This is a Note

I am afraid, I will be afraid… sometimes even terrified. I will be afraid to admit i am afraid. At other times i will think that i am the only one who is afraid in the room. But more often than not i will learn and i am learning that fear is a drive that has to be there at times… You can avoid it but fear always finds its way unless you conquer it. Unless you risk losing everything in one spin… For if you do not, you can never live a full life . So no am not afraid of being afraid because only then can i become the hero of my story. You can not know joy if you havent known sadness.

I need a doctor.

I can not see but i can feel and hear from a distance. The voices are frantic and in derailling despair. I need a doctor. My heart is almost coming to a halt. I see her. I feel her. She is looking at me with sheer ridicule. Ashamed that i am her owner, maybe, i think. I have crushed her, blinded her and broken her limb for limb. She is on the verge of death and i have done nothing but push her towards it. She will soon be going into a limbo if i do nothing about it. My heart is about to die on me. I really need a doctor for her. As if instinctively, i see her fall to the ground. Her eyes are in so much pain. Pain that could make you plead guilty for a murder you did not even witness. Pain that is far beyond anything i have ever felt. She is begging me to help her with those eyes. She is waiting for me to metamorph into her doctor. I need a doctor for my heart. Suddenly and very effortlessly she starts to fibrillate. I need a doctor, NOW. She is going into cardiac arrest. Soon, we will be out of air. Soon my brain will shut down. I look around but i don’t see a doctor. I look for my phone to call “911” but that too is missing. I really need a doctor. My heart clasps my hand tightly. “We may not make it May, ” she whispers in a half choked tone. Tears spring into my eyes and i can’t help it. This is the worst feeling i am yet to ever feel. Despair. The cold touch of death slowly creeping through your veins. Trust me, you know death when you see it. You know it has come for you when it taps your back and calls out your name sure of the spelling to the last letter. In school they never taught me this language that i currently need to speak life using. I need a doctor. I can feel her beat starting to ebb away. I am awash with emotions.I want to cry yet be brave for her. I want to tell her that i am sorry for not being there for her yet again i know she will tell me that i am there now in this moment. I don’t want to hear that. If she is gone, i am gone. That is just how it works. So i tell her to be still. I lie to her that everything is going to be fine. I hold her close and become one with the dying rythm of her glorious beats. I can’t ask myself how we got to this point of a bloody beatless heart. I know. So i whisper that i am sorry. I swear if she holds it together for me just one more time that i am going to be a good heart keeper. I promise to love her. I promise her patience, kindness, faithfullness and truth. Heck, i promise her the world. As i say this words to her, her eyes close. She places her head on my bossom. I know it’s goodbye. I needed a doctor yesterday, I need a handkerchief and some tissue now. I need roses and a great eulogy for the greatest heart i have ever met. I feel her warmth start to leave her body. I see her rythmic heaving start to cease. It is like i have been cut in two. Two great halves. I hold her closer and tighter. I have heard of babies who are born from still births yet wake up on being held close by their parents. I will wake her up. One minute, nothing happens. Two minutes, nothing. Five minutes, no sign of life. I weep. I weep for my heart. I weep for the murder of my heart by myself. I will never be the same again. I Bathe her lovely face with my tears. I know what she would have said at the sight of my tears. She would have told me to cry, cry till it stopped hurting. But this time it is different. This time i am sure it will not stop hurting. So i weep as hard as i can. As if the heavens hear my unsung prayer, i feel a faint heartbeat in her wrist which i have been tightly holding. If life is teasing me, i am not amused. I bring her hand next to my ear and listen. I know that it’s not supposed to be done that way but i want to hear a beat. Nothing. So i patiently place my fingers on her wrist. Never have i been this hopefull in my life. There is a beat. I know what i need. I need a defibrillator. I need electricity. I need to restart this heart of mine. I do not need a doctor. I am going to be my own doctor. As if answering to my call, i feel a tug run through my body. I do not question what that is. I know what that is, rather who it is.That is my heart, she works at the emergency room. She is electrocuting me at that very moment. She needs me to wake up and take charge of my life. I could never be more gratefull for life than at this very moment.


Her back is failing her. She won’t say it but she’s getting closer to the ground more and more each day. Ironically, she still goes for swimming. Her eyes are slowly dimming, she says glasses and eye contacts are for those who haven’t seen the world yet. Trust her, at a hundred and twenty, what has’nt she seen. Her skin is betraying her “youth”, she laughs it off by saying she’ll always be younger than Methuselah. Her legs are giving way to gravity, get this, she asked if she looks fat because she feels heavier. Her hair, well, she has no hair left. Last month she told me bald is the new bold. Her heart has been skipping beats, for her it feels like falling in love all over again. Her memory is also on and off at times, today she knows who you are, tommorow she doesn’t. Her hands have birthed a new hobby; she knitts. Ohhh so docile a hobby for the rally driver she used to be. Her spirit is blooming these days, talk about late bloomers. She’s sensitive about everything. She is happier than i have ever seen her. Just yesterday i saw her play with her great great great grandson. The boy is only two years old. His great great great granny would tease him and each time he would end up crying while she’d burst out laughing. I told her to stop her torturing the poor baby, she said its about time the boy got an honest education. The world is a hysterical tease. Age to her is a constant , she says she was born the other day, just yesterday. We are gifted with time, lets make the most of it never forgetting to be irrational about how old we really are, atleast for the spice it’ll add to bland life.

Beautiful isn’t word enough

I met her when she was pregnant, seven months gone. I can recall pretty well because it was quite the mammoth of pregnancies. She looked too heavy, too uncordinated and unbalanced when carrying those babies. What moved me however was not the pregnancy, it was her laughter. She laughed like she wouldn’t still be laughing the next minute. Which she would obviously given her aloofness when it came to jokes and giggles. Her name was Wanjiku. How i never got that name is still unclear to me. I’d call her Wairimu and at times Wanjiru but she would still answer, ofcos with a giggle. I went home only to come back after a month and find her nursing three babies. She had birthed triplets. The doctoe had originally told her she was going to have twins. I had never seen her that happy. The babies were the tinniest i had ever seen. The first born, Promise weighed 1.9 kilos, the second born Brian weighed 2kilos and the last born Precious weighed 1.8 kilo. They were Beautiful and yet so fragile. Sometimes i would shiver at the thought of changing them their diapers, I thought i would break their small limbs. The first born was always either asleep or hungry while the other two simply cried most of the time. They were quite the handfull for their twenty year old mother amazingly she never had any help. I have seen them grow since that day to today, see they just turned two. Wanjiku still has the most beautifull babies in the world according to me ofcos. Just yesterday i vistited them and truth be told i have not laughed that much in a whyl. The children spent most of the time running after each other laughing at absolutely nothing. They have a coded language they speak to one another and then burst out laughing. The apple never falls far away from the tree. Promise is very independent while precious is quite the diva. Brian on the other hand is Mamas boy. He is always on her lap. The children are apparently very naughty. Last week they poured twenty litres of water in their room from a water tank outside their room and started rolling in it. They then went to the kitchen and took some flour and tea leaves and made tea and pastry on the floor. Well, according to them thats what they made. Get this, they work together all the time. The three pushed the water tank into their room!! I still don’t understand that. Whenever they want to be cheeky they actually call out for their mum or dad to make sure no one is around and if their is no reply they go ahead with their mission. The funny thing is that they dont know the words mum or dad, instead they call their mum “sweetie” and their dad “honey”. Atleast thats what they hear their parents call each other. Beautifull, right?


Tears make her feel weak…

Happiness she believes is for the happy…

Anger she knows nothing of it… desire, well… she doesnt fathom the meaning of the word…

Beauty is her second name trust me she’d make Cleopatra look like a fake…

At heart she’s an angel only u’d never believe it at first…

On the outside from her icy eyes she looks like a demon of sorts…

Sadness is a cost she can’t incur everyone knows “pauper” is her middle name…

She wonders how in weakness we are strong???? How we should fight to our last breathe… wouldn’t we be dead by the end of it all????

How is it when you feel like giving up that’s when you shouldnt…???

shes indiffrent to all and yet diffrent from non… besides, she is human after all…

Her ambience is “being” and she confidently lives up to its meaning

Being alive… alone or not… rich or poor her ambience still remains

She’s never mellow or blue…

That’s for children she’d tell you with no emotion on her face

But strength is her third name… shes one with it and its one with her…

They’ve been husband and wife since her memory can date

It’s not the “strength of a woman type”… that she’d go defending trees righs to stay alive by stripping her clothes… trust me, she would not do that

Its her stregnth … her will to persist and live on… her strength is her partner in crime

She has no morals but instead parades her virtues all over town

That what society thinks of her shall never be greater than what she knows is rigt and wrong

She would not exchange her peace for any comfort … peace lets you sleep at night… comfort is a luxury… whats a comfortable water bed if you can’t find any sleep while laying in it?????

She knows that history has a way of repeating itself … everything is all the same as yester only diffrence is the date on the calender

Her heart is warm as mothers milk yet seems as cold as ice

She doesnt smile unless she has to… doesn’t laugh unless its funny and doesn’t cry at all… besides crying is a fools game … she’s no fool

She is typical to none and true only to self…

Call her a paradox and she will smile at you

“Finally u’ve got it… you will never understand me… you are not as foolish as you sought to be”

She is HER.