Mteja.

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  8:23 am.   It's a few days after Christmas, unajua hizo siku zenye uko autopilot tu, waiting for 31st, upige nduru yako safi, or light up fireworks? It's the 30th, you would think nimetulia, at peace ju niko home, wrong! My mum ananipigia msomo on and on. I want to tell her, it's too early for this bana, chill! Najua nikiongea tu hivi, itakuwa a full blown argument, so I let her be. She is talking about stuff like mbona hauna bibi na watoto sahii?  She goes, nini unangoja? Angalia fulani, si mko age moja? Watu age yako wako na boma already! Tangu umalize campus, sijaona pahali hio masomo imekusaidia… She goes on and on chewing me off. In my head niko zile za Get back get back, you don't know me like that, talking a whole lotta shit I ain't trying to hear.  At that point, I even started regretting mbona nilishow up at home, at all, ningekaa kwangu tu. I'm getting pissed with each minute that passes from my mum chewing me off, mara comparing me to my cousins, ma...
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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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