Cactus Killer

“I’ll never desert you” – The Cactus

If you know me personally, or you are ardent reader of my writing, then you know I love the environment and consider myself a conservationist. Well, if you didn’t, now you know. In my quest for bettering nature and wanting to be always surrounded by it, then it should be no surprise that I am trying to build a plant collection in my home. I want to have all these types of indoor plants in every single room. I think plants are beautiful and calming. And I need beauty and calmness in my life. BTW, I usually feel like a pro whenever I begin a sentence with “and.” So this is a huge boost considering I feel like an imposter as I write this. No, not with writing but with matters environment and conservation.

It’s so bad that I am just thinking with lots of spite “you keep saying the environment and conservation, how much have you done? Cactus Killer! Who on earth manages to kill a cactus??”

I killed a cactus. I am now propagating others from the shoots I had acquired from the mother plant before she died. I got seven shoots from the mother and only three are doing well. The other four died. I swear I am the worst. And to think I wanted to be a medical doctor, ha! (Oh! there it is again 😉 at least one thing is going for me). My cactus was a beautiful cactus that had no will to live. Because cactus don’t just die. These weirdos thrive in the harshest conditions on earth for crying out loud. This one just chose that it didn’t want to stick around my mess.

I wish it was just the one cactus and its equally unwilling progeny that died. Then we could come to the conclusion that I am not to blame whatsoever. Next to the headstones of the cactus family lies the majestic and handsome rubber plant. I loved this one. He was a cutie, and he didn’t hide it one bit. He wore his good looks with excessive ego yet somehow masked it with his deep, calm, and raspy voice. He attracted both men and women which was no surprise because he knew how to bestow love, attention, and tranquility to everyone who looked in his direction. He passed on before his time and before I could get dowry since we chose to take on the Indian culture with regard to him. There was no way we would be the total package and still be the ones paying dowry for a partner. No way. Gone too soon.

I have a couple of succulents, Aeonium arboretum, that I am struggling with. They’re elegant creatures these ones when they’re healthy. They must survive and do well. I’m not sure I can endure the blow if they die. They have grown tall and skinny, yet they should be stout and compact. All the stuff I have read says they need sun. So, I have been taking them out and basking. I talk to them. I tell them all the sweet things I can think of and just how much they mean to me. I hope they believe me and hang on because I am usually naked honest as I tell them just how much I love and care for them. I have also been doing the same with the money plant. Some of her leaves have been turning yellow. Is there a clinic for plants?

They say when it rains it pours. Just before these babies got to this terrible state, the devil had invited himself to my place in the form of imposter syndrome. So, I had been grappling with doubts of whether I was really good enough and passionate to be a conservation scientist and researcher. I kept wondering whether I really had what it takes to be good at my thing and whether I can produce results that are truly capable of saving nature. Because if we save nature, then we have saved the world. I’m serious.

So, amid all these doubts, the devil used a sly mocking voice to bring my attention to the money plant. “First, save that before you can save the world” and he rolled his eyes. I felt terrible, a broken heart is better than a crushed heart. And my heart was crushed. Despite the cold-hearted delivery, there was some truth to that. Consequently, I have been extra mindful of my plant babies. I have been intentional in giving them some TLC. I’m frequently on Pinterest and google learning all I can to ensure they recover and do well. I am slowly crawling out of my doubts and shaking it off. It helps that I saw the money plant grow a new leaf a couple of days ago. The succulents are also doing well. It’s a different kind of pain when a hardy plant caves in. It feels as if you’re losing soul. Keep me in your thoughts. We just might be able to save the world after all.

Back Walled

“See and feel how much I want you” 😉 – Lizzie

You’re asking what I want?

Well…

What I want is for you to devour my lips

Devour my lips till they’re literally hot when you stop, and even then

I want you to reclaim them

Reclaim them as you push me against the wall

I want you to reach under my skirt

Part my legs and get your hand in my panties

I want you to feel how moist my vulva is

Then insert your two middle fingers in my vagina, tenderly

I want you to reach as deeply as you can

Repeatedly, softly, forcefully, and adjusting the speed aptly

I want to hear you sigh as you simultaneously kiss and finger me

Stopping only to see the yearning in my eyes

I want you to utilize the dexterity of your fingers

Feel all the crevices of my vulva

I want my labia and clitoris to swell at your slightest touch

While the depths of my vagina drool with excitement

I want you to appreciate my pussy’s lips

Understand their sensation before you can taste them

I want to let out a helpless moan

When your face is finally at the apex of my thighs

I want you to worship me

As you Kneel with one of my legs on your shoulders

I want you to show my clitoris tender and firm love

First licking the hood then sucking the entire surface of it

I want you to eat me up until I can’t take the pleasure no more

Then you can fuck me as you please.

That’s what I want. Now, can you deliver? Because…

…”if I can still walk, then we’re not finished” – Unknown

TIMINGS!

“No watch. No time. Just life in your eyes. Four words. Grow old with me!”

Jon Bellion

There’s this thing called timings and I’ve been questioning it lately. I’ve been wondering if there’s ever a perfect or appropriate time for doing things. Taking something as obvious, as simple, and as fundamental as brushing teeth. We all know that we’re supposed to brush our teeth after we’ve had our meals. But I am ever so guilty of doing the exact opposite. Not that I do it with the intention of being rebellious, it’s quite the contrary. It’s out of routine. When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I do is panic and check whether I’m late for work yet again because I always snooze my alarm. I then go take a shower and brush my teeth after the shower. I then go get dressed and head over to office. I take breakfast in the office at my desk. I just can’t help it and quite frankly I don’t mind it. After all, I do gargle some water afterwards, so it’s not all bad for those of you who might be cringing at how wrong that is.

I am a hopeless and hopeful romantic. It therefore bugs me that I can’t seem to find the perfect love. I want the kind of love I’ve read in novels and watched in movies. Now, I am also a realist and I do acknowledge that real life is complex and difficult than we’d like it to be. I understand that life’s situations and challenges scrupulously intricate to conquer and overcome in 90 minutes as it happens in movies or as written in a 527 paged book. Regardless, I hold on to the belief that if it can be perceived, it can be actualized. I still choose to trust that it is possible to find your person and work on overcoming the intricacies of life together all the while loving each other with every bit of your beings. I’m not sure I want to type the next sentence because it’s an enigma to me. The sentence goes, “What happens or what should one do when they think they’ve found their person, someone who matches their ideals, hopes, dreams, desires, vices even, but life just seems to complicated to let it happen?” I feel that the phrase it inherently packed but what annoys me is the sense that I’m being unfair to life because I live with the mantra that ‘life is what we choose to make of it.’

Most of us, me included, tend to think that the past is complicated. I don’t think that anymore though. I figured that although I may not understand all of it, I already know everything it had to offer. What is more scary to me now and gnaws at me more than I’d like is the future because I literary know nothing about it. And being an optimist seems not to cut it with the thoughts I’d like to keep at bay. But at scary as the future may be, nothing beats the fretfulness of the present. It’s the worst. I feel this way because the decisions made in the present time hugely impact what the future will be and what it’ll bring. There’s also the undeniable awareness of what the past has been and its impact on the present and we know what’s been said about being once bitten…

I am in a haze. I can’t quite express what I’m feeling and thinking and it’s not because I don’t want to or I that I lack the energy as it has been the case recently. It is because I don’t know how to. It’s so bad to the extent that I have just realized I have an alarm that went off close to ten minutes ago and I haven’t heard the alarm sound all that time. For those who might wonder, I set alarms for tasks I want to complete at given times. And for those who might look down upon the ten minutes for being short, try having a rooster sound as your alarm sound, or better yet, do a two minutes plank.

Crying is not something forlorn to me. Because I have always found comfort in crying so tears come easily and often. In the last six month, I have cried about my past. I sobbed for what my life had become, the new titles I had acquired that I never thought would ever even be in my nightmares. Yet here I was, downing them on with the stern certainty that I would never shake them off. I cried at what my life had been, all I had through, and how it had gotten to what it was. I also pondered a lot on how I got here. I didn’t understand it nor could I trace back to the exact moment that things had gone south. All I was acutely aware of was how bad and terrible it felt that I couldn’t bare it anymore. I am also precisely aware that I contributed to my unhappiness in a very significant way. I also feel the need to highlight that although I would cry and reflect a lot, I was honestly extremely happy and content. I felt free, my load was lighter and the sun shone brighter. I was floating through life unburdened, unburned. I loved it. I cried today. But today’s tears were different. Today, I cry as I think of the future and what I will make of it.

I hate regret. To date, I don’t have any regrets about how I have lived my life or how it has turned out. I can say this assuredly because I am very intentional and particular about how I live and the decisions I make. I have always been aware that regardless of what happens in life, I am part of the main story and I play a key role in how it pans out. As such, I try to make assertive choices that I can live with. The downside of being intentional and assertive is that it sucks. It sucks in the present moment. I thrive in living in the moment and making things up as I go. The irony is that in my winging it up, I’m also usually weirdly aware of the future and what I want it to yield. I could be impulse buying yet acutely cognizant that I need to save and invest. I’m doing it all, without a concrete or elaborately laid out plan. The vision and goal is clear though. Because I want to sound and seem sophisticated my strategy style is agile. I have a friend who told me that I live in the extremes. It is true, in one moment I could be living large and reduce my circumstances in next moment scaling down to living church mouse conditions. To each their own is all I’ll say to those who will feel the need to prompt to solicit the services of a financial advisor. I know money is important bit I don’t carry it as heavily as I do with love and companionship.

I have had money, which to me was a lot. I lost it all. Worse still, I was left in debt and it never did affect me as I have seen others affected by it. I bring up money because it is important for survival and a capricious determinant of relationships. And when thinking about the future, love and money, take the front seats, pants down. My unpopular opinion is that the other things are inherently beyond our control, things like being alive and healthy. When I think about my future, money doesn’t make me shit my pants. I think it could be because money is inanimate. Love on the other hand is soulful. Which is why I don’t comprehend why it fails to be pure bliss. I fail to grasp why love can’t be simple and straight forward. I am a strong-willed woman. I can do all the things I want with myself and for myself. I say this with no arrogance at all. In that same light, I dare say with all the genuineness I possess that I would be satisfied with spending the rest of my life single. However, without being the least bit desperate, I would prefer it if I had a companion who I’d love and would love me unreservedly, unconditionally and, without complications. I want someone who betters my solitude because it is untiring and rather enjoyable. I want simple love. And to be cuddled.

P.S:

I haven’t written in a long while. Although it was primarily because I was burned out, I must acknowledge that I was also hiding. I didn’t want to be vulnerable. I didn’t want to be this honest. I wanted to remain in my shell. But then, there are those of us that can’t remain hidden for long. What fuels our lives is living BOLDLY in our truth, no matter what it is. Accepting it and wearing it with humbling pride. Sunshine was honestly made for us.

“Tell the truth. Tell the truth. Tell the truth.” Elizabeth Gilbert.

With lots of love and tears.

Love Lizzie

Home

“The ache for HOME is in all of US!

YAY! You’re here.”

I thought about this piece today and decided to write it today (Which was last week as I post it). Now, it has been a long while since I penned, rather typed, something down. It has been over an year. Far more than an year! Now, don’t get it mixed up, I have written intensively, oh well, and extensively for work but not for my personal satisfaction.

 I was exhausted and I had come to hate writing. Had it been possible to escape work, I would have. Unfortunately, it is healthy to acknowledge that I’m not at that level of financial independence yet. I had to keep chasing the bag. I was so worn out I considered never writing again.

I write because it gives me joy and not because I have an audience. I enjoy reading my work. I surprise myself when I write. Writing allows me to challenge myself in a healthy manner. My writing is an enigma to me because as much as it is challenging, it is also my comfort zone. It is where I write songs, sing the tunes perfectly, dance without missing a beat. Hell, I even play instruments. Seamlessly, I might add. See, writing is home for me. Chaotic and unbearable at times yet always filled with unbound love. During these times, the only way I kept afloat was by reading my past works and other people’s writings. The latter carried the days because I didn’t want to be reminded of what I was considering giving up.

Those were extremely sad days for me since writing is my safe space. Maybe I’ve said this before here but I don’t mind repeating. I consider myself a writer first, before anything else and everything else. I say that in confidence and I am dynamic and grounded enough to not feel compelled to list all the other things I encompass within myself or consider myself to be. They are very essential to me but I am fully affirmed to not require any outside approval.

The irony of writing this today is that i feel foreign and I’m not at home, my home yet I knew I’d title this piece Home. Although, I am far from home, I feel home. The urge to write this while I’m here has little to do with being nostalgic. It also has little to do with the place being superb that I had a light bulb moment. I’ve had plenty of those in the past year but I didn’t care that I was losing great stuff all because I didn’t want to and wasn’t able to write.

It is ironic because I’m at work. I’m just going to say this very briefly because, again, I don’t think it’s important to get down to the details of it now. I work in the environmental and conservation field, the other faucet of me that makes me happy to be alive for. Also, no. My writing work and my environmental work in this instance are unrelated. My days are packed and exhausting but I am energized enough to write this here and now.

During the time I didn’t write, I had a couple of people who would read my articles and they’d reach out to tell me they’d like to read more of my work and I should update soon. I would be flattered and I’d be truly be grateful to have such positive feedback. I would feel like I owed them something and I would want to write and publish for them but, honestly, I didn’t have it in me.

Whilst I have hopes of being a published fully certified author ( whatever that means) one day, the drive is not primarily pumped up for my audience but rather for me. My writing has always been for me. I hope to keep it that way as long as I can. I am truly vane to want to publish my books just so I can read them in hard copy. I like that I am that self absorbed with my pieces. My writing carries a huge bearing on my children’s inheritance. Seriously though, I will bequeath them my manuals and passwords to my OneDrive. I hope they will read Them and be filled with whatever they’ll need to pull through life.

Now that I don’t want to keep blubbering about how writing is life for me because this is far from the last time I will shout about it, I want to say thank you. Thank you to the one person who managed to get to me. He said, “you should write again because that how you express yourself. Write and keep it to yourself. He made me want to run to a bookshop and get a notebook and scribble stuff down. It’s been long since I bought a cute notebook and pens for my journaling and quotes. Now, that doesn’t happen to me everyday. So it’s been lingering for days. The other day I was having cocktails at my friend’s place and as tipsy as I was, I just wanted to get home and type stuff. I loved that feeling. So thank you.

Candlelit

“LIFE TASTES WAY BETTER ONE BITE AT A TIME”

I might have just had the best bath I’ve ever had in my life. Yes, you read that right. And it was all because of two ten bob candles, mind you, one was half. You guys know those candles we buy when we have a blackout. Although they come in a variety of colors including red, yellow, green, and blue, we mostly buy white ones. The beauty of those candles is in their inexpensiveness and great functionality. Watu wa scented candles, you are in the wrong WhatsApp!

A few days back, probably a week and a half ago, my kitchen bulb chomekad. Since I didn’t have time to get a new one, I took the one in the hallway to temporarily act as a replacement. Then, I totally forgot that I needed a new bulb, which was despite the struggle of not using my hallway mirror. I am a lover of mirrors. They remind me of how superb I am and how beautiful I look when I smile. Vane or not, I don’t care. I enjoy and love my mirrors.

Because misery loves company, my bathroom bulb decided to join the league and bunkered off pia. The misery in all this is that the bathroom light somewhat lit the hallway with enough light for me to get silhouettes from my cherished mirror. Silhouettes speak volumes without being too busy. Most of our dreams, the one we spend almost every waking moment striving to actualize, we see in silhouettes. Yes? No? Okay, let’s talk about our lovers.

Imagine not seeing them for the longest time and not having Zoom or WhatsApp to video call no recent photo of them. You actually have no image of them, but a single silhouette photo you both took when you went for that themed photoshoot that you planned so meticulously and used up all your creative juices, how that photo makes your heart skip a beat every time you take it out. The orange flames that roar only because of the shadows of romance that the silhouette elicits in you. Reminding you of the good old days yet promising better days to come. If you are still in the ‘no’ region, then some of your screws are loose.

The bathroom light chomekaing was not at all welcome since I hate taking a dumb in the dark. Far worse is having to bathe in the dark. I’m not too fond of the uncertainty that the dark hordes. My anxiety levels get to the highest of peaks. Trevor Noah’s joke on how African women can never make good bathroom murder scenes in movies because of how roughly they bathe is far from my context because I am incredibly squeamish. I have this dire need to always be aware of my surroundings and to see everything going on. Thus I had to get my candles today.

They say when it rains, it pours. Well, it did. We’ve also not had tap water for like four days now. Not having water means that I cannot shower; instead, I have to boil water with a kettle or sufuria. Annoying as it is, I did it anyway. Then poured it into a basin and went on to cleanse my body reluctantly. Please stop with the judgment. We all have days when bathing is a task we don’t want to take part in.

When I first lit the candles, there was no “umph!” to it. However, when the scalding water glazed my skin, my eyes and all other senses were transported. Everything changed. My life was transformed. I was thinking about things differently and thinking about different things. Also when I left, the candles granted me the pleasure of seeing my silhouette. I didn’t buy the light bulbs for another week.