Love in the Time of Corona ….

If you have not read the book Love in the Time of Cholera …… read it.

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I came across a tweet by Jeremy Cohen that melted my heart. The tweet (thread actually) gives his story of shooting his shot in the midst on Corona in Brooklyn. Man uses a drone, a ball bubble, over the balcony dinner date ……..whilst social distancing. I was romanced as well, like “How sweet!” and it got me believing there was hope for the single lane life in this age of Mutahi’s curfew and KP rungus.

The Twitter thread

Then I remembered I am Kenyan, living in Nairobi and I started laughing because of the complexities this presented.

First, we are not allowed to fly drones, so there is no one sending me their number on a drone. Forget the lack of creativity that would be a hurdle, Communications Authority has ensured that we cannot have a copy cat.

Then I have no roof to dance on, like no flat apartment roof because I do not live in an apartment and because I live in a former British colony we will call it a flat; our flats just don’t have flat roofs that one can dance on.  The one person I know who has a flat roof, has a view of the Nairobi National Park (other than the neighbours) so i figure mans options are gazelles, lions, warthogs etc etc , I digress. If I was to publicly dance by myself, the neighbours would call me mad so …… Yes, I have a reputation to protect even in these times.

So I cannot be found/met physically, unless it is the supermarket that I dash to and almost run out because I do not have Covid 19 recovery money and Mbagathi is not my portion. And how will this conversation start “Have you washed your hands?”.  And thus, we are back to finding love as we social distance.

Let us move on, these guys went for a cute little walk and I started wondering where I and a stranger would walk and I would be sure my nosy friends would not spot us and stalk, because my friends are those people. And ….

Then you have the virus whose infection rate is increasing ever so slowly, which means I am really not meeting a stranger physically (unless they can find themselves a bubble ball) but digitally. How does  figure out chemistry over WhatsApp and voice?  I know  Love Is Blind  sold an awesome romantic story but we all saw the drama some of the couples went through.

And with that, I was reminded that the average, and I repeat average (and by this I mean 90% with the 10% being left out because this is not a verifiable survey) Nairobi man does not know how to hold his own without an alcoholic beverage of sort or some thing that prevents you from really getting to know the person or having a real conversation. Basically, need a prop.Fight me over this when the curfew is over. And so I might be forced to endure a conversation where I am actively coming up with things on the fly. Why don’t I just talk to myself in the privacy of my room?

All scenarios based off the Twitter thread are coming up short and they said we would become more creative in the lock down!

My age is showing.

PS:

So how do we date in this Nairobi in the age of Corona? Whilst skipping all the jokers?

Just type …

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I have not written a post in years. Since 2018.

Stopped for a number of reasons. My spirit just could no longer write words that honoured my soul. I could not be real: and then you tell yourself you are not that good anyway, compare yourself and then you stop and life goes on. As it always does.

Every so often someone would say “You need to go back to writing”, I would mumble something close to I still write but as a job, etc etc.

Then 2020 begun and all that I planned tanked  and then Covid – 19 happened (is happening, seems like another year begun as another one was continuing). Corona virus pandemic was not on the vision board, plan or prayer request and I am faced with a blank slate and no idea what comes next or what exactly I should do. So what do you do when your mortality stares at you? When life reminds you again that actually you are not in control. But this is not the first time such a question has been posed to me. I have survived the most ridiculous things. I will survive this and look back and laugh at what I feared. But I do not want to survive on the other side of a homa that has shut down the world, claimed numerous lives and changed how we view the world.

So I write again, the same way I begun the blog, I write and publish as a marker of where my heart/mind is at the moment. Nothing fancy or edit worthy. Not about who reads it or likes it but about writing because I can and I want to.

I have eaten my body weight as I watch the numbers spike, might as well do the one thing I am mightly afraid to go back to.

 

PS:

Not sure if this is a start, continuation or proving a point at this moment.

 

Imperfect Progress

Progress as has been defined through scholarly works and life lessons is going forward in a straight line and if the road may curve, it should do so slightly and still lead forward. But this is not always how life plays out for some people and so when we compare our lives we fall short of the standards.

 

My life is the epitome of life playing out in the reverse. Life was cruising well, then I hit a bump on the road and then the car stopped, and then it stalled on the road and then …… basically the detour is like taking a back road and slowly realising that you may actually be heading backwards. And I have spent so much time beating myself whilst comparing my life with everyone around me wondering why my progress was not like everybody else’s. Interesting how during a comparison contest you use their highlight reel while using your entire movie. And then you get yourself in the dumps and ….

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… the the light bulb comes on and I realised life is not linear and progress can be imperfect. One does not have to get to the destination using one straight road, you can take the detour that leads you almost to where you started, you can stop by the roadside and watch others pass you by and sometimes you will get lost. This does not mean you are not making progress, it just means your progress is different, that your life lessons are different and that you are truly alive since each one of us is meant to bring something different to the table.

And so in the next half year, I am embracing my imperfect progress.

Can’t shake the feeling

What happens when our minds do not act normal?

It takes a lot of courage to say something is wrong because we are not permitted to say our minds have gone left. Our minds are these divine attachments to our physical bodies that should not be scared but unfortunately time and time again it is proven that the mind too needs rest, care and sometimes help.

I sat with someone the other day who apologised for an anxiety attack and that broke my heart. How many of us would not say “I am sorry I have a headache.” My heart did not just break for the individual but for myself. For the number of times my mind raced, paced and went to un-normal places and I told myself that asking for help would be an intrusion. That people would think of me as a burden. In a season where everyone is talking about suicide,  mental health, reaching out to friends and family, checking on the strong friend etc etc, perhaps we first need to make sure we are a safe place for stressed out minds. Reaching out is a noble idea but you have to be a safe place. Safe places not only listen but also do not cause extra harm.  Safe places don’t ask you to snap out of it and want to talk you out of the moment. Safe places are safe.

How about we pick up literature on the mind and how it works. Develop real empathy and accept that in some occasions God chose you as the Jesus of the moment., which means you cannot just say a prayer and let it be. And when we know nothing, being silent and present is also an option.

 

Let us be human and allow others to bring their unadulterated humanity to the table.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Little Rays of Sunshine ….

Storms do end …. some with as much force as they begun.. others, with a slow ebb making the comparison with the build up . Sometimes we do not know whether the storm is over or it took a break to return. And life does mimic this pattern in certain seasons, when you see a ray of light or a door open and you get a breather but you do not inhale deeply or take a seat, since you are not sure on whether the good fortune will last or this is just a pause before the next round of the fight.

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I do wish I was a better writer, like my hero and heroine authors whose words have depth and sense. Whose sentences flow effortlessly. Master communicators. Of which I am not, hence the struggle with this blog. The anxiety that what I am writing is not as beautiful as theirs stops my typing. Comparison. Not that I am competing but when it is all said and done, I read what I write and that matters because I love beautifully written work.

Disjointed thoughts?

Not really.

I took a trip to a place I always wanted to visit. Homage of sorts and I loved it, moreso, the who I took the trip with and the memories we made. I do not know if this was as a big a deal to the other as it was to me. I did not ask because I did not want to burst my own bubble and change the memory. It is those little things that give us hope, when life hands you a gift and you unwrap it and are filled with joy.

Experiences cannot be bottled and so they remain memories to feed on when you are not sure if the storm is over or it just took a break.