There are some posts that I write beforehand and schedule the drafts to be published at the particular day and time I want.
At the same time, there are those that are typed in the wee hours of the night just because new ideas come in at that time or rather I get inspiration to do so ( they say such hours are regarded as those for writers and creatives perhaps?)
This happens to fall in the latter category. This is one of those late night posts. It’s all quiet and my mind is at a high with thoughts raging inside my head.
I am struggling to make a decision. Whether I will let myself show my vulnerability to my readers and let them in on some parts of my life that are not all pomp and glory. To be honest, I don’t whether I am ready for that. Themselves, are they ready?(as you read this are you ready?)
I like to think this is a situation many writers find themselves in, at least on some occasions. (Okay!yes. You’re right. Everyone finds themselves in this situation at some point in certain relationships or interactions. But allow me to major this on writing).
As I was saying, thoughts do linger as you write.
Will you be judged?Will they understand?Will they relate?Were I to write every single thought I have now I would not stop.(Overthinker alert!)
I already feel a sombre mood arising….
“You will lose someone you can’t live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”
― Anne Lamott
Slightly over a month ago I came across one my mother’s diaries. One that she probably used when she was in university. Actually, come to think of it, it was more of a gratitude journal. She wrote about the things she was grateful for and noted down some verses that expressed her gratitude and the faithfulness of God.
One entry that struck me was one concerning my grandfather. She had written that she was grateful that he had schooled her sister, her brothers and herself. That he had had given all of them an equal footing and a fair shot at life.
This I had found shortly after her demise and it took me back many years back. Back when my father was alive.
There are many things my father would have tolerated but missing from that list was mediocrity. Nothing angered him more than settling for less, than being average rather than your best.
I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’m the first born child, but I kid you not, when it came to education he treated me like a man. Nevertheless, in other aspects of life, I was his princess.
I don’t know if I could call my father a Christian as such but he knew there was a God. A week I can never forget was the week I sat for my KCPE examinations. Each morning from the rehearsal day to the lastday of the exam, he would invite the whole household to gather togethr and he would pray for me.
This was to me the greatest act of love I had been shown then. I was so happy.
Fast forward to the results coming out. I had just attended a camp in Kisumu and on returning I decided to stay in Nairobi as I didn’t want to be home when the results were announced.
(I’m one of those people who care about their grades and all that stuff. Who genuinely love school and all. I hurt when I get less than I put in work for. A whole lot!)
According to me,my results weren’t what I hoped. Let’s say..I got seven marks less what my least target was. And that really depressed me.
I finally got over it and purposed to do better in high school. I felt I had let myself and my parents down really. They had been amazing parents and I thought exemplary performance was the least I could give them. But mostly my dad..(I was a daddy’s girl)
In highschool, once I joined, I wrote a letter home to my dad. I still felt that I had let him down so I wrote promising to do better in highschool and asking for forgiveness.
I hadn’t posted the letter yet because there were specific days to send mail, hence I was to wait for the following week. However, before then, I was called by the deputy principal who told that I sould go back to the dorm and ensure that I have packed all my stuff since someone would be coming for me the next day.
I thought I was transferring to another school because well..the school hadn’t been my first choice.In fact, I had even bid guys good-bye and just wished evryone the best. I even gave out what I thought I wouldn’t need in my new school.
But when I saw my aunt come for me on that Friday and us not carrying any luggage I had packed..I knew someone had died. I just didn’t know who.
My father had died. I hadn’t made it up to him. I hadn’t said bye.
I was without emotion for days. In disbelief. I never viewed his body. I’d hope he’d come back..like in the movies where people fake their deaths and all.
Afterwards it hit me. I cried everyday for months.(But sadly for me more tears were on the way)
Second term, I transferred highschools. Went to Pangani. I was depressed. I was going through a lot. I didn’t share much with people. Filling in forms and having to write deceased was a constant reminder. The tears didn’t go. I would cry deep under my blankets. When in class any discussions about death would trigger my tears, but I was good at hiding.Whenever, I failed in a test I was triggered too.
I had nightmares, I had dreams. I’d see my dad. I’d just cry…This went on for a while.
While in form three, my mother got diagnosed with cancer….
This is part one.
I will have a total of three parts for this. It shall be consecutive for the next two Fridays.
See you again next Friday as I take you through my personal life journey.
People go through a lot a times. Be kind!