The confession

Dear diary

I am a murderer and this is my confession.

First of all, I want you to know I was not always this way. I was not always a murderer and a cold blooded person. I was born and raised in a beautiful warm normal environment. My life was okay up to the point that is was not anymore. I was taught to look at the positive direction until there was nothing positive to look at, I was taught to never lose hope until hope was the last thing to lose. I was taught to believe in God even when nothing seems to be working out. I was taught that I had a destiny until I realized I make my own destiny.

From the moment I was born, from the moment I started to understand and comprehend the complexes of life, i  was taught and reassured that I have a part to play in this world. It doesn’t matter what that part is but it is important for the world to be a better place. I was given hopes, I was given knowledge on how I can perfectly play that part. But somewhere along the lines I lost my family. Not that they were gone but they lost connection with me, they didn’t see me or what I was going through.

Sometimes it felt like I was drowning in an ocean, and every day that goes by I was sinking deeper and deeper in the ocean of loneliness and confusion and they did not notice. Even when I try to tell them they would look me with confused faces wondering what I am struggling over when they are all doing just fine not knowing that I was trying so hard to keep my head above the water.

Then one day I fell in love with a boy, he loved me or so I like to think, he became my source of comfort, he was there for me, he understood me and listened to me. He was my only chance of hope, my only chance at redemption until one day he decided he would not talk to me anymore. At some point I knew that was going to happen because he was the light and I was the dark... the two could never meet, I just didn’t know it was going to be so soon. But now that it was here I could not shake off the feeling that I was never enough for him, that no matter how hard I tried I just could never be enough. I had imagined this pain several times but I was wrong, this was more than I had ever imagined.

Then when the pain ended I became empty. I didn’t know what to feel and I needed to feel something to know I was alive, I began to cut myself, enthralled by what the razor could do. I am addicted to the pain and when it is not there I have to create it. I hurt myself, sometimes I have no idea how deeply I do it, but without it my body feels like a lonely temporary container that I happen to be borrowing.

I never tried to hurt anyone consciously, but every time I stand naked in front of my mirror, the scars on my body remind me of the demons i fought at 3 am when everyone was sleeping, the insecurities and the lonely nights, the depressions and the feelings of rejections I couldn’t contain, they also remind me how I have changed, how self centered and cruel I have grown to be. I have become the kind of person who could use a lame excuse to inflict pain on a person I cared for a wound that would never heal.

The jovial funny girl who used to have lots of friends no longer exist, the girl who used to spend weekends in the library now spends it in the bathroom thinking of the way to make pain more painful, the girl who could not hurt a fly now enjoys to inflict pain on herself and others, the brave girl I used to see in the mirror is a distant memory that no longer exist.

Dear diary, am a murderer, I killed the girl I used to be.

Why Men should marry women above 35 years

The younger the better; it’s what every man says and believes. For years, men have been in relationship or even getting married to women who could be their daughters and granddaughters as long as their age is below 35 years. Societies have been quick to embrace relationships with high age discrepancy provided the older of the two participants is a man and not woman. These are the kind of relationships people call normal.

However, there is a new normal that I think all people should embrace because of its benefits to both partners. Yeah I know you might not agree with me now but maybe you should comprehend my reasons first. Just like you, I come from a society where a young man being in relationship with an older woman above 35 is deemed unacceptable. In most instances, the man would normally be branded a gold digger.  I don’t know why any man would not value women above 35 years.

When women are above the age of 35 years, they seize to depend on their physical appearance to attract men. Instead, they study to be good and maintain their influence over men. They supply their diminution of beauty by an augmentation of utility. They learn to do a thousand services to their men both small and great. They become the most caring and tender creatures and not to forget useful friends who make it almost impossible to find a woman aver 35 years who is not a good woman.

For men who fear unplanned pregnancies, fear not. Most of these women already know what they want, how they want it and with whom, they know their bodies like the back of their palm, they can plan and decide if they should have a child with you or not. And in case they decide to have a child with you, don’t you worry because they won’t force you to provide for it since they always have a backup plan.

Women above 35 are always mature. If she doesn’t want to watch a game with you she doesn’t sit around whining about it or fight over a remote control with you. She finds something she wants to do because she already knows there is usually something more interesting than the game she does not enjoy or arguing with you.

Women above 35 yrs have no problem introducing you to their friends and neither do they ask you to live your friends for fear that they will teach you to be unfaithful. She has self assurance that her friends will not betray her and for that matter care less if you are attracted to them. They also know you are mature and can make your own decisions. Besides, they are psychic. You don’t have to confess your sins to them as they are always in the know and choose to ignore.

Women above 35 years are full of knowledge about life and everything that surround them. Their minds are simply better stored with life lessons from both experience and observation. Their conversation is more improved and gives points that hold water whenever they are involved in an argument.

In conclusion, women above 35 are experienced in all matters relationship- from the bedroom to child raising to everything. Not to mention they are prudent and discreet when in relationship which makes the commerce with them safer with regard to your reputation in case of an affair.

147 Not Just A Number!!

In the wake of the Garissa massacre, Kenyans came out in their droves to convey their heartfelt condolences. While this is quite laudable in every aspect, the truth of the matter is that we have formed a habit of raising serious questions and thereafter going on with our lives until the next tragedy happens. The Westgate attack brought us together as we sought to support men, women and children whose lives had been cut short in the hands of murderous terrorists. We donated blood, foodstuffs, sent M-pesa and when all was said and done, we moved on with our lives as if nothing ever happened.

We never got to know of the faces, of the stories, of the dreams that those who perished in the Westgate attack had. We, in our characteristic fashion, coined the “we are one” phrase and moved on. We held long debates on where the problems lay, the loopholes in the security system and what could have been done better to prevent this catastrophe from happening. Every time we are under a siege of sorts, what we see from the government is kneejerk reaction. As much as I would like to dwell on all this, my conscience can’t allow me considering how fresh the memory of the recent attack in Garissa is in my mind.

147 not just a number has been the hash tag trend on twitter and many other social networks. It’s a stark reminder to all and sundry that the lives lost in the latest terror attack won’t just be a statistic. For long, we have quantified the number of people killed in terror attacks or any other kind of unfortunate incidents. We have, successfully so, managed to sweep under the carpet their dreams, expectations and denied them of their place in history. Just like the slain police officers in Baragoi, we have refused to put a face behind their names, to document their sacrifices, their commitment to service and above all the tribulations they go through every single day to make this nation a safe haven to each and every single citizen.

We must refuse to ascribe to the norm of all talk while nothing is done to properly remember the souls that have lost their lives. We must celebrate each and every student who perished. We must tell their stories, their aspirations, and their dreams and document them as a constant reminder that as a nation we are bleeding. We need to walk around and see what murderous acts have done to the well being of this nation. 147 families are in pain, Kenya as a nation is in pain. The question is; are we going to just sit back and move on while saying those killed were just 147?

Were those not humans who had dreams and aspirations of a better tomorrow? Were those not individuals who died without ever having to put their ides to practice? Were those not individuals whose families had placed so much hope in them? It beats logic that we have become so adept at issuing condolences while giving a wide berth to the very things that unite us as a country. We must speak out on the ills bedeviling our country. We must speak out on the haphazard way in which the lives of ordinary Kenyans are handled.

147 not just a number is not just a hash tag as some of us have literally taken it to be. It’s a message to all and sundry that these are bright lights that have been dimmed. It’s an attempt to celebrate the lives of individuals who in their quest to make our country a better place met an untimely death in the hands of blood thirsty and brainwashed radicalized terrorists. It’s a rallying call that such a thing need not happen again. We must feel safe in our own country and we must do everything in our power to ensure that such blatant killings of innocent lives do not recur.

Lastly, while celebrating the lives of these 147 great Kenyans, we must also ensure that we are not sucked into the unnecessary hatred of a particular religion. We must not be sucked into the cheap propaganda that a particular religion is responsible for the wanton and heinous killings. This is just but a diversionary and divisive tactic that these heinous terrorists are using to create a rift among the peace loving Kenyans. Yes, we have a lot of questions on why there is discrimination based on religion whenever these heartless terrorists strike. However, this need not be a catalyst to start a campaign that will hurt us as a nation. We are one and must work together if we are to slain the ugly head of terrorism.

To the 147 families that lost their loved ones, to the many relatives and friends who are reeling in pain and anger, please remember that we refuse to make the 147 just a number. We refuse to refer to them as just as a statistic. We want document their names in the annals of history, document their aspirations and forever remember them as the future generation that never got to touch the silver lining of their dreams. Kenyans must unite and let all and sundry know that 147 is not just a number. The 147 are brothers, sisters, cousins, and friends whose lives were cut short but whose memories we must keep alive!!!

The last letter (Reply to Africa Kills her Sun)

Africa kills her Sun By Ken Saro Wiva

Dear Bana,

In every letter that I ever wrote to you, I knew exactly how to begin it, what I was going to say in the middle and how I was going to end it. It was never difficult. I wrote them effortlessly, probably because I thought I knew you that I was writing to the man I once knew and fell for, or may be it’s because I knew there was a possibility of a reply no matter how small it seemed to be. But today, I sit here with a pen and a paper and all I can do is wet my paper with tears. Tears of lost love, tears of unimaginable pain, and tears of a dream deferred.

I am crying for so many reasons. I cry because you are dead, because you turned out to be the very thing you swore never to be but most of all, am crying because you gave up on us in your quest for selfish patriotic ideas! We could have had a life together, we could have had our children and we could have had our happily ever after if you did not choose that stupid profession and gave your life to save your friends. What were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all?? Had you lost all your senses? Were you under some form of spell? I have so many questions that seem to have no clear answer.

I don’t know how I should feel about all this.  I don’t even know what this is so am just going to write anything that comes to mind starting with the memories that have tormented me for the past 10 years. Do you remember where we used to meet? Do you remember back in the days when we concocted all form of lies just to spend some time together? Do you remember how you would lie to your mother that you were going to cut grass for the goats, and I would say I was going to fetch water in the stream only for us to disappear together in the forest, eat fruits all day, play and dance together as though the rest of the world did not exist? Do you remember how you used to hold me so tight and tell me you would give up anything to have me by your side? Do you remember our long conversations and true confessions under the sycamore tree? Do you remember how we used to bath together in the river Nash? I don’t know if you remember, or even how you could forget all these because for me, these memories kept me going when you were nowhere to be seen. They kept me going when you vanished without a trace!

I still remember the day I found out you had left without saying goodbye as if it just happened few hours ago. It was Saturday 10^th June; I went to our usual meeting place in the afternoon hoping to see you. I had a surprise for you; a sweater I had been knitting in secret for our future first born. I was so excited to show you how pretty it was and how I could not wait to have a baby with you. We had agreed we were going to call him Syna. The Initials to our two favorite places. So I went there and you were nowhere to be seen. I sat for hours, waiting, wondering what could have happened to you. Then, when the sun set, I had to go back home confused; wondering what could have happened to you. My worries were not unfounded as you had never missed a date with me even when you were sick. I spent the night staring into the darkness, wetting my pillow, my heart in my mouth, questions of what could have befallen the love of my life running through my mind.

The next morning I went to church, prayed for your well being and that you show up at our usual meeting place. When the time came I went to our meeting point with my little black sweater. I didn’t find you and waited in vain. I decided to go to your house; a decision that was not easy considering your mom never liked me. She was always irked at my sight and always disapproved of my relationship with you. Luckily, I didn’t find her home as she had gone to fetch water from the stream. Your younger brother was home and he told me you had left to look for a job in town.

In as much as I was relieved that you were not sick, dead or in prison, I was a little bit mad that you never found it proper to inform me of your plans before you set out on your sojourn. That notwithstanding, I was astounded, shocked beyond measure when I finally came to learn of the path you had taken. My heart broke into pieces when I realized you had ascribed to some stupid patriotic principles that had consumed your soul. How could you do that? How could you swear your love for me in one minute and the next take off without saying goodbye as if I never meant anything to you? How could we be talking about building the family together, having a future together and before I know it you have vanished without a trace? I cried, I cursed and I blamed you for a very long time. But even in all this, I never stopped writing to you or going to our meeting place every chance I got. Sometimes, I would write a note and leave it under the sycamore tree hoping that by some miracle you will collect it. I know it sounds crazy but somehow, I thought you might one day come back to me. Needless to say, that was wishful thinking.

It wasn’t easy being the girl I used to be when you left. I was broken, shattered and my mum thought I wasn’t going to live. I didn’t eat or drink for days. I cried every time I looked at that little black sweater and the thought that you never got to see it, and you never even got a chance to know I was making it. After a while my Aunty Nina came to visit and I begged her to take me with her. I felt like there was no longer a place for me in the village. Everything reminded me of you, everyone reminded me of you. I wanted to start afresh; I wanted to be happy again. Little did I know when you left you took a part of me that I could never get back.

I started school again in Masagura high school back in the village where my aunt lived with her family. I was determined to be the best so that I could be chosen to join Kwamanga College in town with a hope of meeting you some day. When the time came I did my exams and passed with flying colors. I remember the day I went back home to inform my parents of the news that I was going to a college in town. They were so happy for me. I passed by your house to ask if you had been around, if you got any of my letters I sent to you and I was told you never came back, your mother gave me back my letters, some of them were half way eaten by rats. So I took them put them in the small bag my father had bought me in the market hoping I would give them to you in person when I met you.

My life in college was okay, except for the fact that while other girls would engage in the social activities after school I walked around asking people if they knew you. I had an old picture of you the one you took the day you got your confirmation, am not sure you remember it, I  knew you might have changed considering you took that picture a long time ago but I decided to give it a short. My friends thought I was crazy to look for a man who left me without even a goodbye but I told them I just wanted to know why you did what you did. I needed to hear it from you. After two years of searching with no success I began to lose hope, I became desperate so I found myself in toxic relationships.  Now that I think about it, I realize I never really stopped looking for you. I was still looking for you in other people. Everyman I slept with, or had a relationship with was because he had something that reminded me of you. The truth is I didn’t care whose bed I slept in as long as it made me feel close to you.

Then, one morning, I woke up to the news of bandits who were going to be killed in the stadium. Your name was mentioned alongside other names that I didn’t recognize. I gazed at the picture in an old TV set at my boyfriend’s apartment and I saw your face. I didn’t even shower; I took off to the bus stop, took the first bus hoping I could get just few minutes with you before they kill you but by the time I got there you were already dead. Your body had been taken by the city police. I knew my chance to get answers was gone. I cried so hard until my voice and the tears dried out. The city was no longer a good place for me, so I went back home to our village, there is where I found the letter you wrote to me.

If you are wondering how it made me feel, well don’t, because it made me feel as though I had lost you all over again, it was more like the day I found out you left without saying good bye. You say you are proud of your profession; that you are in company of presidents and ministers and social workers, since when did you start to care about how others live their lives? Since when did it become about the wrong things just because everyone else is doing it? How could you forget your good morals and do the bad things just because no one is telling you to stop? How did you become so selfish that you forgot your whole family depended on you? Your father used everything he had to take you to school with a hope that you would help your siblings after you got a job and you repay him by throwing your life away under the lame excuse of solidarity? I am disappointed in you in ways I can never explain, I thought you knew better.

Anyway, I have spoken to your father about your statue, he suggested we put your grave among your ancestors, we did not get your body but we are still going to make a grave as you asked me to. In it we will put anything that symbolizes you and burry it. For me I will put all the letters I wrote to you in the past ten years and the little black sweater I was to show you before you left. Just so you know am not doing this because you deserve it. But for the sake of the love we once shared, I will grant you your last wish.

I hope we meet again in the next life because I have so many questions that only you can answer them.

Love,

Zole

A tale of a stranger

Dear Diary,

It’s strange, how it all happens. It starts so strangely and ends in a way you will never see it coming. One day you meet this special person and for some reasons you can’t explain you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else you have ever met in your life.  It feels like you have known this person  all your life, perhaps this person carries with them an angel, one that was sent to deliver a message to you, to keep you from trouble or help you through a difficult time. You don’t really understand why they came to you or why at that particular time but you know what you must do is to trust them with all your heart, even if they come hand in hand with pain and suffering; you believe the reason for their presence will become clear in due time and even though you smell the danger of being close to them, you grow to love this person against all odds.

Then one day, the halo in this person is lifted and the angel within them leaves their body, you look at them and you can hardly recognize them. Suddenly everything they do does not make sense to you anymore. You try so hard to hold on to the good memories, to the person they used to be and all the good times that you have had but it is just not enough, days go by and still you cannot find the sign of what you used to be. Part of you thinks it is just a storm and it is going to pass and be forgotten but there is a part of you that reminds you that they were not yours to keep anyway. That their purpose was not to save you but to show you how to save yourself and once their mission was complete they were to leave.

So the stranger lives you world in a way you never thought it could happen to you. they disappear like the darkness in front of the light, you have no way of reaching to them, you call but no one can hear your voice, it’s like you have been buried deep already, you text, email but no one replies to your texts or email. And it hit you, you are alone and for the first time you feel abandoned, lonely and desperate for something but you are not sure what it is. You realize you have been left by someone you loved drowning in their desertion. And then you realize you didn’t belong with them from the very start but again you didn’t belong anywhere else either. You had no place, no home, sex or real affection.  You were kept but not cherished; you had lived with more scars than your skin all your life. You met him when you had given up on love and thought he was your salvation, little did you know he was going to add more scars to you.

Even after all this you still miss him, you miss him more often than not and you know what the worst part it?? Is that is just catches you completely by surprise. When you are doing something and not for any reason or may be out of habit something good happens to you and you just want to tell him because you cannot tell anyone else. And then you realize he is not there anymore and every time, every single time it’s like salting your old wounds to remind you of how bad your life has been. You were ready to risk your life for him, travel half the world to meet him, fight with him do anything just to keep him with you, you would starve with him, freeze with him and hear him complain about politics and religion everyday but he will not even answer your call or return your messages.

One part of you wonder if it ever bothers him, the fact that you don’t speak anymore but another part of you make excuses for him. May be there is something he is afraid to say, or someone he is afraid to love, or somewhere he is afraid to go or maybe it was all lies and we were just too afraid to say goodbye. Either way it is scary to know there could be some truth in both sides of the coin. And this hurts you. It hurts because he still matters to you and unlike him it bothers you that you don’t speak anymore.

Will you be hurt by his absence?? Of cause you will, will you be angry?? Absolutely..  Will you be bothered that he does not want to speak to you anymore? Of cause you will be, who wouldn’t feel hurt when a part of their heart breaks at ignorance and rejection?? In the beginning it might feels okay, then you begin to ask yourself every question you can think of, why, what, how come, why now, when did it begin and before you know it your sadness turns to pain, and pain turns to anger. And you become bitter.. maybe you become worse than how you were before you met the stranger.

Dear diary, looking at all this it makes me wonder how close happiness and pain are so closely knitted together. How quickly that moment of love can turn to hate, of how love and war stand upon the very same foundation. Of how easily a heart can be broken by someone you thought you knew and how a stranger can fix despair by one simple smile. And it makes me wonder, If love always end in pain and scars, if it has no meaning than that… why do people want it so bad?? Why do people what to hear this word and wear it scars??????

Happy New Year: What I’m Thankful For

It is that time of the year again. A time when mortals run over themselves to make New Year resolutions they have no intention of following up. For years I have religiously observed this ritual. I can’t quite comprehend why I did it or why mortals saw it proper to come up with resolutions beyond their reach if only for the satisfaction of it. Whatever the reason is, I have made up my mind not to make any more resolutions. I am going to live on impulse and to be spontaneous as I have always been. All these resolutions and promises have put me into a quagmire I can’t get myself from. That notwithstanding, I beg to digress.

 

Being the last day of the year 2014, I don’t want to dwell too much on the misses, the tribulations, the pains, the near achievements or the lost opportunities. On the contrary, I want to be thankful for events, people and circumstances that made it worthwhile. First and foremost, I want to be thankful for the gift of life bestowed upon me by God. It has been an eventful year full of up and downs but am grateful that am alive today. I have been through dark times, I have faced fear in all its forms and I am grateful that I’m alive today.

The very fact that i am breathing and in one piece is something to be grateful for. Secondly, I am thankful for the support and care of one woman with the heart of God “Yonas”. A great woman with nobility of character and innocence. She has been by my side through it all and never at one time did she leave my side. I couldn’t pull through without her immense love; support and never say die attitude. Her constant reassurance, words of encourage and love that knows no bounds is the reason I have managed to be where I am today. Even though I have come short or haven't reciprocated enough, I will forever be indebted to her.

Thirdly, am grateful to my parents and family. They have shown me what true love and sacrifice is throughout 2014. I am thankful for the time they have sacrificed, for the comfort they have sacrificed, for the resources they have sacrificed just to see me on my feet and smiling again. I could never repay that love with any material thing on earth. Yes, I know I can be difficult at times but their love always reminds me of what it means to be family. Should I lose the war, I will go in peace in the knowledge that they tried their best.

Fourthly, I am thankful to the few friends who keep checking up on me and putting a smile on my face even though they have been in the dark of the prevailing situation all through. Those who took their time for a moment to drop me an email just to say hi and those who constantly visited my home wondering where I disappeared to. I appreciate the love, the care and the support.

I am thankful for Agnes and the entire Jupiter fraternity. Her great leadership skills, patience and hard work have seen Jupiter grow every single day in our absence.  A simple thank you is not good enough but it’s an extension of my heartfelt appreciation. I pray that God may bless you abundantly and that you may never lack. 

There are so many things am thankful for but which I can’t exhaust by jotting down to paper. I hope that the tribulations of 2014 will come to an end when this year comes to a close. I look forward to a 2015 full of promise, prosperity and good tidings. To those I might have wronged directly or indirectly I seek for forgiveness. Let’s start the New Year on a clean slate and let’s start this journey ahead with peace of mind, love and forgiveness. I sign off for now. Happy New Year everyone. May all your hearts desire come to fruition in the coming New Year J.

Deferred Dreams-The Sun Always Sets

It has been the same story over and over. The same script I have replayed in my mind for the past few days. Part of me wants to varnish from the face of earth like a coward. Part of me wants to take the easy way out. It seems quite alluring especially under the prevailing circumstances. Its appeal puts a wry smile on my face; it makes me warm up to the idea that I can always go down this road without having to break a sweat. As alluring as the feeling is, as strong as the desire is, I can’t quite pull through with it. I am constantly wondering if I am the destructive element of my very own existence. I keep wondering whether every little thing that happens in my life is by design or by default.

At this point in my life, I have become a loner of sorts; a man who loneliness has become so pervasive in his life that he has lost all sense of interaction. Like a coward I have taken shelter in my own sorrow. In the midst of all these confusion, words of Yonas“I wonder if you have touched the center of your own sorrow”keep buzzing in my head. For some reason, I can’t tell if I have touched the center of my own sorrow or if I have been avoiding it all along. Days when I was a happy lad are now a distant dream. Days when I woke up for something are no more than a constant reminder of my supposed failures, supposed inability to make the right choices for me and for the people I hold dear. 

60 days ago, optimism characterized every sphere of my life. I went through dark valleys with my head held up, my eyes focused on the ultimate goal, I pretended or ignored the fact that my prevailing circumstances at the time were inconsequential. All this I did with the help and immense support of a “woman with a heart of a God”. A woman whose love and belief for what we shared surpassed every reasonable logic; a woman whose commitment and faith is the stuff legend is made of. I can’t quite tell where I drifted or when morbid fear took over the whole of me.

The feeling of having failed once more took a toll on me in ways I could never fathom. Every single day I spent hoping to muster enough courage was apparently every single minute she lost faith in the very thing that kept us alive, the very thing that defined us, the very thing that lit our candle of dreams and sustained our resolve to make our mark in a future we so yearned for. Before long, optimism was replaced with pessimism, hope replaced with a state of hopelessness, confidence suffered a beating and within no time fear wedged a divide between two supposed soul mates that had whethered many a storm. Of course, even in the midst of all these, it was never catastrophic. There was always this small shred of hope that we could always pull it through. This belief that even if “we were growing apart, we couldnt discount the fact that we grew side by side and our roots will always be entangled”. It is such belief, such optmism, such confidence that touched the center of my own soul.

 

Is the dream deferred? Is the damage too deep? Am I too late? Should I give way for a better person? A better experience? A better keeper of promises? 2 decades ago, I would say that the world is an evil place and get away with it. But now am wiser and I know that people are the ones who are evil. I know as Yonas once told me that inability to make a decision is also a decision in itself. I am cognizant of the fact that love ain't a facade. That there are indeed people who love you irrespective of social background, nationality, state of health or any other parameter people use to measure love. That aside, I can’t help but notice that its another festive season spent in solitude.

I sit on the sidelines and notice that its that time of the year folks surround themselves with people they love, people who appreciate them. Yet, here I am living a lie, lost in my own sorrow, reeling from my own fear. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t mind losing the love but what I cant get over with is losing the respect of the very person who has stood side by side with me in the ring of life. She has taken a few jabs on my behalf, helped me up when the jabs were too strong and I was on the floor. She has given me hope in every possible imaginable way. But now am lost and hoping to find my own bearing. Time to burden others is over. 

I don’t know if its pride, utter foolishness or something else that goes beyond the superficial. Under the circumstances, I can’t help but think of Icarus. He of the fame that was warned never to let his wings made of wax get too close to the sun. But, as you will all agree, pride can make the noblest of men do foolish things. As he neared the sun, the wax melted and from the skies he fell to the ocean never to be heard of again. I don’t know if my current predicament is as a result of utter stupidity, bad luck or pride. Am just happy in the knowledge that I flew high and tasted what true happiness is, experienced what true love is and found out the meaning of the ultimate sacrifice. That, without a doubt, is something I will forever be grateful for.