Hello, Welcome to my world!
A little bit about me.
I’ve never really been any good at telling people things about myself especially because I’ve never been just one thing, or just one way at any given time or moment. I am many things. But the one thing that has remained a constant factor is THE need to express myself.
I cannot remember a time when I didn’t have this endless urge within me – the dire need to feel things in their truest form, to experience and taste life, to live in the moment and savor the little things in life. Everything kinda had to be poetic.
Since I was a shy little girl maybe 8 or 9, I’ve had this little, yet profound voice in my head. An incessant, curious and inquisitive voice. And on other days, she was more than one voice and my head was never a quiet place; it was neurons firing and exploding into each other, sometimes in a loud and chaotic bang and other times in smooth, soothing and quixotic whispers.
I was always imagining and conjuring dreams.
Birds and butterflies always did fascinate me. Throughout my childhood I wished that somehow, people could grow wings and fly. I wanted to fly, to be light and weightless, fast like the wind, being the wind. Was I one in another life? Did angels really exist? What was it like being up in the sky, being free to go anywhere?
Girl in the corner.
I was 15 when I started writing down my random ideas and whenever I was reading a book, or an inspirational quote from a magazine I’d pretend I was a T.V anchor reading the 9 o’clock news or a sensational radio show host like Sheila Mwanyigah; a home for soul music, deep laughter and real, honest conversations.
When I was 17, my writing became more, and so did my dreams. I was in my fourth and last year of high school and I sat in a small, disorganized corner desk, which apart from being a nice spot to dream in, was a suitable hole for stashing contraband.
My favourite things to do in my small corner were writing and dreaming and cutting out dreamy photos and inspiring quotes from magazines to decorate my journals.
I was going be an award winning romance author-cum-award-advocate-cum- journalist, who lived in a big, white house with high walls and crystalline chandeliers and full length windows. I would have a special room with a retractable roof where I’d go watch stars and to think about the duality of life, about the conflict between science and religion, about good and evil, about politics and, about the other versions of me that probably existed out there, in space or in other dimensions. Maybe I was a star in other world. I’d drink fine wine in my special room and douse my dreams in moonlight.
I remember learning the word surreal and realizing that I was constantly in that state of mind.
After the Night by Linda Howard was one of my first romance novels. The copy I’d “borrowed” (call me a book thief) had a few missing pages and the rest were yellowed and dusty, with that strangely awesome smell that especially old books have – the sweet, sweet smell of freedom.
Reading it was such an act of rebellion and an awakening experience – a doorway to the more sensual parts of me that I had yet to explore. I did not understand then, why I constantly kept fidgeting in my chair and shaking my legs and sometimes crossing them so tightly, or why I felt tingly everywhere or why my heart raced so fast and beat so hard I actually had to look up to confirm if anyone else could hear it, all I knew is that it felt new and good. Thrilling and exciting.
I remember stopping to wonder why people talked about sex in hushed tones, like it was a bad thing and if it was such a sin, why did it sound so…thrilling, so enticing? So beautiful? And most importantly, could I write like this?
After reading a few other prohibited romance novels, I started spinning stories of my own. The Color of Love was one of my first titles, which was largely inspired by After the Night.
One of my happiest moments was when one of my books came back with a fan letter signed by students from other schools. I didn’t even know then that people who weren’t my friends were reading my work. Then more and more of notes came in from people I’d never met, people who didn’t even know me, people I never imagined I’d interact with and that kept me going. It was a big deal, a big step. And only a small taste of what my life could be like.
I believed in my dream and in myself.
For the most part, whenever I was in that creative zone, in my element, I ceased being just the weird girl in the corner and I morphed into something more, something weirder – a goddess.
Gradually, my corner became my realm and writing wasn’t just writing, it was creating, it was magic! And even though at 17 I was as green as could be, and knew absolutely zilch about how naked bodies fit into each other, didn’t know even know what an orgasm was- I still wondered and I still explored my imagination, became more curious, read more books. I realized that it all started in the mind and I had all the power at my fingertips. Every word I scribbled in my small handwriting gave life, created a moment, a feeling, an experience, an orgasm. I enjoyed creating worlds where love conquered all vices and healed deep-seated wounds, where passion stirred raging fires that caught on ice-cold hearts, igniting them, setting them ablaze with feeling and melting them with warmth and emotion.
I loved crafting worlds where sex was eruptive and passionate, slow and poetic, where the kisses were gentle and hearts beat in unison.
Worlds where sex was energetic and vigourous, furious,wild and fast.
Worlds where sex was especially hard, loud and raw.
Worlds where everything was magical and anything was possible!
Whatever you can imagine, is real.
I’ve always been a dreamer – often lost in the clouds, floating, drifting, traveling through different dimensions, being different people, living separate realities. A curious, naughty dreamer. Always lost in thought, wondering, imagining…questioning things and analyzing people. I dreamily wished I could read minds on several occasions – even tried it once. I figured that maybe if I squinted and stared long and hard into someones eyes, or maybe if I squeezed my temples and arched brows I could see right through them. But somewhere along the line, growing older, I realized that you could only read people – their tones, expressions, body-language, idiosyncrasies, attitudes and vibes. Or write about people.
Inside the muse’s purse.
This blog is a platform for the curious voices in my head and for the dreams which I could never let go of. It’s about growth, as much as it is about my wild fantasies.
Life has taught me that you could spend your days trying to live in a certain moment a bit longer, waiting for something to happen or trying to meet the expectations of other people or trying to conform with what society says is ‘right’, for fear of being judged or ridiculed, but as long as you aren’t being true to yourself and real about what you want from your life, and what you actually are, then you will never really live a full, contented life.
I also think life has a way of walking you down through different paths and taking you through different phases, meeting different people and learning different lessons..all so you can learn who you are.
Sometimes losing yourself, means finding yourself.
I’m in my mid 20s and I can still hear that voice in my head, haunting me, telling me to remember who I was, how happy it made me writing about the things that I loved. So I guess this is about me, being free to be me – weird and curious and mercurial, with a devious, dirty mind.
Welcome to my freaky and poetic and sometimes nonsensical world…I am glad you found me!!