Rhumba ya Jirani.

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  It's 11:18, I'm yet to sleep.  Earlier, hapo 6 or 7 pm, jirani karibu animalize na Dojo Maber, playing it over and over again, karibu I head over there, knock on their door, and tell them, hata kama ni kupenda wimbo aje, imetosha sasa.  But ni kama alijua or alisense before niende nimbishie, akachange playlist, akaamua sasa ni ngoma za Sauti Sol back to back. As I'm writing this, ni Insecure by Sauti Sol playing, ma baddies wakising along this part at the top of their voices,  Chini ya maji, si ni machizi Twachunguzana kipolisi And your body is a movie And I hope you feel the same But you're insecure (eeeeeh) Oh my you're insecure (aaaaaah) Oh my you're insecure (eeeeeh) And I'm insecure (aaaaaah) Before like an hour before, nilikuwa niko 50/50, scratch that, nilikuwa nimebakisha kidogo ni gate crush, ju naskia masauti nyororo, niko zile za damn it!  Si nivuke kwa jirani?  Kumbe this is how Fomo feels like? Such a nasty, nasty feeling! Inafanya hadi nakaa...
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Absurdity of it

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                 I was in this virtual space with creatives, creative writers to be specific, you know what they say about birds of a feather, don't you? We were in this virtual space discussing different issues here and there when someone happened to pose this to the rest of us


Can we play a little? I'm tired of typing, my nails are becoming red. How many of you have asked yourself this? 

“Am I actually doing the right thing?”

“Is this story worth telling?”

I must confess the more I make my story sound emotional, the more it's sounding like a comedy piece.

 

I related to it so much. I had been crafting a story to submit to a certain writing competition. I had been sitting on it for a while. It didn't have anything to do with creativity or writer's block, far from it. It could be the imposter syndrome creeping in, the vulnerability expressed by what I was penning, or how I was second-guessing everything I wrote. 


One thing is for sure, the longer I lingered on it, the more absurd it became. It may not be about being serious, or life was more about learning to laugh at your own emotional, and physical roller coasters, turning them into punchlines no one saw coming. There I was, pondering if this story would ever have an ending worth remembering. 


But here was the catch—just when I thought I had finally figured it out, the plot always twisted in ways I did not expect. When I thought I could embrace the chaos, it threw me another curveball—life’s own way of saying 

“Not so fast.” 

It's funny, isn't it? 


The moment you think you have cracked the code, life hits you with a plot twist you never even rehearsed for. And there I was, standing between what I expected and what actually was. 

The absurdity of it all? 

Maybe that’s the punchline.

Maybe I'll finish drafting the story, edit it, and submit it to the writing contest. Perhaps the story will wow the judging panel, and I'll win the contest, or I may not win the contest Either way, it is going to unlock infinite opportunities to hear and experience different angles to different stories. 

Or perhaps, 

the story is just beginning. 

Who knows? 

Maybe it’s meant to keep unfolding.


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Is a pleasure to keep you as my reader entertained. Peace✌️

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