It is not much of a secret that I only ever write poems when I am deeply moved emotionally, furiously angry, terribly sad, very very happy, well, fill in the other instances when you have read poetry at Sheblossoms.
Now that we have sufficiently explained the poem that appears just before this post, let us move on to secrets.
Someone just mentioned to me that the decision to be a writer pretty much equals a decision to forfeit your privacy. Well, for me, unless sometime soon I become a multimillion best seller and I become the obsession for papparazzos, it only means that posting my work and thoughts online, places me in a position where I will be judged, either for very bad or hopefully excellent writing, or for strangely weird, or even worse, simplistic cliched thinking.
It seems to me that their is no in-between when it comes to writing or any other entertainment art. It can either be absolutely mediocre, or incredibly creative. If you don’t fit in one extreme, you fall straight down to the other. If your opinion or presentation is not the norm, then it is considered weird. If it is not intelligent, then it is no doubt simplistic. The entertainment industry is never forgiving. Ever.
I know you are wondering what the secret is about all this. Well, it has nothing to do with writing.
It has a lot to do with the journey of 2009.
My writing, or to be more precise, blogging, has very likely revealed to people who stop by at Sheblossoms the things I have gone through this year. I started out very optimistic. I even justified chaos.
And then I went into the Comic Phase. January is generally the year when I dig into my comic collection and figure out what I don’t have then start the hunt. It is a long tradition that has not been quite classified as such till a few days ago when mum and I did the clutter eradication. I collect comics. Tintin, Asterix, Archie, Jughead, The Marvel Universe… Why? My brother was an artist. He loved comics among other things. After he died in 2001, I ended up with his comic collection. The day I found the stash of comics was January 4, 2002.
February was my Superbike month. It was on this month that I originally wrote the article that was inspired by the discovery that my mama loved big machines, even when she refused to approve of my Superbike fixation. She fell short of forcing me to sign a contract that stated that no matter how much money I ever earn, I shall never, ever, ever acquire a Monster Bike.
Early March the signs of an acute onset of Fibromyalgia begun to show. I thought I was used to the cycles, had even started to hope that it would come to an end. Anyway, I started to moan. I got more tired faster, started losing interest in stuff I love, and slowly sunk into acute distress by the end of the month.
After about two weeks in hospital, I decided to rebel against the attack. So during the month of April, I travelled to Kakamega to take part in a week long Writing Camp for Teen Girls. In Sheblossom fashio, I managed to turn that event into a clash with an NGO Mistress. However, it would be unfair if I did not underline that a lot of good did come out of our time with the girls. At least, judging from the calls I still receive from the teen beauties.
Michael Jackson died in June. I cried. Well, just a little. I still listen to his music, don’t you? I even contributed to financial numbers that his estate received since. Yes, I made sure it was a genuine copy. Speaking of tears, I lost Mary, and Peanut this year.
July was my slumber party month. I had one with the tiny little princesses whose mummies were at a hen party, and another with the Divas whom I could never quite figure out why I hang out with them. But hey they came to my house and I needed to feel a little more alive than the Fibromyalgia and Lupus allowed me to feel. And the Divaesque rubbed off on me, at least for one night.
In August, I got a major jolt, that convinced me to stop pitying myself and just live, love, live. I think every human being needs this kind of jolt every once in a while. We get so caught up in our day-to-day life, that we forget that we do not owe thiw world a thing. We start complaining and whining, that we forget fundamental rules of life. So, if life lets you live, it ain’t your place to kill it!
Thankfully, I have these important persons in my life who never forget to remind me about what is important in life. I am so infinitely glad for these persons who mean much to me. One of them would be Khalid, the man who features in my very own Legend. The Legend of Creek Town, I am told, is a very disturbing story. I don’t see why, because I think it pretty much describes what is going on in our world; the cycle of abuse that is entrenching itself into many family lives.
November is officially marked as my month of grief. Still it offered me some comic relief. Someone I care about came to visit after a whole year away. That was interesting. I got some major revelations too. And I went into a ramble about Tampons.
As the year comes to a close, I have become acutely aware of quite a few things. I am smart. I am strong, maybe not physically, but definitely in other ways. I am loved. Not quite funny, and wardrobe challenged but I get by. I can get better, not in the dressing department unfortunately for your eyes,but I have discovered the potential for continual growth in other areas. I will have to buy a set top box, or a digital TV. I actually still like kids; you know, those little monsters that can drive a body mad. I will definitely adopt one sometime.
I still chose to love without justification. Sometimes that choice drives me crazy, or exhausts me, but I open my heart anyway. I have been spending too much time worrying about other people’s writing that I have neglected my own for a while, so now I shall pull out my very own novel to work on it. Safaricom calls Kenyan peculiar because we all indeed are, otherwise the firm would not have any clientele in Kenya. But I am definitely moving to another internet connection provider. Suggestions? I am officially completely irrevocably and very dangerously in love with the Golden Boy. The love in unrequited. *sob*
As a matter of fact, while a certain Carolyne Gaithuma begins work on her movie set for release in 2011 if things stay on schedule, I, will begin work on one of those pathetic mexican, worse yes, filipino soap operas where the lead lady cries just as much as the lead (lord?). Based on a true story. So there, that is a potential unresolution for next year. Move on. Well, just until he shows up somewhere and I fall right back to 17 years of age.
I wish you all the best in your endevours this month. Don’t drink and drive. Keep a stash of Eno, and deodoriser. Be nice to your relatives. Yes, even that disturbed mother-in-law of yours. Don’t fall in love with Golden Boys, or Girls. And write down the plan for 2010.
© Juliet Maruru 2009 www.jmaruru.wordpress.com