Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Lost my way

I think I have lost my way. I dont seem to have control of what is happening basically because I do not know what I want to happen. As a result I just go with the flow. I have never been a guy who plans his life. I am not one of those people who have five year plans with clearly defined objectives they want to achieve. In my view plans are based on assumptions of options available and what is actually desirable. The problem with a plan is that you may be so focused on achieving certain goals that you miss out on emerging opportunities. Of course the real reason is that I am a lazy guy who will not be bothered with planning ahead when he can survive without having to do so.

This philosophy of plans being bad things has worked for me all my life. A guy leaves primo then goes to high school after which he goes to campo then gets a job. Not too much choice about the whole process. It is a clearly defined sequence. I have played the game as it was designed, its nearly six years since I left campo and I have been working for the same guys. I find myself wondering What next? Is this it? Am I supposed to do this for another ten years? I need that person who defined the primo, seco, campo path to come and tell me what is supposed to happen now.

Two things have happened in the last few weeks that have made me question my life even further. The first happened during a lunch date with one my workmates. He called me up at around midday saying he was bored and wanted to go for an early lunch. I had delivered a deliverable earlier in the morning so his suggestion was pretty attractive. Since we had time we decided to go to Rosina. The place always brings back fond memories of second year and third year. We were having a nice heart to heart discussion on the silliness of the jobs we choose to do when he asked me where I saw myself in five years. Maybe it was the sun or the fact that I had been checking out freshas and seeing how young they looked I realised just how old I have become. The question really threw me off. I have now idea what I want to be in five years. I cannot form a picture of the kind of person I want to be then. The problem is if I do not do anything about I will still be something but there is a risk I will not like what I am.

The second event occured on Sato. I have been doing some jobo at some bank that like all other banks is changing its systems. I was sitted next to this chick from SA who works for the vendor she must be like 23 or 24 full of life and always looking for a good laugh. We got to talking and at some point she asked me how long I have been working. She was really taken aback when I said six years. She gave me a look of, 'you poor boy'. That got me thinking about the last six years of my life. I have very fond memories of the first three years after campus but the last two have not been anything to write home about.

The interesting thing is that I have a myriad of options. I do not have a wife and kids to pull me down. I do not feel pressure to succeed at work. I am not pressured by what everybody else is doing. I have come to appreciate that money aint a thing. I am therefore free to do what I want. Just cant tell what it is I want.

I feel different. I am not the same person I was four years ago. I feel lost. I am seeking for a purpose in life. A passion. Something that drives me. A sense of direction.

What to do

What to do. When you have a terrible memory for names and faces. You meet someone on the street. Or rather someone stops you. You can tell by their enthusiasm that they aren't just some random gal or guy who'd want directions or something. They actually know you. Terror starts to check in, which you do your best to mask, all the while trying to figure out where you know them from. Most of the time you don't succeed and the event passes on. Hoping that is, that they are graceful enough not to turn it into a confrontation with questions like "What's my name?".

It's a bit different when it isn't a face to face meeting. When you get a forward from a chic and don't immediately recognize the name. And it isn't spam. No links to cheap viagra and the like. How do you respond. Do you respond. It is only a forward after all. Not too personal. Do you do the ubiquitous "How've you been", and hope she takes the bait, providing you with more info to identify her. Do you be more risque. And hope she takes the bait. We'll be using the more neutral approach today. And see what happens.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Carpenter for a day

When I checked into high school, I was thrown into all manner of things. Got drafted into the choir. Military style draft. No choice in the matter at all. Being in the choir in an all boy school isn't the coolest thing I didn't think. But when you're a mono you do as you're told. More drafts followed. Mara I was playing volleyball every other Tuesday. I used to stand there as the ball was being tossed back and forth wondering what I was doing there. I was clearly no good at it. I mean if you were any good your arms wouldn't hurt every time you tried to hit the ball. Either I had the wrong technique or these other guys had arms made of steel.

And it went on like that. You get handed some page long thing to recite [you have to cram it first] for some competition. Elocution they called it. And it's in swa so you don't even know what half the words mean. Cramming stuff you don't understand is hard. It's why I've always preferred science/logic/discrete stuff. Either you know or you don't. Why I chose a course which needed a cluster of Maths, Physics, Chem and Georg. Used to flunk literature like nobody's business. Like this poem we did in the pre-mock exam in form four. I had no clue what the thing was about. How anybody could know what the thing was about. And whatever the teacher decided was the correct answer I was sure I could argue any other's case. It could have been about aliens it was so ambiguous. Or maybe it was just me. Then there was poetry in swa. Haaa. The phrase "seeing dust" comes to mind. What the ChinaMan used to call "kufunikwa". During the mock exams I was one of those who got a bonus. He was a nice old man the swa teacher. He felt for those of us who got zero, so he gave us one [bonus] mark. Angalau. It was circled or something to differentiate it from those who had actually got something right. I figured then that any degree course that had English/Kiswahili as a requirement wasn't for me. Fitting then that I ended up as a programmer.

Before you know it, you've become an excellent gardener, can mop a floor like a pro, sing, dance. OK. Dance was voluntary so I never did that. Besides, I had choir so I went for trips already. Which is the only reason anyone joined dance. Play volleyball, even though it still hurts, football, hockey, act in plays and get sent around a lot. Not sure if that last one counts as a "thing" but it sure swallowed up a large chunk of time. You're doing so many things you don't have time to think. No time to read either for CATs that come at you like bumps in the road when you're going too fast. No time to linger, or get bored. Or get homesick or stressed. Which, looking back, was a good thing.

One of the reasons I've gotten all flustered at the jobs I've had is the fact that after a couple of months, novelty is lost. Sure, you may have more work to do as time goes by and all sorts of deadlines always looming over your head and the same kind of time pressures. No time basically. But you're generally doing the same kind of thing. What if one day a week you made tables or something. What if you didn't do one job but 5. Now that would be something. Should be interesting if not anything else. You may not be an expert at any of those things, but a lot of things people do tend to be routine such that there's little difference between someone who's been in a position for 10 years and some newbie just out of campus. It helps when you leave one set of concerns behind, even if another set checks in. There were [many] days when I would be on the pitch in the evening knowing that I had a CAT that evening and I had not read or revised or whatever. Nothing. And I would happily get on with it. For those 2 hours nothing about books would get into my head, and even though I would be murdered by the physics paper afterwards, it didn't stress me. Perhaps what I needed so as not to get all stressed out and depressed about work was a hobby. Or like my boss kept suggesting, that I get married. Or get a [nagging] chic, like 0.5 offered. Maybe. It's the same principle I guess. Something different to put your mind to.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

What they don't tell you

There's this chic I met. Couple of years back. During my last stint of regular church going. Yes, I met her in church. It was an interesting time that. Interesting seeing how young guys think and act. I was quite surprised actually, to see that they were pretty much the same as those who may not do church as such. They talked about boys [the girls did] and the youth choir leader guy went to some of the clubs I went to. Pretty normal folks then. There were some hot chics in there too [that wasn't my motivation for going]. Dressed up like any other chics. Dresses fitting in all the right places. [again, not my main motivation] Anyway. It was pretty encouraging to see people being themselves.

Now, this chic. She was like the hottest of them all. [she totally wasn't my motivation for going. honest] Light brown, stunning face, devastating smile, flawless body. Probably looks like 0.5's woman. Anyway. We got introduced at some point. Started chatting a bit. Only a bit. Never quite got to flirting. I guess it was one of those things. You dream of getting something but when it's there, staring you in the face, you freeze. Feet go cold. I didn't push any agenda, and neither did she. And that was that. She got married eventually, to some guy. Bright guy. She was like 23 then and I'm sure he recognized that she wouldn't be available for long. They had one kid at the last check and I guess it's the happily ever after for her.

So the other day my mum was talking with my small sis. I wonder sometimes what they vibe about often into the late hours given the 40 year age difference. And this chic came up in the conversation. This kind of thing tends to happen when I'm walking past, going into the kitchen to get some water. Can't for the life of me understand how she would come up in a conversation. And comments like how we were well suited and she would have made such a good wife and how sijui who else thought we had a thing going on, it was so perfect. Waa. It's not the first time I've heard allusions made to the need to work on my single status, although my small sis joining in was a first. But I was surprised. People see you going about your business, saying nothing, kumbe all sorts of things are going through their minds. Reminds me of the time it first hit me that my folks really would have liked that I become a doctor. They had only mildly intimated their preference before I went off to campus but that was pretty much the end of the story. I thought. Only after I'd finished campus did my dad lay it on me. How I was caring and stuff and would have made a good doc. They seemed quite disappointed. Still. I had no idea. I figured it was long forgotten. Little did I know.

Sunday, November 09, 2008

its dark , its sunday and it's boring

no elec.

Friday, November 07, 2008

Too hot

There's this woman I used to meet. I feel squirmish using the word woman, but what do you call an older, er, woman? Anyway. I used to see her every so often on my way to work. And there's one thing that always used to strike me about her. Apart from her stunning beauty that is. And non-lying hips.

I used to wonder, why such a gorgeous woman was taking a mat to work. Well, not so much why as how. I had this impression that chics avoid using mats at all costs, and that the only thing of comparable pain would be being thrown into a tub of boiling oil. But my concern was pretty basic. Had no rich man spotted this lady. Where were the rich blokes. Pick her up from her house or buy her a car or something. That's what rich guys do, no? That's how the game works doesn't it. Having such a woman tread the same path as me just isn't right. She's too hot for that.

Thursday, November 06, 2008

No car? No thanks!

Familiar storyline. In class. Some chic. faking a need. " i wasn't there. pls photocopy your notes and bring them next class. Sorry, Matejivu, what's your number. 07XXYFCHUK. There you go. she smiles suggestively, bullshits abt the way i looked keen. Blah blah yap yag yak.
I didn't ask hers. intentionally actually. Coz she was not cute. Cute is like a convertible SUV. She was not. Otherwise Mutura angemeza evetually going by her initial enthusiam. Plus i read anaa quote: Never mess with an ugly woman, coz she has nothing to lose.
Ok. Lemmi finish my story.
She thinks i have a car ( I know you can guess the rest of the story, but i will map it out). We walk out of class. She thinks i am walking to the car park. So she wishes me goodbye. Only to see me heading towards the pedestrian pavements. Intending to walk from one end of nairobi to another. She can barely believe i am walking (like wild animals do).
That's the problem of mistaking a pot and a suit for a rich dude. I know that she will not call again. It's 2 weeks and she didn't.
Ok if you are reading this, its not you and you are cute. Delete my number and pls don't confront me. I am sorry. na mutura tunaweza ongea. sawa?
Isn't it interesting that i look for chics mainly to give them mutura, but i judge them harshly when they seek me when they want my wallet. Not all, but basically 98.76% of them.