Obsessively Compulsively Distracting

i  am having a bad day. So I am just going to blog about it (well, not really.) I am just looking to distract myself. There is something immensely therapeutic about pouring out your heart to strangers, no? truth be told, I have no idea what this post is going to be about, so I am just going to keep typing; because that is going to give my brain something else to  concentrate on, and that way I won’t end up crying. I think that is all I ever do these days; distract myself. See, my greatest problem is that I have a brain that fixates on all things negative. And believe me, I have been trying this “have-a-positive-attitude” concept and let’s just say, my brain is yet to get the hang of it.  So I thought I would find a way around it. And that way is distracting myself; not thinking about those things. I would say it is working. I fall asleep relatively easy these past few weeks. All I have to do is put my headphones on and pretend music is the only thing that matters. Simply put, I refuse to think.
Of course there are days that I cannot use my headphones. And so those times, I look for something else to do. I play a lot of phone-games. Which is funny, because I hate those things. I am anything but the gaming type. Only, I figure I do not have any other options so I keep playing, till my finger-tips hurt, till my head aches, till my eyes hurt, till my phone goes off. On most days, I am fairly sleepy at this point. On other days, I am not. And so on those days, I just keep my eyes tightly shut, as if to lock my thoughts out. To prevent those memories from crawling back in through the cracks in my mind. That works too, in as much as I wake up most mornings with an intense pain in my eyes. But that is okay, I am good with pain. Plus, it only lasts till I take a shower.
And then there are those nights; when no form of distraction works. And all I can do is obsess about the tiniest of things. Nights like those I will check to see if I have locked the door up to ten times. I will set my alarm at the wrong time just so I get to reset it.  And even then, I will keep checking to see if I have set it. And then I start listening to the silence. And then I go to counting the seconds till the next drunk guy knocks at the gate, till morning. And so I count the seconds till I fall asleep. That is how much I distract myself. And you know why that is? Because it is easier than laying in my bed and trying to find the answers to the questions that are constantly whirling in my head. Because it is easier to ignore my doubts and what if’s. Because I would rather spend my nights obsessing about the seconds than spend it trying to answer this one question, “what if?”

Don’t tell me I am beautiful

Don’t tell me I am beautiful. See, I have spent years trying to grasp the meaning of that word. Because beauty comes from the inside out. And it goes through and through. Instead. Tell me something with depth. Tell me I am intelligent. Tell me my words make sense. Tell me I am a force to reckon with;that with a brain like mine, I could change the world. Tell me my eyes see right through you. Tell me there’s something about them that does more than just seeing the world. Tell me there is depth in them. Because I am deep. As deep as the ocean. As vast as the earth’s terrain. As rugged as the earth’s terrain;with its highs and lows. With my high’s and lows. From my silly goofiness to admirable intelligence. From my cool composure to emotional insanity. As insane as my notions on humour. Humour; what truly makes a woman sexy. So tell me I am sexy, not because of my breasts or hips, but because of my sense of humour, what’s inside my head, my ability to hold a conversation about a lot more than how my day was; whether it was bad or nice. As nice as that would be. As nice as I almost never am. But call me nice all the same. In as much as i wont smile when i meet you and hugs aren’t exactly my favourite things on this planet.but because I will say thank you and sorry and mean it. Because I will be there for you when you need me to, even if you won’t want me to. So don’t just pay me a complement. Tell me something I will remember, long after I have met you, even when I don’t remember your face, when the butterflies you stirred in the pit of my stomach have settled down. Tell me something that will make saying “nice to meet you” worth my while.

I don’t get people..

I don’t get people who do not read. like, how are you comfortable with knowing so little? it doesn’t bug you there there is so much you don’t know? and i don’t just mean books or novels, i get it, not everyone has the patience for those. but for once, would you Google more than naked women doing deep plunges?(though i don’t know why i know that exists) are you telling me nothing outside your academic work interests you? like you are not interested in metaphysics or quantum physics? like you don’t wanna know Isaac Newton was a mason? so when you are listening to a song and they keep saying this date, it doesn’t occur to you that you should find out what that date stands for? when someone says something as controversial like Mary Magdalene was the among the twelve disciples of Jesus, you don’t get curious at all? no part of you cares to find out if there is any truth to that. or even when you are having a discussion with a friend and the say this word you’ve never heard before, you don’t think you owe it yourself to find out the meaning of that word? its origin, uses, synonyms? i don’t know, there is no part of you that wants to sound intelligent when you are talking to someone? how are you ever going to be able to talk to someone if your academic work is all you know?

I don’t get people who judge others. how do you just sit there and open your mouth and declare that someone is wrong, or indecent, or weak or whatever? you don’t gag at all when you do that? we are all human, so i do not understand what would get into your head to make you believe that you are better than someone else. everyone has their struggles, everyone has made their mistakes. everyone is living their life the best way they know how. so just mind your own business. unless you don’t mind people judging you all the time. unless you don’t mind people breathing down your neck with every bad decision you’ve ever made, don’t judge someone else. and honestly, if you haven’t walked in somebody else’s shoes, you can’t tell what their journey is about. and since we cannot do that, how about you just don’t? its just so rude.

i don’t get people who claim they don’t have feelings. even Satan has feelings for crying out loud. but i think i can understand why someone would say they they don’t have feelings. sometimes life gets so cruel, the only way to get through it is to pretend you feel nothing. the people i really do not understand are these self-declared jerks and bad asses. my God, what is so hard about being nice? you wont die if you let someone go first. you wont die when you say sorry after bumping on someone on the street. look at me, i am so cold, but i am the nicest person you’ll ever meet. and trust me, its not forced. it doesn’t even take up your time. what part about being rude and pretending you don’t care makes you feel so good about yourself? what part about calling someone a bitch, especially when you know they don’t like it, makes you feel like you are having a good time? what part about disrespecting someone makes you feel like a hero?

i do not get people who drink themselves silly. i think that is the epitome of stupidity. what about waking up in an alley or by the roadside spells having a good time? and i understand that there are days you just wanna go out and have a good time, down a bottle or two, forget your misery for a while. its perfectly fine. hell, i think its healthy. but when you do it to the point of passing out. when you drink so much you lose control of yourself, that’s madness. when you do crazy things in the name of loosening up and just seizing the moment, that’s bullshit. that is a lot of things i won’t say(partly because most of the words going through my head are a tad vulgar). but maybe its because i am obsessed with being in control. i do not like losing myself. i do not like not having an explanation for the things i did. i do not like doing things that make me look stupid. hell, i think i am allergic to looking stupid. and maybe that’s why i would never put myself in a position that would lead to that.

but i also do understand that people are different. and everyone cannot live life by my set of rules. so while i do not get these people, i know they are perfect human beings in their own little ways. they all have something to bring to this table of life. and i accept that. if anything, they make life less boring.as you know what they say, variety is the spice of life.

The allure of pain

i keep telling people i am good with pain. i am the kind of person who will rate my pain at eight on a scale of one to ten and still refuse to take painkillers. on most days, its because i hate medicine. but on other days its because there is something about pain that fascinates me. morbid i know.pain is rather grounding; physical or otherwise. it is a reminder that bliss doesn’t last. that things could go south any moment. i think it’s the universe’s way of teaching us to appreciate our happy times. and the good thing with pain, its that that feeling stays; long after you’ve been healed. long after you get over someone. you never forget how hard it was to swallow food, or move your limbs. you never forget those days you missed someone so bad, crying is the only thing you could do about it. you never forget those days you woke up feeling so disoriented and unmotivated. and in your own little way, you strive to make sure you never feel that way again. you take your health more seriously. you look before you fall. you fall with some grace. and while evading pain is impossible, you get hurt again and again. but you learn to deal with it. you learn to laugh at yourself when it hurts. you learn to ignore it. you learn to live your life with pain. you learn that pain never held anyone back. so maybe that’s why i never rate pain beyond an eight. because i have learnt that it could always be worse. that there are people who are going through worse. so i reserve my nine and ten for joy, for happiness. and someday, i know i will be able to rate my happiness at ten. but till then, i keep reminding myself; that things should be better, but they could also be worse. so i am calling it even.

when boys say men are stronger than women..

“men are stronger than women”
yeah of course.
it would be stupid to argue the fact that you can bench more weight than i
it would be stupid to deny that i like it when you carry me
of course you are physically stronger than women
but it would be stupid not to acknowledge there are several dimensions to strength.
and in some things, women are stronger than men.
strength is how your mother carried you for nine months, painfully gave birth to you and still gave you her whole life.
strength is how we bleed for seven days in a row and still go about our days as if nothing is happening
strength is having to deal with cramps; feeling like your lower abdomen is on fire, like the whole world is seated on your back.
strength is trying not to take offence when some cheap dumb ass on the street makes an insulting remark about your breasts.
strength is how everyday is a struggle
how everyday someone struggles to forget the fact that some guy did not need her permission to shove his penis down her vagina
strength is having to sit down and listen to your male friends say shit like men are better than women
strength is how you get so mad but still don’t slap them
strength is how you go outside and take a deep breath
and while you are outside, convince yourself that it is not their fault
how you pretend that you do not blame them for feeling that way
strength is how you try so hard to pretend that you are not upset
so you smile and pretend you did not take that personally
and hope that tonight;
when you cry yourself to sleep
when you pep talk yourself out of overdosing
when those suicidal thoughts come creeping in
when you compare yesterday’s and today’s entry in your journal and realize that there is not much progress
that maybe then you’ll understand its not their fault
that you are still such an emotional wreck
that there are days you wake up and you just hate men
that you still cringe when your best friend sits really close
that there are days you stifle a scream when you hug your male friends
when you realize that you probably won’t ever look at your male friends the same way again
because in just one short sentence, they made you feel so unsafe and nervous
and without even knowing it, they admitted to misusing their strength,
perpetuated this never ending cycle of gender-based violence.
so yeah, men are stronger than women
but maybe if you sat your tiny ass down
and did a little reading
you’d know its only so because you are to protect women and children.

#MyDressMyChoice

first, i hate hash tags. so you bet if i am hashtaging something, it must be worth it. so this hashtag has been generated in Nairobi, Kenya due to some barbaric events. it so happens that there are some idle men in the streets of Nairobi who take pleasure in stripping women. their reasoning is that these women were indecently dressed. so one minute you are walking and the next there is this gang of men stripping you. how humiliating?? and i thought, i have to say something. but first;

your dress will never be your choice. you will never walk into a corporate office dressed like a stripper and expect no one to tell you nothing. we have dress codes. and codes could be synonymous for rules. and rules should be followed. so technically, your dress has never been your choice. it will never be.

again, your dress will never be your choice. in as much as we would like to personalize morality, some things remain. indecency is indecency. and yeah, there is such a thing as too short, too revealing. there is such a thing as indecently dressed. and you know why that is, because long before the ancestors of your ancestors were born, there was this panel of beings that decided that indecent dressing is wrong. and if history is anything to go by, this was a panel of men. and these men decided that women cannot wear some things. so no, your dress has never been your choice, not to women at least.

but onto the main reason for this post.
so this hash tag is a campaign of sorts. it is a clarion call for women to fight for their rights, not just to wear whatever they wish to, but their right to be respected, their right not to be humiliated, their right to equity. and i get that. hell yeah, i support that. but there is something that bugs me.

its been splashed across social media. everywhere i look i see something along these lines; that men should respect women. because those women could be their daughters, sisters, aunts, nieces, mothers,wives. that just as you strip someone’s sister today, someone could just rape your mother tomorrow. on the surface, this seems logical. but sit down and think about it. what exactly are we telling these men? that you should only respect the people you care about? is that it? so that lady sitting next to you on the bus does not deserve your respect? so we realize that in part we are saying that it is okay to rape, mistreat, abuse, strip that lady who is new in town and is asking for directions? do we realize what is wrong with such a campaign?

so no, men should not just respect women because they could be family. men should respect women because they are human. it’s that straightforward. people should respect people. gender has nothing to do with it. and i am feeling rather geek-ish. so i am just gonna say that it is practically impossible to sketch a curve of gender against respect or vice-versa because there is none that makes for a dependent or independent variable. okay, so that was lame. but all i am saying( especially for those of you who do not get the math behind this analogy?) is that respect is not dependent on gender.

on escapes and safehouses

they say the only way to get over someone is to get under someone else.
that the only way to get over something is to get busy. distract yourself.
well, this is my distraction.
my escape.
my attempt to flee reality.
my source of happiness, temporary as it may be.
this is me clutching onto the last straws of what was my determination
a feeling i am beginning to forget
this is me tuning into that distance voice telling me to hang in there
when all i hear is shouts of defeat and pain
this is me hoping to be stronger than i feel
hoping that i can still hope
hope that maybe i am not as tired as i feel
that my feelings are exaggerated
that my pain is exaggerated
and that there are more painful things
more important things than pain
like death
like writing this piece.