Go bigger, get better!

The Tale of Spongebob

I have this friend, whose name I will withhold. *just in case what I’m about to write comes back to bite me dans le derriere*. We’ll christen him SpongeBob to avoid monotonous pronouns throughout. So SpongeBob is a guy in his mid-twenties that just graduated; lucky for him, he got a considerably good job that gives him a healthy balance between passion and pay. Lucky lass aye?

The life of SpongeBob is characterized by ‘millennial setbacks’; namely SINGLEHOOD.

He, just like many other millennials believe it is their right to be in a relationship. Those are the people who when asked their hobbies, top their list with socializing (flirting), then eating (going on dates), then having fun (…..).*I assume by now your eyes are open, fill in the blanks*. 

*this is where I drift kidogo*

 

If you want to know you’re a millennial and shame on you if you are one and were born in the 1900s; to you #RelationshipGoals have become more important than career goals, having a beard is cooler than having a talent, status is taking a mirror-selfie with an iPhone…forget about professional portfolios.

And by the way…you with the selfie-phone! Sharing Friday pics mkihappen; only to post a selfie at 7.30am on Sunday with the caption God is good, Blessed Sunday, let’s go to church. Take a whiff of an empty sulfuric acid bottle then repent, it’s better than an eternal swim in it.

Enough drifting. 

SpongeBob has both been a fool and unlucky where women are concerned. Once, when he didn’t know me very well, he approached me after a concert and said, “You know Ivy, it’s good to seize opportunities as they come. Don’t regret not making the right choice.”

“SpongeBob what do you mean?”

“I think I’ve already shown how much I care about you…

*Having met me two days before and paying my fare worth 30 bob* …you know when you’re with me, I’ll make sure you’re comfortable. Hao vijana wasikudanganye, they just want you for your body but I think you have a nice voice.”

“So you want me for my voice?”

“I didn’t say that. Ai… hahahaha lakini you know how many ladies want me? That’s why I’m saying seize this opportunity, you might regret later.”

This guy didn’t even deserve my blessed rejection; there are some people you just don’t say no to. Not because they deserve a yes, but because your words are too sacred to utter to just anybody that treats you like a Burberry sheep. So you walk away humming Holy Ghost fire melodies.

Funny how we became friends later and he began to trust me with his relational issues. One time he left work and came to my campus to see me. So he sent people looking for me because he tried calling and well, you know when hardworking students go to the library they put their phones on silent and focus on their reading.

So he did something smart. Sat at the gate and waited for me to pass. “Ivy, Ivy…Hi, why don’t you pick calls? Been looking for you.”

“Pole, what do you need?” *straight to the point*

“I’m confused. There’s a girl I really like but recently found out we come from the same village. What do I do?”

“Talk to your pastor.”

“I just want your opinion, so I’m asking around then I go to him” (whatever happened to texting)

“Okay, I think you should see your pastor because he’s better equipped to handle such. That’s my opinion”

“I told my mum and she says I should find out the name of my girlfriend’s father to know if we are related. Her last name is ….. And my last name is ……”

(Do you see what this guy is doing? even after giving him my opinion? Kumbe he had answers)

*for shame*

“That’s really good advice, go and see your pastor he’ll give you more counsel.”

“Yeah, I’m worried because she wants to break up with me…” Aki at this point I just got tired and allowed him to go on and on about the exodus of his relationship till he was done.

“I don’t know what to tell you SpongeBob. AGAIN, How about you go to your pastor? With your girlfriend maybe? Text me about it. Good luck.”

Eventually he went to see his Pastor, but that incident and others before got me thinking… this guy doesn’t know how to cope with rejection. He doesn’t move past it. Why had he come all the way to get my opinion on something his dear mother addressed already? Why is he looking for opinion? Or is it gratification he seeks?

When a chick rejects you or some guy dumps you, the best thing to do; is cry because your life is over and no one will ever admire your stupid common face because it’s ugly.

Alternatively, you could come to the realization that it’s not your responsibility to be beautiful and without flaw for someone else. You are not alive for that purpose. Your existence is not about how desirable one finds you *Warsan Shire*. Circumstances like SpongeBob’s may come that separate you from people you want to be with; let them go. Live life as God has given it to you, enjoy it; with or without people. Feel but heal.

So hit on better and don’t settle for people in the league of your ex. For me I get disappointed when I bump into an ex and they introduce me to a girlfriend that doesn’t dress better than I did and or speaks like their brain is filled with Styrofoam. Go bigger, get better! It’s the best thing you’ll do for (against) your ex. It’ll hurt their feelings :) 

                                                                                                     Written by - Ivy Stephanie

Intoxicated; The Tale Of Love And Life

Intoxicated

Don’t you just love how we fall in love? It’s mysterious. Like the way we fall asleep – slowly then all at once; John Green’s words not mine. 

Our scathed reality slowly ushers in a fantasy; a lustrous moment that takes our breath away. Literary so if you’re into a plus-size beauty and you want to sweep her off her feet. I am willing to bet that those castle-in-the-sky moments are why people in love do crazy things. 

Things like staring at each other's eyes. Well because on a normal day I’d hardly stare at any eyes; not man eyes and not woman eyes either, I simply look at people’s eyes. You look at people’s eyes when talking to them, its courteous to, but you stare when you’re in love.

At that point when you’re the only rose in someone’s garden little else matters. Dudes become generous because of love. You’ll see Kinuthia, with all his stingy behavior agree to buy ‘Felly Fun’ roasted maize with the pilipili thing they smear on it. And both of them will be happy. She’ll giggle incessantly as they walk and disappear into the sunset. Kinuthia won’t feel cheated off his money. 

He’ll push her all the way to her home, two, maybe three ridges away, get a peck on the cheek (in the village they don’t really kiss but the peck is an equivalent, it will make even his toes tingle with excitement) and he’ll sleep under the stars in his Thingira a happy lad. He’ll look for more money to spend on her tomorrow.

It’ll feel Christmas; exhilarating. He’ll say he feels funny about Felly Fun – because they don’t have a word for goosebumps in Kikuyu.

And about the lemon and pepper stuff that people smear on roast maize, isn’t that slightly unhygienic? There is this day I was chatting up a maize roasting guy, do we have a name for them? To pass time as I waited for one of those friends that tell you ‘nipee five minutes’, turn up 30 minutes late and the first thing they say is ‘sijakaa sana. Sindio?’ 

So at the maize guy, five heads bought maize. Each squeezing the lemon piece with pepper (or whatever the red stuff is anyway) and running it, slowly – some did it fast, against the maize. How many hands? Five damn hands. Say one hand has shaken another 10 hands since morning – it was around 3pm – the total hands that will have touched that lemon will be fifty. Fifty!! I suggest that if you can’t go without roast maize, like if you’re crazy in love with roast maize, maybe deworm often. But again what do I know, akina Kibet have been eating those things since time immemorial and they’re still fine.

But Kinuthia and Felly Fun won’t mind the roast maize or the lemon thing, they’re in love. It is part of the daze of love. And before I forget, there is that weird thing I read at Biko’s where he christened a chic as ‘Freaky Fiona’. Isn’t that a weird pet name? Freaky Fiona would do weird things to his guy during copulation (don’t mind the choice of words, I am on a mission to make use of the stuff I learned in high school and that I can’t apply anywhere else, like the word copulation). But still Freaky Fiona? No. I think I will have to chose the pet name my missus will be calling me.

So speaking of a missus let me handpick one love story of my life. There’s this girl who I knew back in the day. Disclaimer here, back in the day can be any time between the third Saturday of Feb, 2005 and four years ago. I don’t want my sister who mysteriously found my blog to try time-guessing this.

So I was in my teens and with all my exuberance I only understood somewhat like twenty percent of what love entails. Thought I was a Mutahi Ngunyi of love though. Choosing a girl then was easy. The only (sloppy) standard I had was that she looks good - physically. And the loving I knew was easier; simply write to her as often as the meager pocket money I had from mzee allowed for postage expenses. I was a good writer. Splendid at drafting those ‘top-notch’ letters that made me more than Suzy’s Cupcake, I was her Kikuyu Shakespeare. Yeah she was called Suzy. No freaky pet name. We never had such then.

Here is a rare extract of my prowess

Dearest Suzy,

With love from my heart, I pick my golden pen from the basket of love to write to you this letter. I hope this letter finds you in the best of health as bestowed to me and you by the gods of love.

Time and capacity have teamed with ability and enabled me to jot something down on this *benedicted sheet of paper. ……..I want to say I love you spontaneously and continuously. Like the flow of Sagana river. ………. How my heart beats when I see you puts Tom Tom drum players in South Africa to shame. The other day I saw you and my metabolism stopped. I couldn’t eat even meat which I like a lot…….I want to marry you Suzy and have beautiful, chubby kids…..

Blah blah blah

So I have edited it a little bit but you get the gist. 

Then right about the end would be some song dedication from Westlife, Boys to men, Nsync, Iglesias, Keysha, and other musicians we fancied then. Before sealing the letter we’d apply cologne to it – just so she is sure it’s from you. Remember that vibe of I love the smell of your perfume? Yah that kinda stuff

I thought I’d marry Suzy. Seriously. But then on this other funkie I met a ‘rangi ya thao’ Caro with all the dimples, the perky chest, the bum and the gorgeous eyes. Okay lets back up to the eyes. She had those sensual and alluring eyes that you could see through to her heart but also carried some hint of mischief. I went Kinuthia on feelings; no English words kapsaa. Even love-struck isn't the word.

I leaned on the Kigo guy, my wing-man. Kigo was one of those guys from Murang’a with a heavy accent but big hearts. He had these endless stories that were centered on a certain river in their village and his journeys to and fro school in Tulaga buses. Most were unbelievable but interesting. He used to lie. He actually had twice the number of stories as the commutes he’d made. But I never cared; the best of wing-men are good liars. And the only other place Kigo had been to beside Murang’a was Kinangop. Such a tourist. Oh and he loved Ovacados too. They somehow soothed his failed attempts at bagging chics.

But me I bagged Caro. It didn’t take long to get her to converse;

Me: So, dimples yeah?

Caro: Huh?

Me: I like dimples. Dimples are pretty.

Caro: Me too, know anyone who has them? Ebu smile I see if you have them.

Me: Ha, I already like you. You’re funny. (She was funny or prolly the dimples were just distracting)

Caro: So what’s your project about? (It was a science congress)

Me: People with dimples (You can’t let such a conversation digress to boring science stuff, I’d have let down my ancestors)

Caro: C’mmon, enough with the funny stuff. Seriously, what’s your project about?

Me: There’s more funny where that funny came from.

I said a whole lot more stuff here and so fast forward to the point she guffawed, somewhat, and then we stared a bit. Love staring.

Caro’s eyes somehow convinced me she was the one. She was way cooler than Suzy. Like a long way cooler. She had this weng in her voice that I’d make Bruno Mars kind of sacrifices just to hear. I’d fight John Cena for her, ata kill Mufasa the lion. She even came from Nairobi man. And Nairobi was a synonym of all things cool. We got along mostly because I never had the accent from Mount Kenya and I made her laugh.

And just like that I forgot about Suzy. I got my epiphany moment way after Caro and I were no longer a thing. I realized I wasn’t shit when it came to love (excuse my French). I was just on a teenage roller-coaster of emotions. That was never love it was the opposite, your fall in all at once and then out slowly.

There always came a better one. Like those Rongai Nganyas.

Of course love is more sophisticated now. There are these crazy standards, the inner beauty thing, dines and wines at fine restaurants, regular trips to Galitos and Pizza Inn and KFC and Java and Café Deli and other fancy places. And akina Suzy and Caro are now different. They have more leverage now to deny ‘entering the box’. They have a job, prettier faces; smeared with lip gloss and massacre (there this kid I know who calls Mascara that) and lip stick, bums sticking out and all. 

I bet they would literary make you walk a wire to become their Bean-in-Githeri now.

Regardless, love is what it is. We can’t refuse to stare at each other’s eyes sometimes. We all get that Suzy or Caro or Freaky Fiona that drive us crazy. The one that, in the words of Idibia, will make you float like a pot upon the Nile (Confession; I did serenade another one of akina Suzy with this Jam, It was lit I’m telling you, we even nini’d).

In good and bad ways and big and small ways, we fall in love; we get intoxicated. 

Love is intoxicating.