Good morning class. Welcome to Creativity 101. I’m Professor you know who…
I spend hours drafting posts. (Save for whatever is posted in the Banter section). I want my words to set off a train of thought in every reader’s mind. I imagine it’s just you and I sitted somewhere. I narrate, and you listen, as you nod to agree or disagree. I’ll also be silly enough to attempt to make you laugh. I attempt to give it my all. There’s beauty in an attempt. I have people I send my pieces to before they are “published”. Members of my circle. I trust these people. Keep to heart anything and everything they’ve ever told me.
There’s nothing I don’t know about the stuff that I post. I know for a fact that I don’t use enough full stops. I never have. I never will. This is a post about freedom. More specifically, my freedom to write.
I’m a millennial. Part of that generation that was birthed in the early 80’s spanning till late 90’s. We’ve been adorned with tons of nicknames… The Peter Pan Generation, Echo Boomers…Blue Band babies. We’re it.
We’ve grown up wanting to make the world a better place. To change it. Leave it better than we found it. It’s up to us to be that change. I believe that we have to invite in new ideals, and that some ideals of the present are like torn socks or any inanimate that’s old and ugly. I’ve grown up in Kenya- during a time of transition. I grew up at a time when society was flirting with the idea of embracing technology wholly. In as much as I had a PlayStation in the fourth standard, I was still expected to go out and play with my friends. There was bano, chobo ua, kalongolongo – roles had (and still have) to be learnt at an early age. And shows like Ed, Ed and Eddy, Dexter’s Lab, Kids Next Door and Scooby Doo (Channel O?) that we never missed out on-it was all part of growing up. There was a balance- a ying yang. I’ve since outgrown these shows, miss them only a little. I haven’t outgrown FIFA- I thank God. It’s no secret that nowadays a proper childhood will be experienced before the screen of a television, or tablet, or any other equal and approved gadget.
“Hawachezi kwa mchanga kama sisi.”(They don’t play in the sand like we did.) My friend John Kitur laments.
They have apps. Stuff for them is online. Kalongolongo is online!
Anyways, that’s not the point of this post.
I had to edit a word out before I posted No Role Models. The F- word. F for fabulous. A member of my circle read it and was a bit unhappy that I had used the word. I told her I’d take it down. I kept my word. (Not H. H is all about freedom.) But tell me this, who here has never spat out the F-word? F for fabulous. Obviously, some of you are going to wear your pair of goody-two shoes and deny ever saying it. Shut your fabulous mouths. Why can’t I type the F-word and let it rest in any post without fear of judgment? She reminded me that not everyone has “evolved” in that way– and for that, I’m grateful. Hell, I remember laughing when I heard my mother first spew that word. She only ever said it once, the word flew out of her mouth and landed in my ears like a paper plane.
I wanted to use that word to show you how Truphosa’s story disgusted me. But I had to take it down, because society is not ready. Utter B.S. (Bernie Sanders?)
We’ve always been ready, millennials! We were born ready.
I’m not saying that the word should be abused. I’m saying that I want to use it in any way I see fit. Not obscenely, of course. In a creatively fun way- like in a poem. [Hold that thought.]
It hurts that all we can do is conform. My old man once told me, “Conformity can be stifling.” That’s kind of correct, don’t you think? In a conformist society, freedom doesn’t really exist. There will always be a gag.
My distaste for conformity is why I’m in a fulfilling relationship with HBO’s Game of Thrones. GOT bows to no one. GOT will cross that thick line drawn between insanity and normality. GOT will tease you, keep you guessing. You will hate it so much. Then love it as much. It will hurt you today, then have mind blowing sex with you on the morrow. Ouch? Sort of leaves you aching for more of this bohemian love-hate dance thingy you two got going. More. And more. It’s never enough. That’s because R.R. Martin and the producers are blessed with freedom. The freedom to be creative with both the obscene and the norm, bound by no gag. I will not delve into character naming. I will, however, tell you that my favourite episode involved a pair of bastards. It’s comprised of perfectly selected ingredients of both the leaves of the good and the roots of the bad, boiled together to deepen and extract the flavour thus forming finger licking broth. GOT is so yummy, you will want a second serving. You have the freedom to choose not to watch it. But if you do, you can’t choose not to love it.
You guys know I’m no brag. So it’s okay if I say that I know that my work is not garbage. And if I ever do come to write garbage, I expect them to call me out on such. I trust them. And I would need their honesty. Not their hypocrisy. They’re always objective and tell me to use kinder synonyms, or be more descriptive. Or tell me to employ puns. Pun da sentences when the need arises. Panda.
[I have a friend who trips when she hears (or reads) the word Panda. Because the song. Every time she hears or sees the word, she’ll listen to it for a full 24 hours. She’ll always whisper Panda…Panda…Panda…mince some lyrics…Legacy…Phantom… It’s a masterpiece. She tells me Trey Songz is bae. He’s THE one. But if she were ever to choose between Trey and Panda…she’d choose Panda. She’s not stupid. Audrey Mwangi! And the spotlight is on.]
So class, what have we learnt today…
We have learnt that to be free means never having to make a choice between right or wrong. It means drawing a fine line between the two, and dancing on it, without ever having to cross it. Without ever having to choose.
We have also learnt that we’re not free, because we always have to make a choice. Up or down. Front or back. Get back up or wallow. An endless plethora of having to choose between two (or more) sides of unparalleled and unequal nature.
Lesson number three – when you come to think of it, freedom is the world’s best-selling ideal.
(And lastly, A for Audrey, A for awesome.)
What’s better? To be happy and free? Or to be free and happy? None I tell you. We can’t have both. We couldn’t be free (never have been), but we found ways to be happy. And there’s a choice there too, we choose…to be happy…or wallow in sadness.
We are not free.
And it’s because I’m not free (to use the F-word) that I’m going to find a happy way to use it. I will make the F-word sound funny and punny.
I’m not good at poetry- have only written one poem, to a girl of course. This right here will be my second poem. I will try to make it short, so please don’t laugh. It’s a funny punny poem.
Entitled “The Fur King.”
There’s a King in the North…
There’s a King in the North and his name is Jon Snow…
The King in the North has to wear fur…
For it’s cold in the North and he could ride far…
If far the King goes…
Then fur the King throws…
For he’ll be far from snow, King Jon Snow
Fur king, Jon Snow, how far South will you go…
This fur you will throw, if South you go…
It’s far, oh King, don’t hurry away…
It’s fur, oh King, you’ll throw it away…
It’s far, King Jon Snow! Don’t go.
It’s fur, King Jon Snow! Don’t throw.
Fur King, Jon Snow!