the situation calls for at that time! Most people do not know the real me! I would love to travel and experience the world!

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The room stood still. The men awkwardly moved away. The ladies suddenly were watching each other…hawk-eyed. You could just filter the thoughts in the room. Do we ignore them and carry on? Will it seem rude and anti-social to let those comments pass, and pretend we didn’t have a gay couple present?

Glancing round the room, I noticed a small cluster of people speaking in hushed tones. An impish grin flashed at me from among them. As she wildly gestured for me to quickly make my way towards them. Curiosity got the better of me. I joined them.
Sheila quickly started in on her angry tirade. “Can you believe her nerve? She’s spoilt the whole mood of the evening. Now, we’ll have to keep sidestepping the issue or move on along to another joint!

Amos asked, irritated, “Who invited her in the first place? I thought this was our Get-together for old time’s sake?”

“Well guys, this is what we call an open society..that’s what you get for not being clear on who exactly ‘fits your bill’, the amiable Sophie chirped.

“Oh really? Wasn’t Grace ‘straight’. when we were in campus? How were we to know when we included her in the invite, that we’d end up with this scenario? And since you’ve brought it up, how do you suggest we now clean shop-mmmhhhh….?” Alex reasoned.

Noting the ebbing mood in the room, Sheila grabbed Amos and quickly whispered something in his ear. Grinning, they looked at us, and the familiar sinking feeling in my stomach told me they would be up to no good.

“Okay folks, gather round”…his characteristic boom of a voice rang across the room. Suddenly, life emerged. Slowly, bodies gathered towards the centre of the room.

Focusing his gaze on Grace, he casually asked, “Gracie?”

“Mmmhhh?”

“Would you care to share more on why you feel we-men are to blame for your current predicament?”

“Whaaaat?” her words came out slightly slurred.

“You heard me. Why does your friend think you’re a worthy companion, compared to some of the able and best men in this room?”

“You’re one to ask?! I tried dating some of you, and you were non-starters! Should I continue?”, she challenged the men in the room, the glazed look quickly disappearing from her eyes. She waited for his next question. It never came…

There was pin drop silence.

This, would turn out to be a very interesting and revelatory evening.

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I am a single lady aged 28. I am not dating. Though I understand dating these days has changed definitions to mean coffee dates, hanging out with a guy and these casual meet ups. Reminds me of the saying, ‘I love you, but I am not in love with you’! Really, who gets to play around with definitions of words and gets the whole world following them? By dating I mean I am not seeing anyone in the form of a serious relationship. Moving on, I have invested considerably well in myself. I am not there, but I am headed there! Where there is where I want to be in future. Word play! I do not eat well, nor do I exercise. I sit at work all day, get into my car and rush home to sleep. Story of my life. So I am in a small town somewhere and I realize everything I do is really about me, this is the account of what I found out.

God
I have made my life so much about me that I no longer attend church, not consciously. Sometimes it could be that I am conveniently busy, perhaps someone needs me  this Sunday, the boss needs me to go to work next Sunday, oh when was the last time I had a weekend to myself, the other Sunday, and on and on it goes. Before long two months have gone by, then three, suddenly I do not even know the last time I was in church! My relationship with God has suffered a huge blow, I cannot even fathom. I am simply ashamed. When we talk about offerings and tithe, I run and hide.

Family
What does it say when you are in the same town as your folks and you only see them once in three months. For others it is worse I know, but still, my folks are the coolest people around town. They hold their own, so no, they do not beg and borrow and tell you about their ailing health and the high cost of medicine every time you go. Or about the leaking roof. They are not rich, but they want for nothing. Why I do not see my folk, well, I am ‘busy’. Busy sleeping of course; busy daydreaming in the office; busy being a busy body! My sisters and brother, communication is at an all time low, thank God for facebook, that would also be in the trenches. Now again they are the coolest people around town, I wouldn’t trade them in for anything. We spent some good days with my family laughing and we still do when we meet up. People hardly get our jokes, but we laugh at them till we roll over, cry tears and hold our stomachs since we can’t breathe. True Story!

Author : Monica Ogada
Bio: I live and work in Kisumu. I like to laugh, I gravitate towards all things funny! I have multiple personalities, I conform to whatever the situation calls for at that time! Most people do not know the real me! I would love to travel and experience the world!

Photo credit: mckenna71

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The post Me, me and more me! [Part 1] appeared first on The Lily Review.

Ghosts of the past haunt us more than they are entitled to. They cause more turmoil than they should owing to our welcoming nature. We play host to these ghosts and refuse adamantly to let them stay where they belong; locked up in a cage called long gone.

I lost my book, but my relentless efforts to hold on to data recovery for months has rendered me a hopeless sob. Sad really. I mean I am Lilian Cathy for Chrissake! I write the hell out of application letters and not to mention names but I have helped mend cracked relationships with my oh so mushy poetry so why am I whining over chapters that I can rewrite even better? Clearly Lilian Cathy from the past should come back and give me a thorough bum lashing.

So I went for Brand Ambassador training for one of the many companies I represent in that way, I promise, this is totally related to the matter at hand. Anyway, aside from the talks and food, which I had gone through a cleanse for, given past gastrogasmic effects, there was team building. My team kicked ass at number almost last, great improvement from last year I must say, kudos. After that, there was meditation. After the session I realized I LOVE meditating so much I did it again and here comes the relevant bit, I invoked my spirit from the past! So here she is doing a spoken word piece entitled “No one likes a pity party Lillian.” I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Have you ever felt alone? To worldly fatal analogies prone? Those around you unfairly drawing parable you and others your old saying “Why don’t you? Why will you not? Why not be like?”

And your heart heavy with self doubt, heavy like the waves against your fragile body as you drown in a sea of vanity and stupidity.

Then snap you wake to the thoughts of those who bore and raised you.

Saying, “you are my one and only”

You wake to the wisdom of your very thoughts and snap!

Do not compare me, you say.

I am not like them, I will never be like them as I am myself and that is success in itself

I am an ocean vast and deep. I am a mesh-work of fine art and I wear it well. I am an African woman with a global heart and soul. I am infused energy and a haven of electrified joy and enthusiasm, and nothing less than ecstasy! I wake every day to the thunderous sound that is my every breath, to the endless besting of my heart and to an anticipating soul that has unquenchable thirst, unfillable hunger, and an endless quest.

So I will not sigh my breath away.

I will not whine my breath away.

I will………….

Well you all get the point. I stopped her before she started charging me for motivational speech. I do love her but once she starts to speak, she goes to the archives in her mind for all catchy phrases and whatnot. I mean the woman does not know when to stop! I have to keep her in check in regard to the chit chat. When it comes to pep talk, she is a broken record going on and on, a broken record, but a beautiful song nonetheless.

So there, whenever I feel low, I consult my old self. I know myself well enough to always invoke my true self to chase the intruder away.

Have a beautiful day happy people. No pity parties.

Photo credit: glendali

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The post Shutting the pity party down appeared first on The Lily Review.

Well, mine’s been hectic. Real hectic! Had to do my fair share of growing up..uh huh! And I found out that this multi-tasking thing, can sometimes take the FUN and excitement out of life. Juggling many balls can have a downside too. And more so for the organized, choleric types like myself. We don’t know how to let things drop! When we see a missing link, were the first to point it out. If no one moves in to salvage the situation, we step right in (albeit with a martyr syndrome)- after all, we take our joy from saving the world. But at the end of it all, energy drained, lifeless, distressed (read ‘stressed out’), unmotivated and frumpy. Bad hair days can become the norm, if you aren’t careful. And let me let you in on a real secret: he still loves (and wants) you to shine, believe in him, look like the darling he met, work it in the bedroom and dish a mean meal. You better believe it!

So, am back here. Finally..Slowly, but surely.

I found out that while I dived underwater, and came up for air, there was wildfire about the ‘skin-lightening’ techniques of one Vera, ‘derrieres’ had become the buzz word, MCAs were being impeached, hate speech painted screens ‘red’ on Kenyan social media. Arrrgggh…Too much drama for me..I dived into my favourite topic: REAL Relationships, and how to make them work..and last.

My last chat with 5 girlfriends left me wondering about the Kenyan she-male and her relationships. They had practically given up on the very thing their hearts longed for: committed and requited Love. Yeah, I seem to draw quite a number of these female folk, hoping to settle down soon. Now they were threatening to ‘settle’ in the strangest ways…”am in my 40’s and no sight of anyone I like, my “type” just doesn’t seem to hang out where I do, I just want good stock to father my kid and move on (men have too much drama), the ones I like are all married and want to marry me (am at a loss as to who to choose). I want kids and he doesn’t, so it’s so stressful…and it went on and on.

As in, really?? Ladies, if this is the sort of convo were engaging in around town, any wonder that the men are also listening in or looking on in similar despair? You want to be called ‘wife’ but you want none of the ‘baggage/responsibility/adulthood issues’ that comes with it. Well, men sometimes have to be handled like little ones, stroke an ego, feed their stomachs, soothe a disrespect pain, help bring home the cheddar (before you’re called a good-for-nothing sloth). All depends on what type of relationship you go for. Think you can hack it? Nope? Refresh your memory from the above paragraph.

So, the ones he takes home are the ones who don’t loudly chew gum, clean nails with their teeth, speak deep ‘sheng‘ from Eastlands, aren’t baring all for others to take a bet on you, or pulling them down every minute self-consciously, saw one recently in a matatu (don’t scratch airtime cards with their nails) whew…isn’t that a long TO-DO list? Yeah, and even better is that every man is unique in his preferences. So in as much as we love to generalise that men are this…men are like that…they hate this…they love that, they each have their own quirkiness about the one they are ‘goo-goo gaa-gaa’ about.

Study the one you’re with and keep graduating Yeah, this is #Class101. To keep a good thing going, you gotta keep learning and growing with him. He’s changing too, baby girl. What used to tweak his fancy in his 20’s is going to be long forgotten in his 40’s, and may leave you clueless in his 60’s (if you don’t get with the program).

Too much? Then sit down for a while child. Coz this is going to be one loooong ride  See you on the other side of #Class.

Photo credit: Valsilvae 

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The post *newsflash* Ladies, men are choosy too appeared first on The Lily Review.

My father is a wise man. He doesn’t realise it but many times he says the wisest things. We were having a deep conversation about life and achieving our dreams and he told me something about myself that I needed to hear. He told me that I am multi-talented and there are so many things I am good at but I like to limit myself. I have endless possibilities to do something that will change my life. I get excited when I start doing something, but my problem is that I get easily bored and I am impatient.

What he said was true about me. I can easily get demotivated. I think too much and make endless calculations in my head about how I want my life to be but I don’t change my present to shape my future.I have started so many projects but I have never finished them or even gotten halfway. I lose hope too easily and to fast. It’s no wonder I have been feeling forlorn lately. My dad told me to dust off the shelves and take charge.

We like to make excuses for the lives that we live. Whenever life isn’t going the way we had planned we get comfortable and start making excuses. I have been making excuses that I don’t have the time and the equipment and tools that I need to start making my dreams come true. I have become comfortable in not doing anything such that I have become afraid of trying and failing. Things don’t come easily and before you accomplish something great, you have to go through obstacles that build you and make you stronger. Most of us do not want to go through these obstacles. Most of us are waiting for our dreams to come to us on a silver platter. Most of us think that when that future arrives, then we can start working on those dreams. Those are lies we tell ourselves and while we sit and wait a part of us keeps chipping and chipping away. Before we realise it, we are ghosts of the people we did not want to become. We are too far gone and it gets hard to catch up on life. We stop dreaming…we stop living. We are in a dusty shelve of what we once were.

Are we going to let our lives be that empty? Are we going to let go of our future that easily? No! We can’t do that. God never created us to have no purpose in life. We are not meant to be unhappy and we are not meant to fear failure. Failure is the staircase to success. Success is not for the weak of mind and heart. We should not sit and wait, even birds and animals don’t wait for food and shelter to find them; they search for it. We simply can’t let our passions die. That burning desire to do something should always be there. We have to hold on to that burning desire. At that point you want to give up on something, that is where your success lies. That is where your breakthrough is. Don’t give up. Don’t tire. Don’t lose hope. Most of all, don’t sit around waiting for things to come to you. You have to wake up and take that first step at trying to accomplish those dreams. You might not see the future now but one you take that one step you realise a change in you has occurred. If you continue pursuing your dreams and making that passion the driving force, then you will start noticing doors opening for you, opportunities coming your way and there will be no limitations. You will be unstoppable.

Photo courtesy of www.pdphoto.org

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The post Dust off the Shelves appeared first on The Lily Review.

All this came on the heels of Senator George Brandis, Australian Attorney-General, who recently stated that Australians “have the right to be bigots”. This started wide debates about racial discrimination and whether people of color have become oversensitive. This got me thinking of when I first moved to Australia.  My first friends were an older Australian couple that lived next door. We would have afternoon teas on my days off and just chat about life. The man used to call me nigress, even when introducing me to his friends he would refer me as the “nigress’. The friends would then stare in embarrassment and wait for me to correct him, or resist, but it didn’t bother me and I didn’t correct him at all. After a while, his more forward thinking wife told him, it was probably not wise to call me “nigress” it was “inappropriate” and “ignorant”, and after a time he stopped, and the word was never mentioned again. My point is, I did not care that he called me nigress, or any other name, because I have never doubted that he cared about me. When I was down and out he and his wife took me in. When my boyfriend left, he came and sat with me as I cried. When I graduated with a Masters degree he came and stood in the place of my parents, who couldn’t afford the pricey flight from Africa.  The words did not matter, his actions spoke louder.

The new Racial Discrimination Act proposes that it be illegal “intimidate another person” and create a new clause making it illegal to “vilify another person” on the basis of “race, color or national or ethnic origin”. Which in my opinion does not even begin to scrape at the real issues of racism in Australia. The problem is not the public displays of racism like in the and buses. Real racism is hidden deep in the hearts of the real estate agents who don’t rent to people of color. Human resources managers that throw away resumes that have “strange surnames”. According to recent research, if you are Chinese you have to apply for 68 per cent more jobs to get the same number of interviews as an Anglo-Australian. If you’re Middle Eastern, it’s 64 per cent. If you’re indigenous, 35 per cent. This is polite racism, as Waleed Aly a political lecturer at Monash, university calls it. This new breed of racism that seems “polite” educated and cultured is just as insidious as it predecessors, and worse, because it cannot be governed. There is no law that can govern feelings and emotions.

The Racial Discrimination Act just reinforces the current culture of political correctness in Australia. It reinforces racial discrimination in that it one can act and say whatever they want in private as long as he is not heard by the wrong people or breaking the law.

In a world of political correctness, where everyone is mindful to say the right thing, or otherwise be chastised, there is no law now and in the future that can govern racist feelings.  Trying to govern speech only stifles expression and ingrains those feelings. Monsters grow in the dark and the Australian culture of political correctness is not solving the problem of race but deepening the issues.

Every immigrant who comes to Australia makes Australia home by choice. They have the right to fight for a piece of the Aussie dream even if it takes longer that their Caucasian colleagues. Australia is very diverse and there are a lot of people to whom race is a non issue and doesn’t factor it in there decision making. The research shows that the people of color do get work in Australia even if it takes longer. Hence instead of focusing on “who is saying what” lets look inward and focus on righting our values. Let the bigots speak and act on their foolishness, as the world keeps moving forward, they too shall be phased out.

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The post Do Australians have the right to be bigots? appeared first on The Lily Review.

Have you ever met Mr. Right? You know, that guy who has everything you’ve ever wanted. He’s a gentleman, he’s sweet, he’s caring, he’s there for you and he’s funny. He’s basically what you have always wanted. You are so excited at finding such a wonderful man. He’s the missing part in your life. He even comes up with the name of your future kids. Months fly by and you meet his friends and some of his family. Everything is good; it’s your perfect fairy tale.

Then you start thinking this is too good to be true. Something at the back of your mind keeps nagging you about the relationship but you ignore it. You’ve found the guy you want to spend your life with, why would anything go wrong. Then you start noticing small things like how he doesn’t like you spending time with your friends. He wants to accompany you everywhere you go. He becomes clingy, pushy, obsessive and possessive. He suddenly becomes a little too hard to handle. And then you break up with him…guess what happens? He becomes even more forceful and says that he loves you too much to be apart. He says you are soul mates, you’re meant to be. He wants to know what he did wrong so he can become exactly what you want. He sends you texts and calls all the time. When you ignore him he becomes angry but tells you he loves you even when you ignore him. Now you’re wondering what the heck happened.

When something is too good to be true think twice. We never pay attention to that phrase but it’s true. We all have an idea of the kind of person we want to be with. Most of the time we’ve searched for this person for so long we forget how to reason and use our brains. You meet this guy and he’s in sync with you and you want the same things. The search is over. We fail to analyse the little details we learn about the guy like how bad his past relationships ended. Mr. Right becomes your nightmare. You realise this person is not at all what you wanted. Your list goes down the drain. I think it’s time we stop making decisions bases on heightened emotions. Love is not blind and when we are most emotional our reasoning goes down and we make rash decisions we regret later. Our emotional judgment can’t be trusted anymore.

We may find what we are looking for but that doesn’t mean it’s the right person for you. He may have all the qualities you want but he might not fulfill you. He may have it all figured out but it doesn’t mean he complements your life. Before getting into a relationship get to know that person well especially his nonverbal communication which shouts a lot more than his words. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.

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The post Mr Right may not be the right kind of guy appeared first on The Lily Review.

I remember the first time I heard these words from him. My heart raced, my feet became weak and I could barely breathe. And therein came flashes of images of fat babies, a picket fence, a horse named Lucy along with my bestseller novels, packed on the top shelf of our home library. As fast as they came, they left, and with them the feeling that would have been love was nothing but pain. Because the man I was in love with, was saying this to another. Coming home to kiss my cheek and share a meal. Before embarking on what he so shamelessly calls “love making”. Then up and going early in the morning, with me on the sides, helping him, dutifully, and he said that to another.

The best lies carry an element of truth.
Neil Caphrey, White Collar Series

Upon reminiscence, I realized I brought this upon myself. A man, my friends now so wisely tell me, will treat you the way you let him. And I put myself out as available for all manner of usage and he only accepted an offer even I would never refuse. He will only go as far as you let him so the second the violent caress did not chase me away he felt it proper to do it again and again.

Dreams are beautiful, unless they are shattered. Then they are seemingly ugly sources of every ill feeling one can think of. But they are not as shattered glass that cannot be fixed. They with near-magical stride always have a way of getting back on their feet or even higher because it is in our hearts that they are bred, and the heart does not falter. It grows. Especially one that dares to dream.

I had put my dream onhold for someone I felt needed me. I thought it would give me a different purpose and for days upon end I was a lost soul drifting aimlessly to inevitable demise unless I went back to whatever drove me to the person I am. Writing.

I cleaned, cooked, washed and listened and rubbed. And all I got in return, was spite, violent caress and
aloof.

I got up and left.

Upon declaration of departure my knees weakened and I knew then that it was going to be the hardest thing to do. I stayed, telling myself that he is out of my league when all the while I am out of HIS league. I am phenomenal and cannot stop with how far I have come. It takes baby steps. That is a good thing because I have been taking those my whole life.

I start work Monday, from scratch. I am crashing with a friend. I start house hunting in two weeks. Suggestions around town are welcome.

It is the hardest thing to do, move on. Especially if what awaits you on the other side is debts, no home, angry folks and no school. All you have is yourself and whatever real friends you have around you. Friends unafraid to tell you the truth no matter how ugly it is. It took my friends laying down their hearts for me to realize by hurting me, I immensely do the same to them. It took long talks, monologues of just how phenomenal they deem my spirit to help me get off of my behind and do something, if not for myself, then so I don’t lose them.

A literary guru and a woman I idolize did say that we do things for the approval of men. We do. We dress up, we work hard to look amazingly fake. All for a man whose eyes are maybe set on another and in doing so, we fail ourselves. We fail our friends. We fail our very purpose.

So heavy with the wisdom my experience has bestowed upon me, I walked. It is scary. I cry every night thinking about my loss though my friends say I am better off. I veer off at work and I smoke twenty cancer sticks if only to keep euphoria beside me- if a head rush counts as one. But I will never look back.

I cannot.

Photo credit: Cieleke

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The post A man will treat you the way you let him appeared first on The Lily Review.

Photo courtesy of lunabeteluna.wordpress.com

I had decided to be hopeless about relationships just because one guy ruined me. I had decided to believe that all the good men were taken and the ones around are still trying to figure out what they want to be when they grow up…which for some it’s true.

I had lost the point of relationships wondering how the hell I was going to trust someone again. So for months I’ve been living with a dark cloud hanging over my head. It’s funny how when you lose hope in one small thing you end up losing hope in everything. I woke up tired of this feeling. Hopelessness is stifling. I couldn’t take it anymore. It’s all gloomy and boring. Hopelessness is like a rope that keeps getting tighter and tighter around your neck. It looked like it didn’t have an end until I put a stop to it.

I love the feeling of having hope. It’s wonderful and exhilarating. It makes your heart lighter. You smile more, laugh more. You enjoy life and you look forward to each day because you know it’s all going to work out. You believe in yourself and the people around you. You stop worrying over everything because you don’t have to. You don’t have to figure out everything right now because there’s someone up higher who’s writing your story.

If you are in that hopeless state (over anything) get out because you don’t know what you are missing. Life is too short to be unhappy and not to believe in anything. We have one life to live, enjoy it to the max with no regrets. I don’t want to be that girl who walks around saying it’s not going to happen, it doesn’t exist, it will never work…frankly that’s too much for my brain. I like believing in something. I like hoping for good things. I like being excited over what God’s going to do in my life and how that will impact others. God has showed me that my way is rough and I have paid the price for it. I was stubborn and impatient and human but he let me see the error I had made. Now He tells me that his way is better and leads to fulfillment and joy. Who wouldn’t want that? My sun has risen again and yet I see how I can make my own life complicated. So goodbye hopelessness. Hope is my new thing now and it’s going to be like that for a long time. This reminds me of Natasha Bedingfield’s song ‘Smell the roses.’

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The post Anchor for the soul appeared first on The Lily Review.

As I write this, I am nursing taste buds that have been aroused, albeit unknowingly, but aroused nonetheless by my best friend’s roommate who has no idea that my budget disallows the luxury that is a decent lunch. I cannot stretch it beyond weekly treats, I simply cannot. On the upside, the “baby fat” around my midsection is saying bye bye, a minute loss but one worth documenting seeing as I am running short on good news. Who wants a sad read? Not me.

My most valuable lesson though, has been trust. Owing to my all too naïve nature, I have managed to lose a house and my dignity. The former I believe has been vaguely documented in the previous paragraphs and in my defense, giving my housemate the rent to pay, and trusting they would do so was out of respect for her age and standing among my peers (she is nine years older than us). The later however, I could blame slot of factors, desperation, disillusion, an inactive brain hence the slow thinking, the con man’s skills in deception, even the weather. But it all goes down to being too trusting.

Yes, a middle aged man in decent clad, a limp to his walk, can steal a phone from a girl in her early twenties just trying not to stay homeless and salvage her data and dream with it. I could break his other leg next time I meet him, but he is not worth all the energy nor an extra sin in my very long list. I could suggest a few that need deceptive people like you but I will leave you to your own devices. Surely wherever the brilliant idea to cheat your way into ‘pen mbili na ndururu’ is over pouring with more brilliant ideas. Moving on swiftly.

I have been living with #1 the past few weeks. Trying to get my computer fixed on my budget and getting a job that will help me get my own space if only just to do one of my famous drunk splits. Oh yes, I left out that I was fired. And paid in halves that are not even complete. I mean good Lord! Does it hurt anybody to pay the three hundred a day minimum wage in full? To make matters worse, I have to call the person three times a day. It seems like the past few weeks I have been calling upon some god three times a day. So I stopped.

People need to learn the art of nobility. Pay what you owe. In terms of teaching these brothers and sister of ours this art, I will make do with my literary skills, litigators with their skills, karma with her vileness and so on. If not, we leave it to a higher power. There are more pressing matters like re-writing a book. Thank God for my stone-age methods, I have a few chapters in hard copy. Plus, I have a feeling the loss, as cliché as it may seem, happened for a reason.

So I will get lost in my writing, and live.

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The post When it rains, it pours appeared first on The Lily Review.

The people supporting the law state that this law protects women, prevents them from being used and discarded. It gives all women an opportunity to become a legal wife, instead of being a scandalous mistress. It also helps restore marriage because the woman does not have the pressure to do all the work in the household. She has a companion to help her meet her husbands needs, hence has more time to devout to her own interests.

This law is also supposed to protect the children because they are now can live without being the shameful evidence of some man’s indiscretions. A lot of Kenyan men have had affairs and have children from this affairs this children are often kept secret and don’t get the same quality of life as the children from the legal wife. These causes deep seated issues that manifest in low self esteem, drug problems and more than anything a confused sense of self and their role in society,

On the other hand, why is it that only the men can have more than one wife? What happened to, what is good for the gander is good for the goose also called gender equality? If men want more than wife, why not pursue the women all at once? Why do they get to lure the women in one by one like sheep to the slaughter? I propose that if a man wants four wives, he should marry all four at once. He should not be allowed to suck the life out of one and get a new one after each decade.

What about wealth protection? Don’t women have a choice to protect themselves financially from scheming people who slime their way into their husband’s beds? If a husband chooses to marry another woman, does the woman also have to split her pay check with the new woman? What about the wealth that was accumulated, does the new woman just walk into wealth that easily like manna that has been dropped from heaven.

The Western world is not providing a good example with half the marriages ending up in divorce more so with the working structures changing from fulltime to fly in and fly out, part time and flexible work programs making marriages harder to resolve. Clearly the one man one wife is not working for the Western world too. But is polygamy the answer? What happened to fidelity and faithfulness till death? Should we all compromise on our values and create laws based on our weakness. Men decide that they cannot control themselves hence they write laws religious and otherwise to make it more acceptable. Are we also going to make the laws based on this premise, let’s legalise junk food, subsidise it and market it to children. We all succumb to it, junk food makes us sick, but we all enjoy it so let’s ignore the facts and just give in!

If we are legalising things that make life easier, lets make a law that forces afternoon naps on week days, we all would be so much more productive after a after lunch siesta. The issue of one wife one man marriage is complex and needs to be discussed and all the facts be put on the table. Laws should not only be a reflection of the culture they should also be an aspiration a model. If the law does not lay high standards for its citizen, the people have no choice but to falter and bow to their own weaknesses.

Photo credit: ahylton

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The post Is polygamy the answer? appeared first on The Lily Review.

“Almost did not get to work but I am here. Tell me about your skinny girlfriend.” She is actually the ex-girlfriend but I have this strong inclination to annoy the hell out of him regardless. This city is starting to eat at the few sensitive muscles I had left after high school.

“Don’t ruin my lunch wewe! And respect people’s sizes. Not everyone is as fat as you, you know?”

“Aaah touché!”

“You started it. And no more talk about her okay. That is the least I need from my best friend. Be nice to me would you?”

“You know you don’t have to ask that. I’ll be mean anyways. School? What’s new in that former neighbourhood of mine?”

“Well, since you graduated early, the course got extremely easy. You should have stayed on a while love.”

“You know it has never been about it being complicated.”

“I know. You’re happy though?”

“You have to ask?” I say, grabbing my fourth chicken wing.

“I am happy you are happy. I might marry you the way things are going.” He looks so handsome every time he says that; dangerously handsome.

“You’re sure mama would want you to marry a school dropout?”

“If she followed her dreams and made it. If she is a hard worker like you, yes.”

Heat flushes my cheeks.  “You flatter me.” I say looking now at my empty bag of French fries. I am contemplating starting my morning runs.

“I know right? Lazy bum. Don’t get fired from this one. You need it to get by. How’s the book going?”

“Writers block.”

“Isn’t that for real writers?”

I realize I am still hungry and between lashing out at him for that crude and insensitive statement and grabbing an extra bite to eat, the latter proves less tedious so I go to the counter and order another bag of fries and three pieces of chicken.

“You’re paying.”

“Punishing a guy much?”

“Be careful what you say around me. You will pay in kind.”

I regret that statement soon as it leaves my mouth.

He draws closer. “In kind you say?”

His breath almost fused with mine. So hot. His face barely two inches apart from mine. A rush runs through me.

“Would you look at the time! Don’t want to get fired from this job. Got to pay rent.”

I bolt, wrapping my food in a plastic bag. You never know when that scary, irritating feeling called hunger creeps in. In my case, it is probably every hour owing to my very healthy metabolism. I am still amazed at how much weight I have managed to keep off. Though I have noticed with a lot of concern which I so wisely put off for later-wouldn’t want to get ulcers over small things- that I have started growing an extra thick and bulgy layer of skin around my waist.

I do the cross sign and get into the office.

Time flies and after a few emails and phone calls it is 4.45p.m, my cue to pack up and bolt.

Three more hours and I go home to my house with no power and barely any furniture but hell isn’t it bliss. I look at my purse, and it’s empty.

My phone beeps and the message reads, “Thought you would want to get home today.”

I scroll down and see the conspicuous MPESA message. What would I do without my best friend? For starters, walking home is not something I like thinking about. I quietly answer as I lock up.

My phone beeps again. “And tomorrow, and the day after.”

“I owe you.” I respond, a huge grin that I am so relieved he is not around to see brushed across my mouth for almost two seconds. Off to queue for the bus to my home. I love my life.

Photo credit: bwisotsky

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My dad gave me a few examples and I want to share some of them. The first example is about a man who left his fiancé at the altar and married another woman. He stayed married for 20 years but he still couldn’t find the fulfillment he had been looking for. One day he ran into the woman he left at the altar, they hit it off and until now he says that he feels at peace and fulfilled when he’s with this woman than with his wife.

The second example is a woman my father was talking to. She told him that her husband had been constantly cheating on her. He married a second wife and had 3 kids with her; he then married a third wife and had four kids with her. Now the husband is trying to win his first wife back. Whatever he was searching for he found it in her.

As I listened to my dad talking I could agree with a lot of what he said. God is just amazing. He uniquely creates a man and a woman and ties them together. God has created a perfect love for you. When I say perfect I don’t mean romance in books and telenovelas…I mean perfect in God’s eyes. The way God created love is not complicated; we humans complicate it because we’re always trying to find ways to make it work for us.

My dad said that when God binds a relationship it is beyond human understanding. He went on to say that every relationship made by God is controversial to humans hence us trying to find a way around it. God makes you sync with that particular person, not another human. God is responsible for bringing you two people together. God is responsible for the love you feel for each other. He then binds you with that love and when God is present in your relationship you know He fights for you.

Firm relationships have a resistance. Family and friends cannot break that connection because it is bound by God. Half the time, your family and friends won’t like the person you choose to marry but you find yourself fighting for him/her because you know that you don’t want to/can’t be with someone else. We just need to stop running around looking for temporary pleasures and pacifiers and choose to stay put where God has placed us. Love is not a formula or mathematics. It’s simple and complete.

Photo credit: atroszko

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The post The concept of love appeared first on The Lily Review.