Circles and Scars- Part 1

Joseph Chege is in that small list of people, or let me say , he’s in that small circle of friends that life forced me to have. I have a ‘circle’. You do too. You should. I usually think to myself that the “circle” is forced on to us because we can’t connect with everyone. And I’m somewhat at peace with that.


We even have a dance move. Okay, it’s his move, but I coined it “the McCringle-berry“. It’s silly and dumb, but its ours. Aaand… we have to be sufficiently gone to even pull it off. That’s friendship for you.

His way of telling me to chin up every time I’m in an off-key mood is reminding me of how Jacob (from the Bible? I think-­čśë) was tricked into marrying Leah and had to work YEEEARS for Rachel. The poor guy, he must have been full of strife for all those years, but he eventually gets that happy ending.┬á *whispers*┬á The Leah and Rachel story looks to me like the┬átype of tale you narrate to someone who is stuck in the friend zone. Haha. Okay, I will shut up about friend zones. Still, you can spin this story and manipulate it to relate to any bad-vibe situation you could be in and you’ll be just fine. [ You’re in a mess right now, but time is unique in fixing misgivings, work towards being a better you, and everything falls into place.] See, you can relate it with anything.

My way, I make fun of him. Oh, I laugh the shit out of him, I have one very loud and very loose and very contagious laugh. I’m a laugher. *HELLO OXFORD, NEW WORD? I will make you laugh to cheer you up, and when you’re half-done with laughing when you take that slight pause, I’ll say something Martin Luther King-ic. And you’ll be just fine.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * *

“What do you think about this line?”, I ask him.

“…the beauty of art is that you can only like part of it”. I had been thinking┬á about this ever since some conversation I had with H. Remember H?

Let’s take a detour.

Scars, they do not form on the dying. It starts off this way, her status.

And I lose my mind: i love words.


“Your status, deep. ­čĹŹ”

“It is. Yeah, that status is sort of deep.”

“It makes me think that there’s a story behind every scar.” *And just like that, I got the title for this post*

I proceed to re-read and realise there were two parts to that status.

Scars do not form on the dying. They mean I survived“. Now, I must say, after I read the second sentence I didn’t like the whole thing any more. Naah, not as much. I felt it lacked┬ácomplementarity, the second sentence made the first sentence imperfect. Or what do you guys think? So I tell her this.

And she says, “Art is that way, you can just like part of it.”

I have to confess something, such beautiful wording usually gives me boners. A few hundred bones in my body and those words were responsible for yet another. “there’s a┬ástory behind every scar“, “the beauty of art is that you can only like part of it“. This is first class verbal coitus.┬á SMH. I get to say stuff like this and laugh quietly to myself. I’m not allowed to say coitus in my own blog, you say?┬á ­čść ┬áCoitus. Coitus. Coitus.┬á

“I’ve always said to myself that words are the most beautiful thing on this planet.” I’m in awe.

“Yes, indeed. They are.” Then she said that thing about Arsenal.


[Back to Jose now.]

He pauses for three seconds and lets out this scornful laugh.

Davie, hio line ni shit.” (That’s a shit line, David). He struggles with constructive criticism, this guy. I know I was supposed to be offended but I laughed too. Because friendship is that way.

He must have been joking. So I ask him to really think about it.

*Take your time*. Aside.

“Wait, it does make sense.”

*Aaah, there we go*. Aside.

“Uh huh.” I gesture him to go on.

“Take the Mona Lisa (for instance), what I like about that painting, is her enigmatic smile. I’ve never really paid much attention to whatever is in the background. I don’t want to.” He likes it, partly.

I’d been struggling with the fact that people may never come to fully appreciate this blog up till these two heaven-sent┬áconvos. Yes, those convos had Jesus written all over them. My blog is no Mona Lisa, but you will like part (if, at all, not all) of it and maybe that’s the whole point.

I’m a stoic. That’s my greatest trait, I think.

Don’t let the world see your tears.

Practise smiling in the mirror every day, it will all come to pass. 

I was brought up this way. So I will keep stuff to myself. But just this once, I am going to break my own rules and tell you about my biggest scar. Remember how as kids, we would go to school on Monday and playfully show off scars?

My knee is this way because I rode my bicycle so fast , I fell off.

My forehead is swollen because, on Saturday I started running and didn’t see the door slide open. Y’all know the drill.

It’s nothing joyful. I won’t be smiling when I show you my scar, but it’s therapeutic for me. I know no amount of counselling will work, drugs don’t work too- I’m just saying. So I will stick to my words.

My mother is my biggest scar. And I’m ready to tell that story.

Suspense is a b****!





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