Messing Up. It’s me here again fighting technology. Most of you make me sick. I’ve visited the internet to look for reasons for skipping the sprinkle (I showered yesterday after all) and all I bump into after a marathon on social media is your #ThrowBackThursdays melodrama. All these pictures devoted to making me feel that … More Previously on ‘adulting’
When you think about it, most of the good inventions and innovations come along to make sin a whole lot easier, fun and faster. Rat routes must have been evolved by people who wake up late and have to dash to work to lie to their bosses how they were stuck in traffic. Smokers too. Let me narrow the scopes down to ‘weed smokers’. The rest have nothing to hide. Funny though; we short cut users know each other by name; at least a false one. … More Rat-routes …
Is there a queue anywhere? Like at a soft drinks booth? Good! Join the queue. You don’t really have to buy anything. When you reach the end of the queue, just plonk to it’s tail and help elongate it. Sometimes just watching the world burn is what you need after all. I have a penchant for queuing and apologizing, especially when fueled by coffee from a hawker. I’m sorry. … More Sit in a park
Some times, you forget to turn off the tap. Then you go to bed. One such plumbing mistake in a bedsitter would find you waking up by the seaside. Life can be a total beach in a bedsitter. Black-outs in bedsit land? Misery too. … More Once upon a bedsitter …
That’s why I’ll miss Otis. I’m sure his wifey never discovered our numerous escapades through breathalyzer checkpoints, completely unscathed by the law. Mark you, Otis was rarely home. I’ll long for the inebriated attempts to sing some golden country music such as “country road, take me home” that Otis did at the wheel; having arrived at the gate in one piece at 1 a.m. Most times he’d visit my quarters at the top-most floor the following day-break before wifey got up and leave me with the remnant oranges, lemons, gum and other chewables that were myriads attempts to drown the smell of alcohol that she loathed. “Mrs. Otis didn’t entertain edible paraphernalia in the house unless brought by her,” Otis often claimed. … More Tragedy at House No. 352
Beyond my here and now; an eclipse. The ‘twenties’ are … strange. The duality of striving to be alive to reality yet at the same time holding onto dreams is quite the challenge in many a twenty-something’s life. In fact, both child-eyed wonder and hard-nosed reality struggle to weigh each other down on opposite sides … More Beyond my here and now; an eclipse.
It is these little pieces of interruptions called ‘growth’ that actually spoil childhood. You remember those days when you told someone you loved them and really meant it? That age. That’s when one plus one was plainly two and there was nothing to hide about that. Then, the glass was really not half empty, neither was it half full. You just broke the glass. … More WildVentures with kids …
Growing up, i found it confusing trying to get the real meaning of what it is to be a teenage boy: boisterous, uninhibited, preoccupied with having fun with pals; even playful though less than a child but with vigour than a man. In life, it is a fleeting interlude — a time when boys are … More Aye… Troubled teens?
My coffee’s steaming. The mist clouds some damp on my wall mirror and rains back onto my study desk. It’s such a spectacle for an idle mind. I know the charm and poetry of quiet nights when from dusk to dawn you sit at your desk or indulge your mind with dreams. I believe, I … More Dream chasers
Then, I come from that part of the world where I have to mention our hens that look fleshy, not only to the boys in the hood (that’s me and my 2 bros who always have to answer a case of who slaughtered the chicken) but also to the chief’s cocks who make sure they exercise their curvy thighs by engaging them in what seems like prey-predator skills that come in handy for the x-mas chases that always ensue. Determined to strike gold in the hearts of our layers, these cocks always stream in through the fence we share with the chief, making them scamper all over the compound like stray bullets, to provide some cherished home-made entertainment for crazies like me, writer dog. I want home! … More Home’s always sweet!