Guilty as charged. I’m waving a white flag as I raise my hands in surrender. I’m on my knees. Please don’t pull the trigger. Don’t unload that flurry of lead bullets on me. It’s true. I’ve broken hearts before. I’ve dropped the bomb and walked away leaving behind an impenetrable cloud of smoke like a scene from the Equalizer movie. I’ve moved on, singing to Goodlyfe’s Ngenda Maaso.
But when she told me she was running back into the arms of her ex, – even though what we had had no name – I sighed. It was a sigh of disbelief. I dropped my head and went mute. I felt inadequate, incapable, powerless, useless. My pulse dropped for a second. My knees went numb. My brain ran blank as though a nuke had wiped out everything in its path. My confidence took a nose dive into a deep valley.
That moment ranks among the top five most helpless states I’ve been in over the past half a decade. I wasn’t prepared for that message the way it was served to me.
She was right though. She didn’t owe me a thing. And because of that, I didn’t ask for any explanation.
I sent an email to Bett. Some of you might have seen Bett’s name on this blog before. I occasionally drop her name here. That lady – mama Muna – held my writing hand at a point when I wanted to let go of my pen. She believed in my ability to string words into stories. She took a bet on me. She gave me a chance to explore my craft on her blog. She held me when I was at my lowest last year. It made sense to write to her again. I write to her in moments of joy and when shit hits the ceiling. She’s an inspiration for my showing up here every week.
So I told her how I felt. “Bett, I was fcuk’d,” I typed. “The diagnosis? I’d caught a severe case of feelings.”
I read that line over. It made sense. I nodded in self approval.
“I’m on medication now,” I continued, “recovering well.” And I told her “the prognosis is good.”
I leaned back on my chair and wore a grin before hitting the send button. If I partook of cigars, I probably would’ve pulled out a stick, puffed in a lungful of nicotine and blown it out with the gusto of a gangster rapper.
Instead, I sipped my sugarless cup of tea.
I made the big 3-0 in a new country; a place I had no clue I’d be living in at this point in my life. It turned out to be significant, like flipping a fresh page and receiving new pencils to use. Thirty has come with better focus. I know what I want to put my energy on, what I need to fix, where I need to grow. I know where I want to play, which fields I can dip my feet in.
I’ve got a boldness that I didn’t have in my 20’s. My outlook on life is more positive. Thirty is a good age. I’ll explore most of it in the new year.
Leaving my Previous Job
After three years and four months of working at one of the biggest professional services firms, a brand that’s recognizable across the world, I took the exit. This was a company that gave me the opportunity to grow, to thrive, to explore my strengths, to run a good race.
I was at a point of fear and self-doubt when I signed my first contract with them. This company saved me from falling into a terrible state of self-pity. It renewed my faith in God, that all things work together for the good of those that love the Lord and are called according to his purpose.
When I told my bosses, I was taking the exit, they gave me their blessing and assurance of support.
I’m now at another global company that’s at the forefront of science and technology; putting patients at the center of what it does through drug discovery and manufacture, driving the research landscape in life sciences and enriching people’s lives through performance materials like the surface that enables you to operate on the screen of your smartphone.
Sooo Many Stories
I enjoyed every moment reading to the children at the Tot Tales Bookclub. The Fireplace: Tot Tales still has my heart even though I’m hundreds of miles away. I believe in the work that Sooo Many Stories does in advancing children’s literacy. Nyana and team, I’ll always have your back in whatever way I possibly can.
I learned to budget from Vanessa, to know what my financial priorities are, to keep track of my earnings and expenditure. I allocate money to specific areas: food and eat out, personal shopping, communication, entertainment, et cetera. I don’t ask where my money goes anymore. I can see how much I’ve spent, what I’ve spent on or what I’ve saved by looking at my phone. The app that I use tells me what’s happening in the financial sphere of my life. I’ve done this for five months in a row. It’s working.
Paris is grand. Paris is flair. Paris is gold. There’s a touch of glamour in that city that makes it unforgettable. I’ll remember Paris for a long time.
Larry is the behind the scenes guy of this blog. I’m just the guy who arranges the letters into words and sentences. When things go hay wire over here, point your spears at Larry.
He calls me Tuaps. Yesterday when I WhatsApped him, he wrote back.
“Tüaps,” he typed. “See what I did there.” Of course, I saw what he did. He used the German letter ‘ü’. Well done, Larry. He also jokes about me bowling over here with deutsche Frauen. That’s not true.
I started this blog in January this year with the first post going up in February. Keeping this blog running every week has been the most consistent thing I have done in 2019. Taking part in the Afrobloggers’ Blogging Challenge in June was a stretch that tested my writing limits. It drained me, took all my creative spark and left me fighting for breath by the time we got to day 30. I’m glad I took part in that challenge.
And to you my readers who show up here each week, you keep me going. You make me see the value in these words that I plaster here. You are the spice that brings taste to my posts. I’ve written some unpleasant words on this blog, I’ve erred, I’ve gone overboard and some of you have kept me in check. I’m grateful that you keep showing up, reading, supporting, sharing. Thank you. Let’s do this again next year. Shall we?
Enjoy the holiday season and may God always be good to you.
Until next year!