He cries everyday, without fail,
like he received a doctor's prescription
He cries for hours on end
as if he would die if he does not
He responds to everything -
every action, every snub, every footstep,
by crying his lungs out
He has strong lungs, that boy
Nobody ever comforts him
None, not his sisters, not his mother,
they let him cry desolately by the stairs
until he realises the futility of the exercise
At some point in a reasonable man’s life, he will think deeply about ways of making himself filthy rich within the shortest time possible. As a reasonable man, that point came to me about three years ago. I thought deeply and decided that I was going to start my own religion. However, just like Robin Cooper, I encountered one major problem – what to believe in.
Upon thinking further, I realized I would
need a sacred book that would be a reference point for my religion, assuming I
settled on what to believe in. It would still be an uphill task considering the
fact that other religions have had centuries of a head start. It would simply
be impossible to catch up with them.
But I dreamt on. I banked on one Greek
philosopher’s wise words – no human is limited. Like a reasonable man, I called
up my religious council into a secret conclave to contemplate the matter
further. One of the members, which was I, brought up a very important question.
He asked us solemnly:
“Supposing we start our own religion, we
would need a religious book, right?”
We all nodded in agreement.
“Supposing we would write we own, how will
we explain the mystery of man’s existence? What would be our theory?”
It was impossible, we said, but still
wanted to know why the member asked the question.
“Well, I suppose that’s the only way to
make it believable to the gullible masses.”
After a long meeting that lasted approximately
three minutes, we all agreed that we need to have a few drinks. The matter was
swiftly forgotten after the third drink. The meeting was adjourned indefinitely
and we blamed it squarely on gengetone.
After a long time, we all reached a consensus
that starting a new religion would be a daunting prospect. The reason was
simple: we could not find a manual online!! We could not believe that Google
could miss extremely important piece of information. Trust google to let you
down when you need it most.
We assessed our options and settled on what
seemed an easier option. We could start our own church. Looking around, we
noted that there are churches run by people who are not that bright. How could
we fail, with all our brains? We only needed it to stand out as much as
possible. It is a business, we argued, and our product must be quite
remarkable. It would have to outshine all other churches and make us extremely
rich in no time.
As we think about the market entry
strategy, the religious council (I, Me, and Myself) are out there to take one
for the road hoping that we do not forget about this strategy.
Footnote
(You have seen how Owuor is filthy rich.
Damn it, man. I wanna be that rich. I want to buy my second private jet. Pssst!
The Enemy is Poverty, and Arsenal, and …..you may add your own).
there will days, unwelcome days,
when our dreams hobble along,
tagging us behind,
and we rush to keep pace,
panting,
wondering whether they are worth it
But what's the worth of a man
who carries with him unfulfilled dreams
the burden is too much
every breath screams LOSER
And we try each day not to be failures
sometimes we try even harder
not to fail by not trying at all
but then each day is a reminder
that we could be a day closer to our dreams
if we tried yesterday
Here's to that friend
who's watched all your follies,
rescued from the little graves
you've knowingly dug
here's to that friend who will
never abandon you
Here's to that true friend
who will share even
when it is evident they need
it more than you
even when they have barely enough
Here's to true friends
may your wells never run dry
may your prayers make us
better friends
may we be the friends you are to us
Here's to true friends
may your paths be paved
with unimaginable blessings
may your secret dreams
and your sacred desires come true
today and forever
Here's a toast to true friends
who see the shred of good left in us
yet our worth never wane
here's to friends who will not
abandon us
Here's to family - the only true friends
The backbiter often roams with a motive
He is an hunter trying to corner his kill
Sometimes he is recruiting sympathizers
To an implicit cause
The backbiter wants you to say something
Something that resonates with the sinister motives
Or implicate yourself
So that he can use it as a salvo
To fire up his dwindling self-image
Do not fall for a backbiter's charms
For when you turn your back against them
He takes a huge chunk of it
A backbiter is never satisfied
I may act alright, but deep-down Mollie’s words grate my mind in quite an unsatisfactory manner. I knew that she was predisposed to be strongly opinionated. But I also know, like anyone that knows, that extremely opinionated people cannot take strong opinions, nor even facts that prove that their opinions are nothing but hot air. When you are stupidly in love, you can ignore strong opinions because that would mean getting some action when the lights are turned off, or getting that unwelcoming cold shoulder.
Mollie is the sort of person who will be quiet and then randomly says things. Often, what she says has no preamble. She can begin a story in the middle and fill it up with facts later. I remember that day we were just chilling, her absentmindedly making her nails while I read a paragraph or two of whatever story caught my attention. Mollie said, in a way a prophet might say, that ‘githeri, omena, and matumbo’ are symptoms of poverty. I turned her words in my head and concluded that they could only be words that come from someone named after the first cloned sheep.
It did not bother me then. Mollie’s presence intoxicated me. Or, to put it more precisely, made me a remarkable fool. Being in love can make a grown man look like a fool because love was designed to look that way. Picture that tough man in your life and chances are that he looks and acts a fool in the presence of a female with whom he has no qualms about losing his inhibitions. It is one of the requirements of loving.
Now that I am no longer stupid, I can turn Mollie’s words in my head and try to analyse them like a specimen on a scientist’s table. For a start, Mollie claims that she is a sapiosexual. I did not know what that meant at first but I got enlightened when consulted google. You can’t really think highly of a person who thinks so lowly of other people’s favorite foods. Because she was my favorite person, I nodded to her words and sought no further explanation as that would have made me a participant in her opinions. After getting past the talking stage and then into the intimate zone, you learn to stop being a participant in certain things.
As I sit now, I wonder about the kind of research Mollie used to conclude that certain foods were a symbol of poverty. For instance, what was her hypothesis? What problem was she even researching? And she had the audacity to claim that she is a sapiosexual. Now that we are not together anymore, I can also say that pizza and fried chicken are symbols of ill health.
