Dear Arsene Wenger,

I am no professor in football or economics. In fact the only football I have studied is from observation. Therefore I will not purport to school you in your area of expertise; I merely seek to give my unsolicited advice. You have also made it clear that you and your players do not need any artificial pressure by being constantly reminded that it has been a while since your team won any significant silverware. I take it you are also a frustrated man. However that does not stop the fans from wishing you would finally bag something and give them justification for their faithful support despite the dry spell.
There was a time that your team played beautiful fluid football. What I choose to call sexy football. Each player knew where to pass the ball without breaking the cycle. It was like watching a ball driven dance. The team seemed to communicate in a silent language that only they understood. No player hogged the ball for personal glory, it was flawless teamwork. A perfect knit that was so hard to break. Then the performance was consistent and so were the trophies.

However today the fluidity is almost dead, although there are days you can catch a glimpse of it. It has however become common place to see an Arsenal player break loss with the ball only to reach somewhere and stop with no idea where to pass it or what to do with it. I have seen characters pass the ball boldly to the other team! Others seem to have no idea where the goal post is or where the ball is supposed to go. Like I said I am no professor, but I will risk a guess and say probably it is because the team is relatively young. They really haven’t internalised the meaning of teamwork and want to shine as individuals. Or maybe they have all this tactics they want to try on the pitch that they completely forget your game plan. You are a vehement advocate for video refereeing, roll back some of that tape and watch Arshavin’s play. You probably need to give a lesson or two on teamwork.

Speaking of young players isn’t it time you incorporated some experience into all that talent you’ve amassed. It seems to me like you set out to weave a Kiondo, you bought all the beautiful yarn you could get but forgot to also hire a weaver. I don’t know how they do it in France but in Africa; if you want a Kiondo you don’t stop at the yarn, you go all the way and get a weaver too. So maybe some old talent is what you need to complete your magic recipe.

Another thing, what is with all those injuries? No season seems to go by nowadays without at least half a dozen injuries. I hear currently you have six players out on a buffet of injuries. Really Frenchie, you’ve got to start teaching those boys a little tactical football. Tell them they could try fighting for the ball as opposed to just putting their feet on the way. Of all the squads you’ve managed none has suffered as many injuries as the ‘chosen youngsters’, what are you not doing right or have you become soft in your old age? If you don’t have a coach for this, you could always take the boys for an exchange program at Stamford Bridge. You might get back an entire squad on injuries but at least they’ll have learnt a thing or to on keeping the ball and getting away in one piece-they are excellent at it over there.

By the way, word has it you do not have space in your squad for new players. Does that mean come the next transfer window, you won’t be shopping for a new goalkeeper? I know you are a bit of an economist when it comes to spending on players but really!!! Lets face it Almunia has become Mr. slippery hands, he might pull a Robert Green on you one of this fine days. Fabianski…where do I start? The man might have had a more or less lucky spell this season, but do you really want to risk him manning the goal the entire season? Remember the Newcastle game in November, Andy Caroll? Then there was that game last season where he decided the ball was taking to long to get to him and he went to meet it way outside the goal area. In case you are wondering that move left the ball in the net, yes on your side!! You toyed with the idea of Federico Marchetti, I think you should pursue it. It is no longer a question of want but a matter of need, you need a new goalkeeper.

You have been adamant that the team has been consistent in its performance but if that were so, we would be seeing more wins. I don’t mean to mount artificial pressure on you or the squad but honestly, we the fans could do with at least one set of new silverware. The Manchester united fans are becoming a really pain and we need you to shut them up for us. The Chelsea brigade is not helping much either. So kindly consider my unschooled advice.



# really frustrated fan.

A fragile being.

A woman’s heart is one of the most fragile things I know yet her spirit is one of the most resilient. Her heart breaks at the slightest provocation yet her spirit gives her the strength to carry on even when she has no idea how to. Show a woman a destitute child in dire need and her heart breaks. Confront her with a friend going through a trying situation and she can’t help herself. Put her in a relationship that though not working she has invested herself in and although she knows it is in her best interest to walk away, she crumbles from within. Give her a child in pain and it kills her from within that she cannot take it all away.


Though it is a gift, her fragile nature is almost always her greatest undoing. If unguarded it makes her so easy to manipulate, hold hostage and to abuse. It may drive her to seek validation from without as opposed to from within; which only weakens her and erodes her self-esteem leaving her dependent on others for affirmation on her self worth. It makes her susceptible to the comparison syndrome where she holds others on a higher pedestal than herself. Eventually she loses her identity and metamorphosis into what she thinks others want her to be.

However the reality of life is that someone will always seem to be able to do certain tasks better than you, someone will always seem prettier, more endowed physically and materially but that doesn’t make you less of a person. It only validates the fact that we are all unique beings. The truth being, we all have unique potential and attributes and there is never a need for comparison.

It is upon realizing this that she taps into that unique strength with which she is equipped to enable her rise against all the odds and go for what she believes in. it is that strength that enables her to sit for a moment in the pain of her past mistakes and failures, reflect, resolve and move on with life.

Her fragile nature teaches her to be cautious. To be careful about what she allows to permeate her being. It also comes with intuition that guides her along the way to achieving her goals. Along the way, she learns how to appreciate and nurture her fragile self. She learns how to remind herself she’s special, even when no one else thinks the same. She learns how to tap into that inner strength to carry her the distance when her heart fails her. She learns she’s a woman and although she is fragile she has the strength to overcome each and every obstacle and achieve that which she sets her eyes upon.

Food for thought.

Logic will get you from point A to B but imagination will take you everywhere-Albert Einstein.




When I was about 6 or 7 years, I picked up the habit of biting my nails. The reason, Wairimu (my best friend) had the cutest short nails I’d ever seen as a result of the habit. I wasn’t going to be left behind. Like any new habit, it took a while to stick. It did get painful at times when I attempted to take the nail to a new low, but I was determined. However with time the ‘new low’ became the standard and it wasn’t painful anymore. I did manage to bite off most of my nails to about 2cm from the root. It was painful of course in the beginning but this went away with time. I did eventually manage to get short nails (though not as cute as Wairimu’s)



Now, leaving our comfort zone is pretty much like biting nails. If we attempt to leave what we consider normal and test new waters, resistance is the first response. It becomes a battle of logic over passion, with logic having an upper hand. We are after all conditioned to live in order and avoid chaos. The mind has over time become wired to do things in a particular way such that when we decide to take a different path it ends up in total chaos. The most natural reaction to the chaos then becomes to quit the new path and stick to the old. However if circumstances are to change from the old to the new we have to allow ourselves to fill the pain and move on in spite of it. Achieving the extraordinary requires one to abandon the ordinary and fly with the eagles.



Like a new pair of shoes a new mindset is uncomfortable but with time it moulds itself into the core system that drives us- the mind. What we once perceived as new and unfamiliar becomes the norm. After all what we now consider possible, once existed in the realm of the impossible until someone somewhere decided to change that. Like biting nails you start off with baby steps, a bite a day. It becomes easier to focus on the immediate obstacles and tackle those, other than focusing on the long-term ones that are yet to even materialise. Focusing on a hundred tomorrows before you even get started, is most likely break even the strongest of wills. Overcoming the initial obstacles-breaking out of the cocoon- provides momentum to face bigger challenges.



When a river leaves its source it has to establish a course, if it’s to carry its waters beyond its point of origin. Its burrows gorges into rocks, carries away boulders and displaces soil- anything to set its flow in motion. When a course is finally established the water flows freely without much resistance to its destination. There will be of course the occasionally boulder that sets itself firmly on the river’s path. Depending on the magnitude of the rock the river will carry it away, break it down and move on along or find a way around it. Choosing a different path other than our comfort zone is pretty much alike. Filled with resistance at the beginning; but accompanied by much fruit when we persevere. The resistance we face at the beginning can either shape us or break us, it all comes down to choices. Of course it helps to know when to quit and when to try just a little bit harder.

Like Helen Keller once said, “We can do anything we want as long as we stick at it long enough.” If it burns with enough desire in you, it is worth the short term pain it causes.

Everyone has a story...

Mark has got to be one of the most interesting characters I have ever met. Nothing is ever that serious to him, even when it’s really bad. If ever I struggled with the meaning of the word apathetic, he clarified it for me. He never seems bothered to do anything beyond what is required of him. Life is one continuous monotone for him and nothing promising could ever become of it. Anytime I find him telling a story, it is always alcohol related,if he's not telling alocohol related stories he’s reeking of it. The man loves his bottle and no one can blame you for judging him. His right leg is disabled so he walks with the aid of a cane. I always thought he suffered from polio when he was young, turns out that is not the case.


Born 30 years ago, Mark is your classic rags to riches story. He came from a humble background; growing up the best his parents could afford was the bare minimum for survival. He studied in his local primary school, no fancy academies. He fondly remembers the feel of wet earth between his toes during the rainy season as he made his way to school barefoot. Despite the struggles he had to endure to make it through school he emerged top of his class and managed to secure a place in a national school. Unfortunately his parents were unable to raise the requisite school fees and he ended up in the village high school. Undeterred he went ahead to secure himself a place in Kenyatta University come form 4.

In the university, the ‘village hero’ discovered life as he had never known it before. He discovered the big city, all night partying and readily willing girls. Although he indulged in the goodies and privileges that came with university, he never forgot the main reason why he was there. Majoring in Bio-chemistry, Mark attained first class honours at the end of his four years in university.

Life may have dealt him a slow start but it had been nothing but generous to him ever since. Perhaps nature’s way of saying, “No hard feelings.” A month after graduating, he secured a job with the UN and a 6-figure salary to show for it. The boy who had walked to school barefoot with a  tattered sweater and runny nose, now lived in the leafy suburbs of Nairobi. The company provided him with a four wheel drive vehicle and an entertainment allowance to boot. Life had finally begun.

In 3 years he rose from a project officer to a project manager overseeing projects running into billions. The world had become his playground. Now when people mentioned a place far yonder he didn’t need to reach for his atlas to locate it, he had most likely experienced it.

One day, he left Nairobi with 3 of his juniors to supervise a project in Garissa. It was a journey he did not have to make but being a hands-on kind of person he chose to. They never made it to their destination. 30 minutes after leaving Nairobi as they approached Thika town, a truck lost control and landed on their car. Everyone in the car perished save for Mark.

3 months later he woke up to a white ceiling and his leg suspended mid air. For 9 months, the hospital became his life. One day in the I.C.U, then in the general ward and just when he thought things were easing up he found himself in the H.D.U. Not only did he have to deal with the fact that he would never use his right leg again but also that he had lost his job. Having spent so much time in the hospital, his employer had chosen to let him go. The world that he had intricately built came tumbling down. What else was there to do but embrace depression?



Having seen his dreams come to pass then get crashed, Mark reckons there’s no need to plan for tomorrow. “There’s no room for dreams in my life anymore, I dreamt and lived it but look at me now, what do I have to show for it?” Nothing worries him anymore, seeing as he has experienced the phrase-life dangling on a string. Though he got over the depression, he has adopted an apathetic stance towards life. To him life is a mere existence, with everyday dressed the same.

Battered soul.

He was everything she had ever dreamt for in a man. He had more money that she could ever spend. He was a delight to look at and was just the right height. He lived in the right side of town and had a car. Truth be told, she was tired of walking around and jostling for public transport with commoners. He had taken her to places that she had only encountered in books and television. She just had to have him; he had too much going for him. No man had ever been able to resist her. All it took was a feel of her silky skin, a taste of her delicious lips and a handful of her spacious behind. She was a trophy and she knew how to play it to her advantage.
He had met her a few years back, then he hadn't quite noticed her. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t made a move on her earlier but he was certain he would stop at nothing to have her now. She was quite the catch, a rare find in today's world of 'independent women’. She could not only cook and clean but she submitted to him. She was also a trophy piece; he couldn't pass up an opportunity to display her on his 'mantle'. All he had to do was give her the life she always wanted but never had.
Today they are married and she has two adorable boys. He’s never home and when he is, he’s exercising his punching skills on her. Make up has become her best friend, helping her cover the bruises and scars. Once adored and dotted upon, she has now become the worst decision he ever made. He never loses an opportunity to let her know that the only reason he hasn’t left her is because she bore his sons.
At times he is away for weeks despite not knowing where he is and going sick with worry, she dares not call. It would only earn his wrath, her ribs are still sore from the stool he crashed into her side.
She has no more tears left in her, they ran out years ago. She wishes she could share her burden with someone, anyone, maybe then the burden would be lighter. But what would her friends think of her? They would probably think less of the man she loves. She knows that what he’s going through is just a stage, a phase that will pass. Then they will be happy, they will go back to the way they were at the beginning. Or maybe her friends would think she doesn’t know how to make a man happy leave alone how to keep one. No, she cannot share any of it with them. If she told her mother or any her siblings and her father found out, he might disown her. She would be bringing shame upon him and he would never forgive her for it.
There were also other factors to consider. If she left him, it meant giving up the grand lifestyle he had set up for himself of which she was a beneficiary. Although he no longer gave her money for her personal use, she still appreciated what he had afforded for her and the boys in terms of living standards.
Tears choked her soul. Death was her only way out. Everyday she would pray to God to take her away from all the misery and pain, and then she would remember the boys. “Wait a little bit longer, I think I have some days left in me,” she would whisper. She could not bear the thought of another woman raising her precious boys.

My friend the Datsun-Toyota.

A dear friend was recently going through a difficult time. The kind where one minute you want to scream at the top of your lungs, the next you want to pull out your hair or/and break something. Yet at the end of it all, you just end up all curled up feeling helpless. Now, she’s the kind of person who’s used to being in control all the time, so such situations are generally very frustrating for her. As she was recounting her ordeal-as she chooses to call it- to me she broke into some strange analogy. Apparently she felt like one of those old Datsun-Toyota cars (I’m not sure where they manufacture those). This kind of car, as fate would have it, was used to transport nyanyas from shagz to Nairobi. It is extremely old and creaks all the way. It’s all rusty and comes in the shade of blue they paint doors in; you know that weird shade that’s neither luminous nor sky blue. It’s like green but not green (the things stress does to our tranquillity). I didn’t quite get it but it wasn’t about me getting it. So this car that she felt like, had run out of mileage and now, she, needed to go to the workshop. She-the car- wanted to be taken apart. She wanted to be totally dismantled, for each and every part to be taken out, cleaned to newness, oiled and put back together. While she was at it, she wanted to change the funny blue bodywork to a screeching shade of yellow. On leaving the workshop she was going take her now screeching yellow Datsun-Toyota self to the Concours where she would win the car of the year award. I did not mean to laugh at her predicament but I just had to.
When you think about it though, we all have that moment where no matter how much of a control freak you are, you just want to hand over the reins to someone else. The hustles of life become too much and you are consumed by a need to de-clutter. You get all consumed by a desire to take out everything that seems to be clouding your life on whatever level and remain with just the bare minimum. Like spring cleaning. Like my friend put it you want to get back to the workshop where you were assembled. You want to be taken apart, cleaned out and put back together minus all those things that were choking you up. The workshop could mean just about anything depending on who you ask. It could mean taking a holiday away from your everyday life, renewing your faith, talking to a friend who seems to have all the answers, communing with nature, it all depends on the person. Either way we all need to take sometime off and de-clutter once in a while if we are to always be at our optimum. So before you start calling yourself a beat-up Datsun- Toyota, take sometime and rejuvenate your soul.

In the dead of the night.

Things are going to get worse before they get worse – Lily Tomlin




I have always known that pearls are born of oysters but I didn’t until recently know exactly how that happens. Turns out a pearl originates from a grain of sand. When a grain of sand finds its way into an oyster’s shell its jagged edge hurts the oyster so much that it begins to secrete a substance to coat it. It is from this coating substance that a pearl is formed. What starts out as an irritation eventually turns into a precious gem. The oyster-assuming it has a mind of its own- could have chosen to whine and resign itself to the pain that the grain of sand causes. However it takes the harshness dealt to it and turns it into something wonderful.

Life is pretty much the same. As you go through life you will be at either of 3 stages; going through a problem, emerging from one or coasting in between problems. Before you call me a pessimist, when I say problem, I use that term in its loosest meaning. So the magnitude of the problem is irrelevant whether it’s where to get money for your next mortgage payment or a dress for Friday’s party is not in question. Of importance is your attitude towards your situation and the realization that life will be full of unending challenges. We can choose to look at these as the things that we encounter to break our spirit or as the things that refine us into better people.

My mother’s slogan in life is, no situation is permanent. Even the gravest of problems shall come to pass. We can choose to learn a lesson from the experience or we can whine right through it. In which case we end up at the same place we started. Problems came about to bring change, change brings about growth and growth makes us better people.

Irrespective of what stage of the problem cycle you are in, it is your attitude and reaction that dictates your outcome. If you are in between problems and you decide to sit and sulk as you wait for the next problem to land, trust me you will be depressed. Guaranteed, nothing will ever go your way and the entire world will always be in a conspiracy to bring you down. When your next problem or challenge comes around, it will without a doubt break your back. Life ends up being a blur of dark and cursed days. On the other hand if you ride your problems big or small like waves delivering you to sunny side of life, life ends up being such a breeze.

Accepting that no single day in our lives will ever go by without having to face a challenging situation, does good for the soul. Looking for a solution other than focussing on the problem keeps us a day further from the grave. Like someone said, “When it gets dark enough, you can see the stars.”

I'm just saying...

“I hate my life, there’s simply nothing good about it.”



Look at me, I am alive and it really sucks especially given the fact that some folks somewhere are busy enjoying eternal rest. Never mind that some of them went to rest with so much unfinished business. Words never said, dreams never fulfilled and gestures never expressed. Someone somewhere must have a sick sense of humour to imagine that adding more days to my life will give me more time to leave it without regrets. Tsk.



Then there’s the family that won’t let me catch a breath of fresh air. How annoying. I have to put up with curfews. Endless questions on just about everything you can imagine from two curious young minds. I have to wrap my mind around the fact that I am the same shoe size with adolescents who neither see the need to borrow something before they take it nor the need to return in the same condition you ‘borrowed’ it in. They reach out for the last piece at the table and refuse to share despite the fact that I am famished. Never mind the colour they splash on my life. One could sure use less clutter in their lives.



As if that isn’t enough, in comes friends who break your heart then mend it right back. The ones who make you laugh at yourself and cry for them. They make you do things in the heat of the moment only to have you sitting by yourself trying to figure out exactly what happened. The ones with whom you share not only the laughs and tears, but ultimately your life. A girl could sure use less drama in her life. I mean can you imagine the bliss, of not having to spend all those hours turning one scenario on facets you didn’t even know existed in the name of catching up.



The dreams that keep me going even when all seems bleak. The sun that reminds me to smile even when I don’t want to because, maybe, someone else is drawing energy from my smile. The birds that do not make elaborate plans for their lives, yet everyday they soar high, chirp away merrily and never go without. It reminds me that I am no less a child of the universe. The child’s whose cry reminds me no man is self-sufficient: at some point we all need someone to pick us up. Who needs all this? After all life is a comedy and the joke is on all of us. No one comes out of it alive.



Quit whining about your life. Enjoy it while you have it, you never know when it might just slip from your grasp.

Of fear...

It’s fear that keeps me from birthing my dream,

Yet I nurse it with the anticipation of an expectant mother,

Fear of the unknown, fear of failure, fear of obscurity,

All this keeps me from bringing forth my beautiful gift.



It’s fear that keeps me from loving wholly,

The fear of pain, the fear of disappointment all too familiar,

A Fear of giving more than I’ll ever get back,

Has slowly evolved me into an island guarded by a high wall,



It’s fear that keeps me in bed longer every morning,

The fear of routine, the fear of days too similar to tell apart,

Fear of another day having achieved nothing,

Apathy has replaced the passion that once fuelled me,

And I have traded life for existence.



It’s fear that keeps me from exploring new waters,

So I cling to the familiar even when it eats at my soul like a cancer,

Fear of giving up the familiar for uncertainty,

Fear of getting lost in unfamiliar territory,

It has all made me accept mediocrity as my portion.

Worry.

Often I find myself worrying about something.
If it isn’t my future, it’s the past,
If not my achievements, it’s the failures
Somehow, even when it seems impossible to do so, I will always find something to worry about.
Worry lies with me at night, rises with me and walks with me all day,
Yet I solve nothing worrying,
I worry about insurmountable mountains, yet I found them there,
I worry about heavens that won’t open up and quench the soil’s thirst, yet I have no idea where the heavens start or end,
I worry about tomorrow yet I’m already leaving yesterday’s tomorrow,
People, places, events, circumstance nothing escapes my worry yet I have no control even over now.

The sun rose and set,
The rains came and went,
My children bloomed and grew,
My dreams waited and withered,
My future is now with me,
I was too busy worrying, now it’s all gone,
So now I have to embark on a journey chasing a water drop in the river,
I must make my way down stream and hope that I can reach it before it is swallowed by the sea.
It is my only chance at living the life I lost worrying.

Becoming...

Today I celebrate being a woman, a lady, a sister, a daughter and a friend I celebrate rediscovering myself. Finding a precious part of me lost to the world. Every woman has been through that phase where you give up so much of what you believe in just to please others.Paulo Coelho reckons that it is our need for validation and recognition that gives rise to weakness in character.In such times we forget the values that have guided us all our life.We ignore signs that we would have previously heeded with caution.Every time we assure ourselves that tomorrow will be a better day.Yet we push tomorrow to infinity.We lose our confidence. Our spirit becomes crushed and the soul is stripped bare.We latch onto others for meaning and when they don’t respond as we would have them do.We sink further into the abyss of despair.Once a source of strength, a picture of confidence and a point of admiration for many.We become a pitiful sight in and out. But today I remembered my worth,I remembered that I need no validation; my being alive is validation enough.Though things don’t turn out as I would have them do, there will always be a better day.Though I have shouldered blame for the actions of others before,I have reminded myself that we are all responsible for our actions; I refuse to do it anymore.I will let my soul free,I will not judge myself harshly, for I am an equal child of the universe.I may not be perfect but that is no reason for me to focus on my weakness.Today I celebrate life; I celebrate being a woman,I celebrate rediscovering myself and my strength

Dear Monday,

Please don’t take this the wrong way but you must be the worst thing that happens every 6 days. I know it’s not your fault that you are such a drag. Honestly, I too would have a hard time competing with Friday Saturday and Sunday. Have you ever taken note of how relaxed Sunday is? She doesn’t rush people; instead she lets them do as they please and more importantly, at their own pace. Funny how she doesn’t even come with a dress code. But you my friend are the classic example of sibling rivalry, always stealing Sunday’s thunder. Even before she’s ready to depart, you hurriedly let yourself in. That’s just rude!
As if that is not enough, you arrive with all these expectations of early mornings and keeping people on their toes. You should give some serious consideration to a smoother transition given Sunday’s grace and elegance. By the way do they pack extra hours into you or why do just keep unfolding infinitely? You never seem to end.
Anyway, at least you only come once in 6 days, otherwise we’d have to impeach or assassinate you. Do me a favour will you, if you happen to bump into Friday on your way out, let him know that I really miss him? No one knows how to give a good ‘pick-me-up’ than Friday-especially in the evening. Kindly ask him to move it along and get here soon. If you can put in a good word for me with Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday to speed things up for Friday, I’ll be really grateful. It would also mean you are not so bad.
Ps# take your time coming back when you leave this time.
Yours truly.
.

So life goes.....

Here I am today at the end of my rope, I know the end is coming but I still won’t give up the hope that a miracle might just happen. I feel like one hanging over a cliff, at its foot thousands of feet below are jutting rocks against which raging waves crash. Up here with me is a hand that’s a few inches too late out my grasp. All I have to clinging on to is grass whose roots are embedded in moist soil thanks to the humidity. I can feel the fall coming, I know it’s coming, in a few seconds the grass will give. I see myself falling through the air, I imagine the agony of my body crashing into the waiting rocks below, I just hope it will be over soon.
*****************************
"The results came back, I’m sorry but I don’t have good news." These were the words that shattered my life as I knew it and got me where I am today. Breast cancer. That’s the monster I have been fighting for 3 years. I can’t quite capture in words, the precise moment when someone makes it know to you that you have a terminal illness, but I’ll try.
It’s like you take a walk out of your being, so when it’s all broken down to you, you are like a spectator. You can hear all of it, but it sounds like it’s addressed to someone else. Then there’s the blood rush that makes your head feel like it’s about to explode. Your stomach feels like it’s just been turned upside down too fast for your liking and at the back of your head you’re clinging on to a hope that all this is but a dream.
I didn’t know who tell first, my mum, my best friend, my girls, my boyfriend. I wanted to keep it to myself, to protect all of them from it. That’s how I always deal with things. I retracted to myself in the hope that if I didn’t tell them, I would wake up one day and find it was gone and no one will ever have to worry about it. With time though reality dawns on you, the treatment, the cost and the mere fact that your life isn’t just yours alone.
Being my mother’s daughter, she was the first one I told. I have had my heart broken before to a point where I thought I would never recover but I always bounce back, but the pain I saw in my mother’s eyes that day, my heart is beyond repair. She’s a mother; she masked her pain effortlessly and promised me that we were going to fight this thing to the end. "No one is taking you away from me before you give me grandchildren, not even some darned cancer." The fierce in me, I got it from mama.
With time I told my friends too. In itself, trying to fight a terminal illness is enough pain and strain. However when you see someone who genuinely cares for you struggle with the fact that they might lose you sooner than later, it aggravates the pain to another level. We all know death is a certainty but it always seems so when it’s far from us, when it’s someone else dealing with it.
*********************************
It is hard to believe that something that brought me pain, embarrassment, pleasure, attention and ultimately defined me as a woman is now eating away at my life.
At the beginning, it was in one breast and so the doctors recommended a mastectomy. They said we’d caught it early, though chemo wouldn’t really help. Cutting it off was the only hope at saving my other cells. Tell a girl to give up her breast before she even gets to nurse her first baby and she’ll call you crazy. I wish I had the choice. I was the first to say we go for it, but when I came to after the operation, I wanted it back. It comes with the promise of better health but nothing prepares you for the trauma, the awkwardness and the pain that comes with a mastectomy.
The thing with cancer is once it lives in your body, it never really goes away. One year after the mastectomy. The doctor found another lump. This time round, he promised chemo and radiation would do the trick. A good friend of mine has been spotting a bald look since I started my chemo sessions, God bless her soul. I kept asking the doctor why we couldn’t just chop off the other. Chemo is a nightmare that I wouldn’t wish even on my worst of enemies. You stomach won’t hold anything and you basically feel like an alien in your own body.
Prior to this last 3 years, I thought I had lived life. I thought I was doing everything anyone my age should be doing or would want to be doing. I lived life on the fast lane; I didn’t put much thought into issues like the future. I mean life has a way of working itself out, so I kept telling myself. There’s so much, I wanted to do but never did get round to for one reason or the other. However you sit in a hospital bed knowing your life is just about over and you wish you had done so many things differently.
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They found a lump in my lungs; the cancer’s breaking up and moving to other parts. I have already eaten into enough of my mother’s savings. My friends came together and put up a fund for my treatment and I feel that I have overstretched their generosity.
I am ready to give up now. It doesn’t matter how hard I fight it, it is worse than my doctor will let on. I have accepted my fate. The sooner I let go of the people I have held emotionally hostage owing to my situation, the sooner they can get back to their lives and live out what I couldn’t.
I have a chance to reach out for that hand, but I chose to let it go. I chose to let every one go. This is my fate, and I have come to terms with it. I am ready for the jutting rocks; I know their love will cushion my fall. It will be over soon.
The pain I leave behind is immense, but I can only pray that you do me one favour. Live your life now, don’t wait till you are dying to realize you have just been existing. Don’t make excuses.