Do I believe in love?

Cecii wanted to know.

Love consists not in gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction... Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I don't quite recall what it is I said to her but it can't have been the answer she was looking for. It can't have been a good answer either because to answer such a monumental question a man needs to give it quite a bit of consideration; something that is rather hard to explain on the spur of a moment in which any answer other than a simple yes or no will not do. Not without him appearing to be elusive. And yet, a yes, while being the more desirable answer, would only amount to a deceptive reassurance.... and perhaps a short-lived reprieve until some doubt crept in there and forced the question out again and this time a simple yes would most likely not work.

So, being of sane mind and body... I most likely said no with the hope that it would buy me some time as I sought out the real answer. I say likely because I truly don't recall if I did indeed say so and if I did, if I went on to explain that no. Did I tell her that 'love' for me was about as ambiguous as 'God'. That while I did not believe that he doesn't exist, that I don't really know what to believe.

Is love for instance a verb, noun, adjective or all of them? I know I love my mother dearly and would do anything for her...... right? And yet, I will not call her as often as she'd like me to call her. Most of my life I have rebelled, gone against her bidding and really been at logger heads with her; yet, I do believe I love her more than I love anybody else.

I also have friends who I don't nearly love as much, if at all, that I will call and talk to on a daily basis. People who I go to pains to remain agreeable with. So, do I really love my mother?

That is parental love... Perhaps that is different. Probably not what was meant when the question was asked but I think it goes a long way to explain my stance in the matter.

I hate to admit it now but for the longest time I believed in love at first sight... Actually, the idea of it appealed to me.... a lot. I dreamt of it happening to me, and a few times it materialized..... several times in fact. I have written about it here and here before..... And here is an account of the last time it happened. I bring this up because love as packaged by Hollywood and Hallmark, is an exclusive feeling that supposedly targets a single being - soul mate, who in return targets you with this same feeling. You'll tell me that it's not so simple and of course you will be right; Nothing is ever that simple.

For true love is inexhaustible; the more you give, the more you have. And if you go to draw at the true fountainhead, the more water you draw, the more abundant is its flow. - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Personally I like to think of love as a gift given to me by a benevolent giver - say the good Lord; or hardwired into my psyche over the billions of years it took for me to evolve, take your pick. An ability to care enough for somebody as to overlook their humanness; afterall, to be human is to err.

Like I once told Kellie, I love without conditions.... and that I think is as close to what I believe about love as my limited vocabulary will ever get. I have loved a lot, and continue to love to this day. It gets difficult when those that I love want me to define my love for them; even more so when they want to define it for me. It gets worse when they decide that my love is theirs and want to take possession of it. Very difficult.... but still I love.

Now, of being in love, which is what I think Cecii meant when she posed that question, I really don't know. I wouldn't accuse anyone of lying if they told me they were in love, but if it's anything like I felt in the instances referenced above, then that for me is too fleeting to be real.

So, do I believe in love? I really don't know if I do. I'd like to think that one day I'll find this woman who I'll fall madly and deeply in love with.... only question is, what then, will I do with all this other love. Do I stop loving others simply because I am now loving the one? Will the others understand that destiny has to have it's way?

So what keeps me up at night...?

Mr Darius was curious to know...

A new 'Hardy Boys' used to be all it took... then I turned 12. After that it was any novel I could get my hands on, be it a mere 250 pages or an 800 pages one. My written english improved ten-fold and my eyesight deteriorated at least twice as much. Which is why I can't stay up at night.... By the end of the day... well, maybe not the end, but by midnight, which as we speak... or type if you may, is but ten minutes away, my eyes are hurting so bad, the only remedy left is to shut them for a couple of hours.

In the last fifteen or so years I have learnt quite a bit, although I have to admit that most of it I have just as quickly lost as I have gained. But, one thing I know for certain I have learnt and retained is this; it is impossible to count all those sheep with my eyes closed. With luck I'll get to twenty... but usually I'm passed out before I can say eleven:)

Truth is overrated...

Honesty, on the other hand, is a more challenging game, and I am willing to play it in earnest.

I like to think that I am, generally speaking, an honest guy... but then again I don't speak generally.

All men profess honesty as long as they can. To believe all men honest would be folly.
To believe none so is something worse.
John Quincy Adams

Anyway, I have an idea. I have found that when questioned, due to my honest nature, I am forced to think and reply honestly to queries about myself and my life, outlook and what not.... even when I would not voluntarily discuss these very same. This has led to instances of self-revelation that have proven to be very fulfilling. I have gotten quite an insight into my rather complex personality.... yeah, I know I'm vain... and while I am not liking myself any more than I did before, I am at least getting used to the real me.

All stories should have some honesty and truth in them, otherwise you're just playing about.
Nigel Kneale

So, I am begging of you - my loyal reader, my not so loyal ones, and you who may have virtually stumbled upon me (blog) by accident to assist me on my journey to self-discovery. Ask of me any question you like... feel free to get as personal, or not, and I will gladly answer it here. I may not tell you the truth.... overrated and all, but I will be honest with you.

Email your queries.... but don't hold your breathe; a faceless corporation owns my time.

O.K...Listen up sucker...

Kindly tagged by Beth, and thus saved the embarrassment of having to tag myself again. In the same way, I am tagging all those sorry souls who have been missing out on getting tagged and are feeling it. A letter to 16 year old me. Thank God for the Internets for this letter would never have gotten posted.

This is probably my only chance to come back and virtually bitch-slap you for being the 16 year old fuck-up that you are and I'm a make the most of it. Whoever came up with this idea is about a decade and two years too fucking late but... like Bernard Shaw once said, better never than late. Yeah, for you anyway.

First, the world does not, and for that matter neither does your mother, your absent father nor anyone else unfortunate enough to be related to you, owe you a thing... nada! So you ranked in the top five in your fucking district when you sat your KCPE and still were not called to the National School you had picked. So what if your somewhat best friend who did not happen to have as high a score as yours was able to get into the same school just because his father knew the Minister of Education... it's called life in Kenya, at least back then. You didn't get to pick your parents, none of us did, but guess what, I doubt they'd have picked you either if they knew you were going to turn into such a sour puss. Move the fuck on.

Second, you don't know everything. Heck! What am I saying? You don't know shit so please stop acting like you do. A closed mind is an impediment to learning and, conversely, a stunter of growth. Eventually, you will open your eyes to this reality and it will hurt coz you will have no direction. You will look out to the world and your vision will be blurred. You'll reach out to the stars.....

O.K.... o.k...o.k... I realize I am about to completely lose you if I haven't done it already. You hate being told what to do and you hate even more being yelled at. Let me tone this down and see if perhaps I can get something through to you.

Here goes nothing.

Girls aren't nearly as fragile as you've been brought up to believe, they can handle way more than you think and they know it and will use it against you. Do not cater to their every whim. If you do, they will like you but they won't want you; you will want them but you won't like them. They told you back in primary school that girls are nothing but trouble.... that was not entirely true: They are trouble yes, but worthwhile trouble... trust me on that. So throw out the caution, you'll need the room for some condoms.

The boys on the other hand are hardly as tough as they seem. They may act and talk like it but they are not any tougher than you are. They are given to bragging... you are smart not to be quick to believe everything they claim to have or to have done. Especially when it comes to girls: You'll look back one day and realize that your history is replete with girls who've apparently lost their virginity multiple times. And do give in to the urge to brag too, sometimes. It may not win you friends, but being envied is not necessarily a bad thing.

Oh yeah... you don't speak much which is a good thing; too many words are wasted on too few ears. You probably should say even less.... trust me my friend, very little of what you say is necessary. But when you do speak, speak louder, and clearer. Those you talk to will appreciate not having to have you repeat it and who knows,they might think that you know what the heck you talking about.

Last but certainly not least, do please learn to say no. You will certainly get your fair share of those. You need not please everyone. Actually, you can not please everyone. All you will end up with is a shitload of tags that everyone expects you to finish but with no time to get to them all. Oh! Wait, did I actually tag myself again. Scratch that last point, but the others stay. You are freaking 16 years old, do you know what I wouldn't give to be you right now? No? Well me neither.

So I murdered my muse month or so ago...

Unlike Bob's shooting of the sheriff, mine was not in self-defense. It wasn't a shooting either... more a drowning. Just like the well meaning but inexperienced pastor who, while upriver doing his first dipping into the murky waters of river_X baptism of his flock, forgot the words of the baptismal prayer and as he grasped desperately for the elusive incantation lurking somewhere in the recesses of his brain, succeeded in keeping his would be new devotee under the water much longer than the poor fellow could hold his breath.... and thus the good Lord's will was done or so the heartbroken mother and devout follower of Christ would later allude; So too would my muse, in what can only be summarised as an unfortunate event, fall to the zealous ministrations of a spiritual devotee... me in this case.

Having read somewhere and believed (to read is to believe, no?) the supposed magical properties of absinthe - the green fairy, and having for the last few months been suffering a serious bout of the block, I went in search of this fairy. Slaying numerous dragons of fear and doubt that lay in my way, and leaving in my wake half empty bottles of rum and of coke (a cola), thus discarded unconsumed as I tried to cleanse my body of any intoxicant that could in one way or the other hinder the workings of this magical spirit, I finally sighted this holy grail (more like a watered down version) of the writing world on the shelve of the local alcohol dispensary of my town. Imagine that.

So, to cut a short story short, I partook and I passed out. When I came to, my muse was no more.

Of Toothless Dogs and their incessant barking

There was a time not too long ago when calling me a girl would have gotten your face punched in... not by me mind, but by the legion of loyal fans that I had somehow amassed in the relatively short span that was my meteoric rise to fame.... That legion, btw, has since disappeared in pretty much the same way that my star burnt itself out... unceremoniously.

Twice now, in less than a week, two girls have gone on to call me a girl to my face and I have done nothing but cower in the hole that I eventually sunk into.... not that I would hit a girl... heck, I don't beat girls except, perhaps, when in a race to reach an orgasm... thanks to having what one might call an unfair advantage in the form of hair trigger something or the other.

I don't know if it's something I said or the way I said it. Boy do I miss those fans.

One Score and a half......

Or to be more precise, one score and 9 years ago today, folks, unto a young beautiful woman hailing from along the ranges known as the Aberdares in the heart of the Kenyan highlands, a new babe was born.

Today while the rest of the world marches along on its quest for survival or whatever ambitions drive it, seemingly oblivious of our very existence, the owner of this blog has declared this day a holy day... nay, a holiday... nay... arghhh who friggin cares. Thing is, we don't gotta do shit coz you know what, it's his effing birthday.

So here's to doing nothing.