That Friday the 13th.

I remember the last time I saw you. Yea, I do. One month down the line and I remember it like it was yesterday. In detail. Funny how the brain chooses to remember some things and never the answers during an exam. Sigh. Anyway, what was I saying? Something in the lines of how well I remember that day, the details are actually overwhelming. I can almost smell the air in the room that morning. Early morning air. Crisp, clean filled with unspoken emotions and unanswered questions. How does air even smell? In my mind, I reach out to touch you. My mind playing games on me. Why do I remember these things at the randomest (Randomest even a word?) of times? It’s 3am for crying out loud! I grab my pen and paper, no use forgetting a memory so clear.

You were so happy that morning. I stood aside and watched you go about your normal morning routine. But boy, were you happy? Reminded me of a child. A child in a toy store. so happy you could hardly sit still? Why were you so happy anyway? Morning routines, me attempting to make your morning smoothie, you following me into the kitchen with your belt in hand. Me mixing the ingredients, you tying your belt.  You taking the cup from the nutri bullet before I could blend it and adding an extra assortment of ingredients. I never get it right do I? It never seems to bother you anyway, especially not this morning. You chat away as you go about your tasks. The blending damn!!! That thing does make a lot of noise, no? Watched you down the brown liquid, then walk to the bedroom to grab your socks.  You come back to wear your socks in the sitting room. Some kind of routine you  had unconsciously formed, you following me around, pieces of clothing in your hands as you got dressed for the day.

Your happiness was almost palpable. I debated on whether to reach out and touch it or would that ruin the magic of the morning? Seeing you so happy made me happy. Isn’t happiness like yawning? You only have to see it to be infected. I was having mixed feelings though, I knew it was the last time I was seeing you in such a long time. Why were you so happy then? You asked if  your outfit was ok, I answered that it was fine. I should have said you looked amazing. You did. You wondered if it was too casual for the office, If you should maybe change your shoes. I sat there looking at you, feeling amused. You decided to keep the shoes. They matched your outfit.

You picked your laptop bag, unplugged your phone from the charger. All the while chatting away. I responded with aahhms, ok’s and mmhh?s. I was happy to just sit there and watch. You came where I was sitting, stood right in front of me and reached out for a hug. I ignored you. I knew that hug would be sealed with a kiss, and with that, you would be out of the door. Instead, I asked you a question. Something silly. Was trying to buy me some time. You answered silly question. Cheerfully in fact. Normally you would have taken a moment, mused at the silliness of said question and then looked at me intensely to establish if I was indeed being serious or not. Not that morning though. You answered silly question.  You were that happy. I obliged you the next time you reached for that hug. Stood up to be enveloped in the warmest of embraces. To fit perfectly in your arms. A long hug. You tried to let go but yours truly held on. You must have sensed my shakiness because you  held on tighter.  As if letting go would cause me to tumble in a pile. Nothing lasts forever though, and especially not warm tight hugs.

On your way out, you told me I could open that curtains if I wanted to. Yea, that’s how you said it. “Open” the curtains. I remember because later as I “opened” the curtains, I mused at how random that was. You stopped to look at me one last time as if taking a mental picture. An intense look, so intense it made me look away. I am not one to look away.  You smiled at me and said I looked like I had something to say. I said no. Truth is, I had so much to say. You looked at me doubtfully and asked if I was sure, I nodded yes and reaffirmed it with a “Yep” that I hoped was more convincing. You smiled, bade me goodbye and just like that, shutting the door behind you were gone.

I leaned back against the door and wrestled with my emotions. Finally, I walked back, sat on my chair and felt alone. Almost empty. Why does English not have words for such deep yet sensitive feelings? I wondered if I should have spoken my mind.  Maybe I should have begged you not to leave and proceeded to tempt you not to go to work. Maybe I should have asked you to come back inside even if for just an hour just so i could busk in that happiness you had that morning. Maybe I should have asked for another hug and this time not let go so quick. Maybe I should have said nothing, pulled you back inside, shut the door and hid the key, made you sit on your seat, and watched you do the things you loved to do inside the house. I didn’t though now did I? Instead, I let you go.

Knowing me, and with this being all in my imagination, a factitious writing like  this would have had a sad ending. You would befall a somewhat gruesome conclusion. And what with it being Friday the thirteenth? Fiction or not though, I will not allow anything to happen to you. I will not let my imagination harm you. No, my fingers on this keyboard will not be how  you meet your untimely end. Instead, I will sit back in my chair, and remember in detail the last time I saw you. Happily leaving for work. On a Friday morning, dressed ever so casually, laptop bag in one hand and you randomly asking me to “open” the curtains on your way out.

See you again soon my love. Carry that happiness wherever you may go despite the curves life might throw at you. We will meet again I solemnly swear. Even if it only be in dreams such as these.

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

And now he will never know

He told me he loved me. On a lazy Thursday afternoon (yes, some of us have lazy Thursday afternoons) as we lay goofing around in bed. Phone in my hand, playing candy crush or something of the sort. head on his chest, his hand lazily tracing a zigzag on my thigh.

Hold, up. That took me a second to process. what was that he just said? Phone dropped, candy crush forgotten. Head up, looking at him cheeky smile on my face. Are those tears in his eyes? I am not imagining this. No. I’m not. Ok… A split second. “Awwww”. I stupidly mumble and lean in for a kiss. “Are you ok?” I ask  palm on his forehead as I pretend to check his temperature taking the seriousness out of the moment. He laughs. Draws me closer. “Yea, never been better.” I get a kiss back. On my forehead. “Come on, lets see if you can finish this level, he says handing me back my phone.  A fleeting moment.  it has passed. Gone. How I wish…

He leaves a couple of hours later. Things have been done, romantic things, naughty things, sweet things. Naps  have been taken, showers had, cuddles given, food consumed, beds made, dishes washed. Life. Routine texts.  Thanks for a lovely time, hope you got home ok.  Yea, got home ok, have a lovely shift tonight. Good nights exchanged, life goes on.

Text comes in at 2 in the morning. Busy at work. Shouldn’t even have my phone at work. Busy busy busy. Phone ignored, text forgotten. Running around. Bells won’t stop ringing.  10 minute coffee break at 0400. Oh wait, wasn’t there a text I received a couple of hours ago? Might be Vodafone reminding me to top up my bundles. It’s not.

Whatsapp.

Him: I am feeling extremely depressed at the moment, It has just hit me like a train.

Me: (Alert, coffee mug pushed aside without even a sip). Hey, are you awake?

Him: Yep.

Me: How you feeling? Sorry was a little bit held up at work.

Him: That’s ok. I feel like shit.

Me: Ooook, not good. Anything in particular happen to cause this?

Him: No, I don’t know. I just feel so unwell. Unsettled,  Like total crap. Hopeless.

Me: Oh baby, i’m sorry to hear that. have you taken your medication? Did something trigger today’s feelings? (We have been through this before, the medic in me is on high alert). Anything I can do to help? (I now have this sinking feeling down in my gut. A bad taste in my mouth. I get up, coffee mug in hand, coffee down the drain).

Him: Medication taken, nothing in particular, it just comes this feeling. Thanks but nothing you can do to help. No one can help. I will sail through it. 🙂

My break is up. I manage to sneak in a few more texts. He manages to assure me he is ok. Work is busy. Seems busier than usual tonight. I’m feeling some type of way. It gets worse. Somebody has had a fall, incident reports to fill, pads to change, medications to sign off and help administer, early morning showers, hand over and stuff, it just never ends. My back hurts, my legs hurt, what!? even my brain hurts. My eyes are heavy. I need a coffee somebody please!

Finally, 0700, time to knock off. I’m in the car. Key in the ignition. sleep on my mind. Eyes refusing to cooperate. Phone in hand.

Me: Hey babe, you up?

Him: Yes never even slept.

Me: Oh! No sleep at all! how are you feeling? Better? Doctors or Work?

Him: No. No work. Not ever.

Me: Oh that bad huh? Want me to come over? You can come over if you like? Maybe we should call the doctor?

Him: Nah, i’ll be fine. You know me. You go home and sleep. (Always thinking about others this one). Catch you later. Get home safe.

How I make the 20 minute drive home is short of a miracle. It’s a blur how I shower and get dressed for bed. What is this unsettling feeling  in my gut? I unconsciously swap my pillow for his. Why does he always smell so good though? I smile sleepily. Better text him see if he is ok.

Me: Babe?

I wake up with  groggily. My clock says is 1400. How did I manage to sleep that long? A reminder of our last conversation jolts me to alertness. I must have fallen asleep waiting for his reply. I reach for my phone. No reply yet.  Mhhh… this is so unlike him. Maybe he decided to go to work after all I reason hopefully. I will call him anyway. No dial tone. Call cancels immediately? Strange. Very strange.

Why am I wiping tears off my face? I don’t remember the drive to his place. It does not even occur to me that I am driving around in my pyjamas at two o’clock in the afternoon. I do not even care. Cars  on his drive way. Why are there cars on his driveway? I park across the street. Door bell ringing. An oddly familiar older lady opens the door. Looks like she has been crying. I take a closer look. His mother? Why is his mother opening His door? Why? We look at each other in silence. I give her the ‘where is he?’ look. She makes the first move. Hugs me. Gut wrenching sobs.

Me: He came to say goodbye. Said he loved me. I said nothing, and now, now he will never know.

NOTE: Depression is real. Suicide is not the answer. Please seek help. For you and for your loved ones.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The War Within

 

Choices; They have consequences. You know this, I know this. Everybody knows this. Yet we still make some messed up ones.

Pick up the phone, put it down. Pick it up again, dial, chicken out, and hang up after the first ring. Kick yourself in the butt. Put phone down. Pick up your tablet, go to YouTube. Listen to sad love songs. Have a hard time falling asleep. Maybe cry a little. Pick up the phone again. That phone next to you is like a pimple, as much as you want to avoid it, you can’t. You know it’s there, it won’t leave you alone, and the itch just won’t go away. You scratch the itch. First mistake.

Rule number one: Never scratch the itch.

You go to Whatsapp, damn you Whatsapp! Kidum-Mpenzi is playing on the background. You go through your past chats. The ones that made you smile like a fool alone on the bus, the ones that made you cry alone late at night in your bed. The ones that left you feeling vulnerable, exposed and alone. Stop it Kidum, what do you know about “Kutekwa ndani ya mtando wa mapenzi” anyway? Who needs lessons on “mapenzi ya fujo”? That itch, you keep scratching it. You know you shouldn’t, but you do it anyway.

Rule number two: Don’t keep scratching the damn itch!!!

But rules were not made for the likes of you. No, away with the rules. You scratch some more it feels good at first. You scroll down to the last message, yours. He hasn’t said a thing, but why should he? You asked him not to.

YouTube should just leave you alone. Now you are listening to songs you didn’t even know existed. Juliana & Bushoke “Usiende mbali” is now playing. Messing with your head. Taking you to a good place but not quite. You know the consequences of scratching an itch at this point, you are beyond caring. Why oh why do you still have those past chats five months down the line? Is it a sign of denial? It’s 1:58am. You have no business being awake but an itch is an itch.

You scroll back to the day it was all taken away from you. When your heart was ripped out of your chest and crushed to pieces which you are still trying to piece together to date. You curse under your breath. That scratching doesn’t feel good any more but the damage is done. That pimple is a mess. It hurts like a mother.  So much so, it doesn’t feel like it’s even been five months. The memories have made themselves at home in your brain. They have bought a comfortable couch and have even subscribed to Netflix. When they are not chilling, they are busy haunting you like little stubborn ghosts.  The pimple is bleeding. What the hell, you might as well. So you open your gallery and look at the photos.(You still have those photos?Seriously?) By now you are oblivious to whatever YouTube is trying to forcefully shove into your ears.

You look at that face. That face your arms know well, so well you can trace it with your eyes closed. Lips that kissed the pain away, lips that hold secrets only two lovers can know.Lips that whispered sweet nothings to you during moments of unbridled passion.Yet the same lips that spewed hateful hurtful words without a second thought. A smile so mischievous that years down the line still sends shivers down your spine. Eyes that looked deep into your soul and from which conspiratorial winks were once delivered leaving you red to your toes. A neck that bruised so easily and as a result constantly but proudly bore tattoo evidence of your love. Shoulders so strong and inviting they had you lean on them even when you were not crying. Hands, hands that know everything there is to know about you. Hands that explored and took you places. Hands that know you so intimately, you look away slightly embarrassed.

Love is stupid, and so are pimples by the way. You wish picking up the phone and calling was as easy as it used to be. You almost, just almost beat yourself up for not taking a chance to get back together last month when it presented itself. You feel your resolve weakening.  Your girlfriends will have your hide for this. (I don’t mean you Renee). You know why you did not take that chance. Stupid it may be, but love should not hurt, love should make you cry only happy tears, love stands by you when things get tough. It is about trust, and compromise for all involved. Love is patient, love is kind so on and so forth. You get the point.

You put the phone down. Turn off your electronics, turn off the lights and oh crap, it is 2:28am. Better go to sleep. You may have scratched that pimple today to the point of bleeding, but you left it at that, before it got worse.  Today you have won the war. A little bit at least.

Rule number three: Never ever forget that even scratched bleeding pimples (though they may leave a scar) heal.

All You Have

Note: This post may be disturbing or upsetting.

The night shift, also known as the graveyard shift (don’t ask me why) is opposite to what many would expect and is one of the busiest shift. This is a time when the patients should be asleep but on the contrary.  This when the call bells go like crazy. This is when patients want to pee, this is when pain strikes with a vengeance, loneliness too, and the patients call, you are at their mercy, their needs need to be met. It’s your job, so you rub the shoulder of a person writhing in pain as you wait for the medication you just administered to kick in, you make a cup of tea for this old lady who insists  she has not had her dinner despite the fact that you are the one that gave it to her. You empty catheters, you change the pad of a cranky old man who does not appreciate the fact that he is no longer capable of performing his activities of daily living for himself. You straighten sheets and fluff pillows all the while trying to keep a smile on your face.

This is often also the time that the monster who is death creeps in. Quietly like a thief in the darkest time of the night, to take, to claim, to snatch relentlessly and mercilessly.

On this particular night, it is silent, eerily silent. Hardly any bells. Everybody seems to be asleep. My colleague and I look at each other, luck may be on our side. This might just be an easy shift. As is routine though, we do the rounds after every handover from the previous shift. Those that need turning get turned. So far so good.

One hour into the shift I walk in with my partner to turn her (It is company policy that this is done by two people), this lady that I am so fond of. Friendly lady, always nice to the staff. She always asks how your day is and compliments you on something even if it is the color of your shirt which is by the way your uniform. She has a naughty mind too this one, she will tell you how tired you look and ask if you have plans for night. “Are you and your husband doing anything special tonight? You should.”  She will say even before you have had time to respond and maybe tell her that husband still doesn’t yet exist.

I hadn’t been to work for a couple of days, but during handover, I learn she has not been doing well. She is deteriorating. That does not come as a shock to me given that the last time I took care of her, I had noticed her increased drowsiness and decreased food and fluid intake. At one point as I was trying to feed her, she seemed to wake up from her drowsiness and her face brightened with such a smile. On asking her to share what was making her so happy, she told me she had seen her husband, and that he had told her he loved her. I knew that she was hallucinating, her husband was past. All signs of imminent death in a person in the palliative phase.

Her family is outside, five children in total. Some of whom have flown from different sates just to be with her. They know she is nearing her end. She is sedated. I move towards her and as I bend to turn her, I hear it, for the first time ever in my life. The death rattle. My lecturers had gone on and on about it, I had even written a 2,500 word assignment on the topic, being a nurse, encountering death that intimately  is inevitable, but nothing ever prepares you. No amount of research, lectures or whatever prepares you for the first time you hear it. The death rattle is a chilling sound often made by a person very near death. It is caused by a loss of the cough reflex and loss of the ability to swallow. This causes an excess accumulation of saliva in the throat and lungs. Once you hear it you never forget it. From my previous research, I know she has less than 48 hours to live.

We turn her and leave. What do you do when you know you have done all you can but that the inevitable is going to happen anyway? What do you do when you feel so hopeless, so helpless? What do you tell a family who thanks you for doing your job? I smile and say a prayer for them in my heart.

One hour later, the daughter calls us into her mother’s room. She has passed on peacefully. They mourn their mother, but they say they are at peace, she lived her life well, she was happy, and she was a good person. Always there for others. Her work on earth was done, she is gone, but she has left her mark. I know they tell the truth, because she was one of the loveliest, kindest people I knew. Even when the pain took over her, she still found it in herself to smile. To offer a kind word even as her body turned against her. Who am I then, to be angry? Who am I to question God, when even her family is at peace with it all?

I have this minute, this very minute. It is all I have. It is my reality. Nothing is to be taken for granted, life is happening whether I choose to acknowledge the fact or not. This minute that I have, better use it wisely because after all, it is all I have got. So in this minute, I will be my best, I will be nice to somebody, I will be kind, make somebody smile, because this minute, is all I have. It is all you have.

Where, O death, is your victory?

Where, O death, is your sting?”

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.

1corinthians 15:55-58.

When a man cries

“Yeah… (Pause…) No, no, my daughter just passed.” (Pause…), “Thank you, the one that was in Butere Girls” (Pause…) “Yes that one. We had gotten her results, she had a B+…..”  See I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he was walking right in front of me, and even if I had tried, not that I did, there was no way I could shut my ears and for some reason, I felt myself get involved in a conversation that was not meant for me. He was on the phone. The conversation went on. “We had just rushed her to Nairobi Women’s.” (Pause…) “She was complaining of headache and back ache, she passed before they could find out what was wrong with her.” (Pause…sob…sob…).

He stopped, and I walked past him. I walked slowly, and curiosity got the best of me so I turned back, here was a man that was openly crying on the streets. He seemed to be in his mid fifties, he was dressed ok, black trouser and a grey coat, I didn’t notice the colour of his shirt and neither did I look at his shoes. What I noticed though was the pained expression on his face. He looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, like he had totally given up on life, like it didn’t matter to him if the sun ever rose again or if the sky suddenly turned green. He didn’t even care that he was crying in the streets.

He started walking again and I reduced my pace. Yeah, I know, I know, my mother did teach me and I knew better than to eavesdrop on a private conversation. I was trying to mind my own business, but here was a man crying, talking on the phone and crying. He wasn’t screaming, howling or causing a scene, if anything, he seemed totally oblivious of his surroundings. He walked on and the conversation went on.  “No, I am alone right now. There is a shortage of matatus and the ones to Ngong are charging seventy shillings.”  (This was happening somewhere along Ngong road near Uchumi hyper.) It was true, there had been a shortage of matatus that day and I was actually just stalling to see if I would be lucky to get one heading to town and if not, then I would be forced to walk to town. The man too seemed to have decided to walk to town.  He passed me again and I increased my pace, don’t ask me why but I just did.

From his conversation, I learnt that his daughter had just come from Butere the previous Friday. She had fallen ill and had sadly passed on. I did not get to know who was on the other end of the phone, but from what I got to hear, I assumed it was relative.  I also learnt that the man did not have enough fare to take him to Ngong, so he was walking to town to see if he could meet another relative who could hook him up with enough fare to get him to Ngong. I wondered if I should intervene, but this being Nairobi, I hesitated. Why I hesitated? Well, Nairobi is known to be full of con men and women that would go to extreme lengths to exploit the unsuspecting victim. So yeah, I hesitated for just a second. Second.

“Mpsesa? (Pause…) yeah, I think I can find one.” (Pause…) Go to prestige and wait for you there? Ok …thank you.” He hung up and turned back. I got a chance to look at his face again, closely this time because he was just about to walk past me. I smacked myself for the one second I had suspected him to be a con, because his face registered pure misery and the tears hadn’t stopped.

I don’t know what got into me but I stopped him, and when he stopped I didn’t know what to do. What do you tell a stranger who you know nothing about other than what you had accidentally overheard in a conversation that was totally not meant for you? What do you tell a man that is clearly mourning a daughter he just lost? Really, I don’t know why I stopped him. To him, I was a stranger who knew nothing of his pain. None the less, he stopped and he looked at me with a face so pained, I wanted to just hug him and tell him that everything thing would be ok, but I did not know that it would be. So instead, I gave him my condolences, reached into my handbag and gave him one hundred shillings that I hoped would get him to Ngong. He looked at me in amazement, thanked me and asked God to bless me. He then got his phone and as he walked past, I heard him say,” meet me in Ngong, I am going home to tell her mother. She needs to hear it from me first.”

So yeah, maybe I was scummed (forgive me for having beef with Nairobi), but when a man talks like that, when he cries like that, you gotta be touched. Your heart goes out to him. because when a man cries, then you know he is truly hurting so you feel a little of his pain, and for his sake, you pray he is not just a good actor. I hate to see a man cry.

 

 

 

 

It’s been a while…

‘Been wondering to myself why I haven’t written for so long. And so far, I can’t come up with a reasonable reason/excuse. So before I start giving you excuses as to why my last post was sometime in November last year, let me first apologise for being so lazy.

Now that my apology has been accepted, (I hope) maybe I can now try with the excuses. So I have been busy.  Yeah, I know who hasn’t? Stop rolling your eyes at me and listen first. So, I signed a contract for a job that involves me going to primary schools around Eastern talking to girls about hygiene, sanitation, menstruation and the works while handing out free sanitary towels. My job tile you ask, Field nurse. I didn’t in a million years think that this was the job for me. It took a little cajoling from my dad, and a lot of being broke for me to even consider it.

Then there was the training, weeks and weeks of training. What? You think it is easy to stand in front of pre-adolescent girls who think they know it all, and tell them how and why their bodies are changing? Those girls have a certain kind of attitude that needs you to come down to their level while at the same time being the adult and the nurse for that matter who knows “all” there is to know about their bodies and whatever else there is to know. But worse than the know it all girl is the teacher who feels like you are invading her space and taking the shine.  So yea, the weeks and weeks of training helped.

Now I  talk about the female reproductive system without batting an eyelid, pad underwear (sometimes in front of an audience of eighty plus.) in half a second while at the same time explaining how it is done and why it is done as it is,  I don’t even cringe  as I do it. Just the other day, I was telling a friend that the number of times I have to say vagina in a day is too damn high. But I’m used to it now; I even kind of love it. (it’s my job I love, not saying vagina).

It has been an experience let me tell you. Every school is different and every audience is difference. I have learnt patience, learnt to judge an audience and know what to say and what not to say, I have learnt how to smile and still be tough all at the same time. I have learnt how to answer silly questions with a straight face. To try not to act shocked when a girl tells me what she uses for sanitary protection. Believe me, I have heard all manner of things and to think of some of the things these girls use, in this day and era, I can’t help but be shocked. Most of all, I have learnt to understand the girl child, to love her. I count myself blessed to have been allowed the opportunity of helping usher her into womanhood in the most gentle and nurturing way possible.

Today’s girl is tomorrow’s woman. If she grows knowing how to take care of herself she grows with confidence. If she grows with confidence, she growsempowered; she grows into a woman of substance. Taking whatever the world throws at her in one stride. It takes a village to bring up a child they say. I’m honoured to be a part of that village. Some schools are more fun than others, some more welcoming than others; some appreciate the effort while others don’t even care. There are days I get home and wonder if it is even worth it. But then I remember a girl that was more than grateful for my assistance, and I go to bed knowing that I at least gave back to society even if it was in such a small way.

That’s what I have been up to. Touring Eastern, it’s been fun, but it’s also been exhausting. There are times I get home and don’t remember how I got into the shower or even how I managed to change into my night cloths. There are times when I’m so beat I fall asleep on top of the covers. Maybe now you understand why I’ve been kind of quiet for so long. I’ve been out there trying to change the world. (Put smiley face here). Anyway guys, I will try not to be silent for so long. I will try and write more, give you a detailed version of some of my experiences out in the field. I’ve missed you all and it’s great to be back. Belated Merry Christmas, happy New Year, and happy valentines. Woi! I think I should stop now while I’m still ahead.

Loneliness is…

Right now, I don’t even know where to start. Sometimes, its almost impossible to find the right words. You know exactly what you want to say, but you also know that no matter how hard you try, no words will ever feel right. Some feelings cannot be described. Like love, how would one describe love? love is…I don’t know how best to describe it. But I know for sure that loneliness must be the opposite of love.

Its crazy to love someone that doesn’t love you back, it’s crazy when the person that loves you is one that you don’t love. It’s a lonely place to be. He tells me he loves me…and I can’t find it in my heart to say it back to him. I just can’t. So I look at him and just smile…that sad smile that doesn’t really take away the hurt we both feel. He says I will come along one day, thing is, I don’t think I will. My heart must belong to someone else, or does it? He doesn’t seem to want it that someone else. I asked him if we could talk, he said “sorry not now.” I wanted to just get into my bed and cry, but my pride wouldn’t let me. So I did the next best thing.

I got to talking to all my awesome friends…I asked them to to help me describe loneliness…this feeling that was slowly tearing me apart, this feeling that was making me a walking mess. I wanted to know what it was, i wanted to know how it felt to everybody else. This is what my friends had to say, some of it is pretty interesting;

1. S.O , this is a crazy one, she was also very hangover when I asked her.she made my day when she said “loneliness is Loneliness”, to her, there was no other way to describe it. Made me smile.

2. Ena, said that “Loneliness is a feeling of  missing someone you love.” I’d asked them to think out of the box, I think she just got a dictionary definition. Mad love Ena.

3. Lil, said,”Loneliness is looking a far as people I used to be close to chat and laugh and i’m there wondering what on earth happened to me.” Way to go Lil, I feel you.

4. Hbanjo; “Loneliness is missing the person you are sitting right next to.” Sad isn’t it? her reply was instant, like it was something she knew all too well about.

5. E.N; “Loneliness is being alone in a mammoth crowd.” Thanks for taking some time out of your busy schedule to comment.

6. Ndele, my bro Ndele had this to say, “Loneliness is, me without you,well that’s true like the numbing void irreplaceable with any breath of life or matter in view.” Always trying to be poetic this one. Needless to say, I didn’t really get it, but loneliness like pain is subjective.

7. Mama T; To her, ” loneliness is not realizing your full potential.” You can tell that this is a woman with Goals to be met and so on…

8. Jay had this to say ; ” loneliness is when you think you are committed to someone when she/he is mteja. the person you are calling is not available we have notified them u tried to call….. if you wish to leave a voice message.”

9. R.K  said, ” Loneliness is also being stuck with someone who has all the reasons to prove that you are not meant to be. ” This one hit so close to home I almost doubled over!!!

10. Fay said, “Loneliness is watching the person you love, love somebody else.”

11. Jollybella, ” Loneliness is wanting to pour something where there is nothing left to pour.”

12. T from Canada summed it up for me when she said that “loneliness is temporary.” and I believed her.

To love somebody you know would never love you back is lonely. To love somebody that takes you for granted is lonely. To love somebody you know truly well you shouldn’t love is lonely. To love somebody that doesn’t even acknowledge your existence is lonely. To love someone that is miles and miles away is lonely. The dreadful emptiness that is not caused by hunger deep in the pits of your stomach is loneliness. To bear your soul out only to have it’s contents thrown  back to your face is loneliness.

Three thousand, six hundred and eighty three characters, seven hundred and thirteen words, fifty two sentences later, and I still don’t feel like I did this post any justice. I still don’t feel like I can ever find the right words to describe Loneliness so i’m done trying, but I can rest assured, knowing that at least I tried.