“When you turn 21, you will get the keys to life.”
This statement was an enigma. A riddle wrapped inside a mystery some would say. Mama once said this to me and I stood there like huh?
Keys? Keys to life? Hio ni nini?
But she was so good at changing the subject, not even what I’m about to do in this post comes close.
For the longest time now, my Twitter bio had been reading Vanity. Fear. Desire. Competition. #writeLife. #ManchesterUnited. Life inspires me. I invent theories to keep myself sane. I believe the oldest theory to be that life has no constant side. It’s like the many-faced god. It get’s crazy. We’re seeing it all. Highschoolers brandishing their middle fingers- rejecting the system. Synthetic sex dolls. The U.S of A are re-writing the Lady and the Tramp story with Hillary and Donald Duck. Obama said duck first. He also gave a rallying speech during the 2016 Democratic National Convention. Carefully worded. Crisp. What CNN called a closing argument in the prosecution against Donald Trump. A win would be empowering, worldwide. None of my business (but as intriguing as life itself).
Life gets morbid too. Even the weather in Nairobi is confused. Sunny in the morning. Chilly in the night. With July being a month blessed with a large bosom. Birthdays everywhere. Stuff like us hosting the UNCTAD conference. What John Kitur describes as a win for humanity. NASA’s Juno spacecraft entered Jupiter’s orbit. Another win! There are apps like Pokemon Go! What I think Jose calls small joys, cheap thrills- ask Sia. We marvel at all this as we sit and watch one Ms. Natasha Mutai give a talk to student members of CRESA (Construction and Real Estate Student Association). She’s a daffodil. She was glowing. Beautiful. A miss independent. I don’t know how old she is. But I’ll let you know she’s a big deal in the Real Estate consortium. And her bills are paid on time 🎶. Hehe. A career lady, if I do say so myself. What I imagine Truphosa will come to be in the next fifteen years. She shared that what keeps her going is a challenge. One day I will interview you, Ms. Mutai. I call this challenging myself.
My friend Dennis Ruto was born to love cars. They give him the biggest of boners- a slight tickle in his pleasure centres. Cars. I call him Mr Big, because Zootopia. He can fit anywhere. And this helps him get things done. Especially on the dance floor –inside joke. He knows what’s flashy and trendy to have for a car. If there’s ever going to be a successful TV show about cars in Kenya- he should be the host. We’re always running to him with car queries. Like I once talked to him about my dream car, asked him to dissect it. The Audi A3 Sedan. He was impressed, gave me his blessing. He likes his cars like the Salvatore brothers, old school. We were having tea with bread one day when he showed me a photo of a black Mercedes C63 sedan. A car that’s been blessed with a serious ass. An ass that doesn’t ask to be spanked. It begs for it. Makes me want to cheat on Audi. Cars. Girls. Same thing? Then I tell him about a Cadillac I had seen in full stride the previous morning. All I remember is that it was black and big.
Black, you say?
I think ni ya G-Money.
He then shows me photos of what the inside of B-Club looks like . My heart sprints with excitement. It wants to party there (some day). Let me get wealthy enough to be so vain. B-club makes me want to enjoy vanity. Because life’s shorter than all of Kevin Hart’s foot ladders combined. I have to sample all that life entails. B-Club is only dreamlike now. But I can work towards being able to afford partying there. It’s earned a place in my bucket list. I’ll be sure to thrive in life before stepping in there. Maybe I’ll go when I’m, say, thirty years old? I will dawn one of those bespoke Armani tuxes. I’ve only ever worn a tux once. On my first birthday. There’s even a video. I’ll announce myself. The son of Pauline. First of his name. King David-the-daring. *only thing I could find rhyming with De Gea.* I’ll taste vanity. I’m thinking if vanity were a fruit it would be a mango. Juicy. Scrumptious. Yummy. Nothing like the bitter, fearful or joyous side. The desire side is why I have this blog. I desire next year’s BAKE award for Best New Blog. Best Creative blog usually goes to Biko Zulu. Plaudits. That’s like the Oscar’s of blogging. I want to smile like Ben Affleck after he won one for a movie he helped write. I’m just doing some Good Will Hunting.
If you ever read my pieces and thought “This guy is good. He’s getting better. He can be great.” And you don’t share, then what’s the point? I’m thinking if I get the shares, I’ll earn a nomination. A nomination means hope. And hope is dangerous, I should know. But it’s come back to me in a cruel way. Like some repentant lover. You know, like that one ex we would all take back. In the form of my so called God-given talent. And I have embraced it. Fully. Wholeheartedly. I give teddy bear hugs and girls know how that feels.
I’ll talk about Fear later.
Competition? It’s hard to impress. How many more new-age bloggers are out there. How many more are like me? What stories do they tell? How much they hate men who drive Subarus? No for real, that stuff makes your blood simmer? Inawafanya mskie thithi? It makes you feel what Dennis feels about cars? Hehe.
Freeze frame. Back to vanity. I’m yet to fully taste vanity. Estelle was only just a bad idea. An act of rebellion. A HP Envy. She had the name of a deadly sin, and I just didn’t care. The laptop that bailed. You know that feeling, when someone bails on you last minute…betrays you. I’ll talk about betrayal one day. But for now, I’ll just stick to vanity. I want to feel and touch and dance to vanity. I want to see if there’s any sweetness to vanity. I’m only just 21- perspective will change. And what do I know? The world is telling me to go to B-Club. And I have to. Font for sarcasm?
In the first 6 months of this year I’ve spent the Sunday mornings either dallying over an assignment, or nursing a hangover- sometimes binging on left-overs. I’ll have you know something about the day I finally decided to stop sitting on my “talent”. The day I posted my first piece. I woke up slightly past midnight fully rested. It felt like morning. I couldn’t get back to sleep. Then the voice on my right suggested.
“If you’re not sleepy, why don’t you just surprise people around you with a piece?”
Just write. Write David.
But what about?
Aren’t you the class clown? You never lack words.
And the title.
THE WORLD SHOULD SEE THIS. That’s the voice on my left. It sounded like an echo. Echoes are just poignant.
I agreed to it. But didn’t know what to write about.
Tell them about your book.
Noo… Your other book. The one with all the stories.
Introduce yourself. Make them laugh. Tell them you want to be a writer. Just write. Write David.
I’ll sum it up to say that that was the night TheWriteDavid was born. My beautiful baby blog. I’m not even a big deal. But I have you millennials by my side. You know me as they lad who just wants to write.
I sleep well knowing I will wake up to write more. Impress more. I love to write. I want to spend the next 6 months trying to be better. I’ve met depression. She’s a tough road to walk on. I even have another poem about her. How she messed me up. The human mind tends to think pictorially, and so every time I thought of a future with depression by my side- it looked darker than 11:59. I want to walk on this road called hope. She’s a finer and smoother road. Scares me because she looks a bit too safe.
But she promises that I will be a better David. Obama calls it turning one’s grief into action. Humble. Inspirational. Trustworthy. Likeable. And above all, full of character. That’s not to say that I won’t ever clown around.
Vanity. Fear. Desire. Competition. I added Love. And Faith. Because that’s the last word my mama ever said to me. She was like a bottle of Asconi. Spilling out the most beautiful wine. A wine I’d love to call perfect. It tastes like a secret. She said the most beautiful words. Words like wine. And trust me, all I can remember is…”Faith”. Something about always standing firm. About there always being a way. Sometimes I joke to myself. A mother’s last piece of advice to her dearest David, “When you marry, I want her to be called Faith.” Hehe. It’s a sick joke. It’s supposed to give me cheap thrills. Again, Sia’s fault.
But she died on August 2nd. And I have to relive that day. The worst day of my life. I wasn’t ready…Life served me a bowl of shit either way. Something that wasn’t on the menu. Enough.
My theory is that the keys she was talking about are Love and Faith. With Faith comes Hope. And here’s one fault to that theory, I keep saying hope is dangerous. We can’t have too much of it.
Life is a door, and the keys to it are Love and Faith and passion. For me, it’s all about unlocking the doors of life through stories. What is your passion?
Here’s to hoping August comes with good news of Paul Pogba coming back to the Theatre of Dreams. #DabUniversity