I’m done pretending I’m okay, and happy; that I don’t soak my pillow with the salty water that flows from my eyes on most nights. I’m not okay and that’s fine because I will be…and soon, if I face up to the things that make me cry. So this post is about acceptance -admitting that something isn’t right and dealing with it. This is me saying I need a hug, a nice word because on most days, I’m not having a nice day at all. This is about finding the cause of these tears and dealing with it… It’s about rising above the hurt and pain and confusion and coming out of it a wiser, stronger person. This about letting go….of the shame; the fear of people seeing your tears -knowing you’re a human being just like them. This is about courage, and supporting yourself even when it seems no one will be there for you…

because you couldn’t dare

Okay someone needs to say this… the 2013 human being takes him/herself WAY too seriously. That’s why there’s so much sadness, discontentment, unhappiness…  this tech-savyness (and I use the word ‘savvy’ very loosely has exposed us to so much more than our minds are able to possess in so little a time. The result, we’re all looking for a deeper us. We’re looking for a meaning, a reason, a better, richer more… an explanation of some sort for why we’re so effed up; why we aren’t happy with just being us. We’re desperate for acceptance but don’t even accept ourselves. And in that process, we’ve forgotten to live. We’ve forgotten what it feels like to listen to a song and dance because its go a nice tune. No. The 2013 human being is Einstein –looking for the meaning behind the meaning behind the meaning. What happened to those days when music meant celebration and not whatever conspiracy-against-self theory your brain came up with a few minutes ago? What happened to that couple that danced to “can’t be with you tonight” by Judy Boucher as their first dance on their wedding because it was slow and had a nice beat and had the words ‘I love you’ here and there (because that’s really all a slow song really was back then). Before we all became critics, first of ourselves and then of everyone and everything around us?

Can everyone just breathe a little? And while you’re at it, dance to tune because it has a nice beat. Who cares that the artist’s father’s step mom’s great uncle’s cousin was an atheist? How do you even know that stuff anyway? Where do you find that kind of time? I’m sure you can find a better way of spending it… like, you know, PAINTING because you like colours or art or just because you feel like it. You don’t have to know what you’re doing. We can’t all create the mona lisa anyway. But just do it because you enjoy it. And then hang it up and for God’s sake OWN IT!  And even though I’ll see ‘volongoto’ when I look at it, you’ll see that random day when you were feeling so happy that you picked bright colours to represent your state of mind. I mean, to each their own, yes?

And while you’re at it, anyone care to share the definition of depression/bi-polar etc in luganda?



If my life were a picture, it would be a pretty little house with a white picket fence and bush of white roses and a tree filled with birds chirping away. it would be in a secluded area on a hilltop somewhere away from the noise and congestion and traffic jam of the city. It would be peace and serenity. That one place everyone wants to live in but cant. So they resort to sour-graping and throwing stones, which by the way don’t even reach my little haven.

And then that force of nature you never see coming. Attractiveness, intelligence, charm, humor, experience and eccentricity all neatly packaged together. It takes you by storm. No amount of preparedness can protect you. It’s all-knowing and wise -anticipating your next move even before you know you’re going to make it. Hurricane Veronica. She’ll destroy everything she comes into contact with. Your life, your happiness, your innocence and then some. Your heart is just a victory belt; proof that she came, saw and conquered. She’s stronger with every conquest. Calculating and selfish. If blue is what you want, blue is what she’ll be.

“but the white picket fence!” you almost shout as you tear it apart, “wasn’t it supposed to protect me? wasn’t it supposed to keep humanity’s ugliness out?” you almost shout. The world stops spinning for a fraction of a second, appalled by your naive innocence.

and then you realize the picket fence would have kept the boogieman out, if only you’d seen past his sparkling clothes and colgate smile. but you didn’t  You let the boogieman in.

so with your tail between your legs, you pick up a hammer and some nails and start to rebuild your white picket fence.