At a crossroads

The day I received my termination letter started off like any other. Hot and humid, and boring as F… as usual. Nothing in the normal-ish breakfast of watered-down, black-as-coal tea coupled with a not-so-delicious and dry as hell “Andazi” prepared me for this thing that has, in more ways than one, drastically changed the direction my life was headed.

There I was, at my workstation. Perusing through customer profiles, absent-mindedly willing my nine-hour shift to end as fast as Usain Bolt’s vanishing act in the 100 meters. When a brown envelope, apparently sent to my branch manager from the HR department at the head office in Nairobi, Kenya, landed on my desk. The first sentence read… “As originally stated in your appointment letter, dated June 1, 2017. This letter is to notify you that your role in the position of Customer care intern, will end effective May 31, 2018, and will not be renewed…”

I will spare you the rest of the gory, heart wrenching, soul-grinding, butt-squeezing, suffocating details. I read the rest of the letter in a resigned, I-frigging-hate-this-like-Trump-hates-china kind of way and knew then and there, in the deepest crevices of my heart that my life would never be the same again. I had zero savings, massive debts and an unstainable lifestyle, all of which depended on my salary, without which I was remorselessly fucked. In the truest definition of the word.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, my job as a customer service representative in one of Kenya’s leading retail enterprise ended in that not-so-romantic way. I hightailed it out of there and was literally thrown out to the dogs. And believe me when I tell you, being without a job, and in debt, in a town far away from home, in a society that doesn’t give a rat’s ass is something you don’t want to find out about. I lived like a church mouse…the ultimate church mouse… Indeed I lived like a homeless church mouse whose friends just bullied and threw out of the church.

I had no rent money, no food money, and no money for any number of a hundred needs and wants money is needed and wanted for. And because of this, I did any number of jobs that I could wrestle out of mother fates cold-dead-gnarly uncaring hands. Everything from freelance writing to writing for second-rate peanut paying content mills that have so many rules for registration you would think you are applying for a UN job. In the end, after 4 months of hunger and anger and depression. I received a call from a friend saying he wanted to hook me up with a job.

Turns out the job was Insurance, so yes. I just started out my career as an insurance agent. A whole new jungle of struggle and challenge. One which I have chosen to embrace and cling to like a dying man in a frigging ocean. My life is at a crossroads… my life will never be the same again. Not ever.

And if I manage to crack this insurance gig, most people don’t think I can, in fact, most of my friends and family, my mother included, think I’m demented to even take the job, that’s how tough the insurance market in Kenya is… but if I crack this gig… well, then, maybe, just maybe for once in my life I will be truly free.

TO BE OR NOT TO BE, SELF EMPLOYMENT AND FORMAL EMPLOYMENT. (Part 1)

I haven’t written for the sake of writing for a long time, September to be exact. Mostly because I did not have the time. My website lay forgotten and quiet as I labored day and night in my formally employed position.

It isn’t till my contract ended with my previous employer on 31st May this year that I got to thinking. I sat down and pondered away. What is important, which is better, is it to sit in an office assured of a monthly recompense, or be out of the office, not sure of any income at the end of the month. I thought and thought until I couldn’t think no more, and still I thought. In the end my findings are thus.

FORMAL EMPLOYMENT IS MODERN DAY SLAVERY.

 

No doubt you think am mad. How could I who was until recently employed come to this conclusion. I thought me mad myself when I reached this conclusion but the evidence was stacked against me. I had to accept that which reason had unearthed. After all, what is, is because that’s how it is. I had worked for my employer for two years. I don’t deny that I gained invaluable experience in my position. I don’t deny that I was paid for my work every month. But at the end of my tenure I have nothing to show for it.

See, the modern employer knows that the simplest way to get you to work for him for life is to pay you just enough to keep you going. Just enough to keep you beholden to them. It’s a circle you can’t break out unless like me you are lucky that your contract doesn’t get renewed or you get fired. Otherwise you get stuck in a lifestyle you can’t afford to give up.

In your comfort zone you don’t reason beyond your employment periphery with the adverse effect that you do not grow, you do not save, and forever remain a 30 day slave. Once you get paid, you blow your earnings in the lifestyle you are stuck in and return to your slavery for another 30 day interval.

IN FORMAL EMPLOYMENT, YOUR DESTINY IS IN THE HANDS OF YOUR EMPLOYER.

The truth of the matter is when you are employed your employer decides where you go. Your life basically, is out of your hands. All you think off is internal vacancies and promotions. I have nothing against this kind of thinking but for the fact that it is limited thinking.

You alone know your potential. And convincing others of that potential has always been at best time-consuming. In formal employment this is further confounded by the fact that your employer is busy concentrating on his business and profits and not in seeing whether you deserve to be promoted or whether your potential is above the position you currently occupy.

IN SELF EMPLOYMENT YOUR MENTAL FACULTIES AND POTENTIAL ARE BETTER EXERCISED AND UTILIZED.

It is risky, its unpredictable, you are out of your depth, at first you don’t even know what you are doing,  you spend most of the time worrying about your next big break, it is not for the lighthearted, it is not routine, you don’t know what to expect, you have no expectations, ultimately it is fun.

The above paragraph concisely summarizes what self-employment is, except for the last bit. Different people have different definitions of fun. Personally I find the not routine bit exiting. Nothing kills the spirit of a man than doing the same thing today, tomorrow and the day after. It’s a zombie existence for Sunday to resemble Monday and Monday to be no different from Wednesday and Friday.

Furthermore, since you don’t expect somebody to pay you at the end of the month, you have to apply yourself. You have to use your mental faculties to reason out where your upkeep and rent will come from. And the best part of it all is that nobody puts a value to your time. You choose.

YOUR TIME IS YOUR OWN.

What the rich and the poor have in common is 24 hours in every day. How you choose to spend it will determine where you will be in five years’ time.  Spend it in an office growing someones enterprise or spend it growing your own.

Your choice.

 

 

OF SLAY QUEENS AND WHY THEY ARE QUEENS OF NOTHING. (Part 1)

A story is told of a girl child. Born in the middle of the night to a runaway queen. Born on an island in the middle of nowhere whilst angry waves raged, lightning struck and thunder boomed. Daenerys Stormborn she was called. Her mother, the queen dies during childbirth leaving young Daenerys motherless and fatherless. Fatherless because her father King Aemon Targaryen had just been murdered, the result of an uprising that had ravaged the land for years. The usurper then killed every last Targaryen he could find, to better protect his claim to the throne. As a result the orphan princess, Daenerys “stormborn” Targaryen is the last living member of the once powerful and feared house Targaryen.

The story of how Daenerys grows up, running from one town to the next, always one step ahead of the assassins sent by the usurper king to kill her, and returns to exert vengeance on the people who killed her family and to take back the throne that is hers by right is one of the most gripping, explosive epic fantasy tales of our times. We have George R.R. Martin to thank for penning this magnificent story in his book series “A song of ice and fire.” We also owe HBO a debt of gratitude for bringing the story to life in the movie series “Game of thrones.”

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Emilia Clarke, she plays Daenerys Targaryen in Game of Thrones.

This story albeit fictional is a perfect example of determination, strength against all odds, resilience, beauty and brains. It’s the stuff queens should be made of. Yet you and I both know that this is not the case in our times. Not nearly the case. In this day and age any girl worth the salt in a salt shaker who fancies herself good to look at labels herself a queen lest she be left behind by her peers in the queen bandwagon. Slay queens they call themselves, what do they slay I wonder.

We have witnessed the rise of self-absorbed, self-aggrandizing, petty, unenlightened, dismally read, alcohol guzzling, shisha smoking, bogus queens whose only claim to queening is their good looks. Looks that don’t look so good in the morning when they wake up and all the make up has rubbed off. Ask any of these self-proclaimed queens the name of the coldest desert on the planet and she will roll her heavily mascarad eyes at you and walk away. Because instead of brains between their ears there is smoke.  Bitch you ain’t no queen.

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If a woman is knowledgeable, she becomes more beautiful.

I for one would like to believe that a little make up and good looks shouldn’t be all it takes to be a queen. We all know that the days of old are long gone to dust and the few royal families left in the world are ceremonial to say the least. Still, it has always been the human nature to aspire for something much bigger than themselves, so no, I don’t despise these would be queens… But shouldn’t a queen have vision, goals, be confident and astute, aspire to inspire. A queen shouldn’t only look good, a queen should be good at whatever it is she does. And she should use said goodness to change not only her life but the lives of those around her.

 

THE COLOR OF LOVE 

Wind. A breeze. The quiet promise of a starry night sky. A woman. A windy breeze blowing under a starry night sky carries upon its wings the quiet promise of a woman.

Who has looked into a woman’s eyes and seen her soul? Who has held her and felt the reverberations of her thoughts? Who has conversed with her and understood the inner machinations of her heart?

Which man has kissed her lips and not felt his heartstrings snap? Which fiery hearted lover while ensnared in her embrace hasn’t felt fleetingly a slice of paradise? And in so doing, hasn’t he for the slimmest breath of a second perchance…glimpsed the color of love?

Like a river after the rains, love flows, over flows,  swells its banks and we like so much sand are swept into its murky depths to lose our dignity, the very fabric of our independence in pursuit of another human being. A person, who most often as not doesn’t appreciate the fact. One whom by utter ignorance or petty prejudice disregards and belittle the courage we have shown.

But that is to be expected.

Who being loved has ever understood the sacrifice made in loving them? Who being loved knows why?   Who being loved doesn’t take for granted the affection shown them? Who being loved has ever looked deep into themselves and questioned if they deserve to be loved?

The color of love is one so true as to be next to impossible to find. Why?   It finds us when we least expect and eludes us when we need it most.

Alas when it finds us!

Which meal, eaten, has ever tasted as sweet?   What manner of musical note, having been listened to, has ever rang so pure and true? Which drink, drunk, quenches all thirst?

What color…in the whole world…possesses hues as vivid as to rival the color of love.

LOVE IS OVERRATED. LETS JUST HAVE SEX.

SEX IS FUNNY, LOVE IS SERIOUS.

Two decades I have lived…Two decades mired in struggle, married with unrelenting and repetitive not knowing.  Chasing the elusive better tomorrow. Yet I must say, nothing quite scares the living hell out of me like love.

Well, It wasn’t always like that. In the past I loved love. Or the idea of love at least. Two strangers, unwittingly brought together by fate, willingly with tingly sensations losing themselves in each other. Living in a happy place filled with radiant sunshine, beautiful sunsets and starry skies, carried away by breath snatching kisses, goosebumps inducing caresses and hotter than Mombasa at noon love-making.

Turns out the idea my over imaginative head had concerning love couldn’t have been further from the truth. And the truth… it hit me like a ten tonne truck speeding downhill when Zipporah Onsongo broke my heart. I learnt that love wasn’t birthed when you looked at the object of your affections ans she smiled at you. I learnt that love wasn’t all sweet and rosy as the movies would have us believe. I learnt that in reality damsels didn’t go all week in the knee and misty eyed when you told them you love them. And even as smithereens of my ruined heart filled my chest with the pain of a thousand needles. I was dragged down into the dark fathoms of despondency and self loathing. And that’s not the worst part, no. It doesn’t even come close. The worst part is she broke my heart and didn’t even know it. “I love you like a brother.” Was what she said. Words forever etched onto my heart with the vividness of a tattoo.

And like that Love was done with me and I with love. Done and done. Thank you but no thanks. I mean, why can’t we just have sex? No? But why?

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Hippoquotes.com

Am not saying I haven’t met other fine ladies after the fiasco with Onsongo the heart breaker hereafter referred to as the “heart breaker.” I have and prettier ones at that. Why, Bertha Lauren was romance itself, Lily was the sweetest girl, I haven’t laughed so hard since Diana, Yvonne stole my virginity, Phine was a lesson in kamasutra, Letisha is the fuck of my life,  Winnie understood me and Rina loved me. I could go on and on but that’s beside the point. The point being that the forbidden fruit while untested is often the sweetest. “The heart breaker” with all her perfect imperfections held sway over me because I couldn’t have her. But that isn’t to mean all the girls who reject me are of consequence.  Far from it. See the mistake I made with “the heart breaker”  was that I invested too much time and feelings into the whole debacle. I day dreamed about her, many a night I night dreamed about her as well with the result that I was hopelessly and pathetically infatuated. Thanks to that experience that is something I don’t do anymore. I don’t fixate on girls. They are not worth it in the long run. Let’s just have sex uh?

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I want you and I, mature adults that we are, to be honest with each other. There is no need to dissemble. Love is for marriage folk and folk looking to get married. More fool they, for marriage kills love faster than the time it takes for Vera Sidika’s twerking derriere to go viral. The rest of us normal folk shouldn’t dabble in the messy affair that is love. We end up complicating shit, as though shit ain’t complicated enough as it is. Let’s just have sex aye?

Life is full of shit. Most of which are self-inflicted, galvanized and fueled by societal notions and expectations. Sex for sex’s sake, done by two individuals who want to, unencumbered by conditional mannerisms is the only pure thing left. Who said love must come first, show me the rationale which qualifies that ideal. Can’t we just get along, like each other along the way, have sex like two idiots and remember each other fondly?

I for one know that am good in bed. And you look like you could be too…I don’t know…so what’s the big deal. Let’s just get on with it. Do the do and be done.

I WILL RISE. 

A word begets a sentence. A sentence begets a thought. A thought leads to a paragraph. Thus a story is born. I labor with the word, I wrestle with the sentence and never since the beginning of days has there been a strife more ponderous than creative thought. But with the resultant story comes an assurance. I will rise.

I will rise.

I met her three weeks ago. The way she swung her hips was art in motion. Her eyes were a brown deeper than brown. And brown has never held an allure so great as it did in the moist unfathomable depths of her eyes. My breath stuck and words went right out of my head leaving a humongous cavern of silently resounding attraction. Alas she wouldn’t have me. “You are not quite what I want. I am not ready to be in a relationship besides. Don’t trouble yourself thinking about me.” And my heart broke into a thousand pieces each smaller than the last. But with her rejection came an assurance. I will rise.

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Image courtesy of poemhunter.com

The days are hard. The nights are harder. The days though lonely cannot compete with the loneliness the nights bring. I lie in bed starring at the ceiling, willing the crushing need for something or someone to subside. My phone lies silent,  no one is calling.  My numerous texts though sent and delivered go unanswered. So I lie in my bed and battle the temptation to indulge in masturbation. I lose. Indulge then instantly castigate myself. A man should not have sex with himself. And in my state of helpless loneliness comes an assurance. I will rise.

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Image courtesy of detas.tk

A word begets a sentence. A sentence…a thought…then a paragraph. The story that emerges is one full of promise. The future is as yet undefined. I refuse to remain in chains. No amount of rejection will keep me down. The story born is definite. I will rise.

AS I TURN 23

Life is a journey. An adventure into the unknown. And yet that is what makes it worth living. The belief that since we don’t know what the future holds, we can do anything. Be anything. We can curve out of life a portion for ourselves. And why shouldn’t it be so, why shouldn’t we be able to achieve all that we set out to achieve? The answers to this question, at least in my opinion is simple. Can we be what we want to be? Why not. This is the belief I hold as I turn twenty-three.

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In the end all we regret are the chances we didn’t take.

Life is not simple. Life has never been simple. It will not start being simple today. This is not about simplifying life. Life cannot be simplified. The best we can do is wrestle. I say wrestle because life will not allow you to simply grab what you want to grab. It wrestles back. And dirty too. But good things don’t come easy. Good things are earned. Can we be what we want to be? Yes we can. But only if we want to be what we want to be real bad. Enough to make us make ourselves be what we want to be. That is the formula I have arrived at. And when you look at it that way, it becomes easy all of a sudden. Don’t it?

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Inferior men are satisfied by normal things. Superior men know that normal things don’t mean a thing.

I am not the wisest of men. I know that. I am not the most resourceful nor the most talented. Nor are you. But don’t let that stop you. It’s certainly not stopping me. Who’s to say I deserve any less than the next man a shot at happiness. No one. Besides, happiness is relative… what makes me happy may not make you happy and vice versa. That right there is reason enough to be selfish…to go out there and fight for my happiness regardless of whether it makes you happy or not. See my point?

Because at the end of the day, it’s all about me. It’s all about you. I am sure you’ve asked yourself this question plenty of times. “Who’s the most important person in my life?” Well, today I have an answer for you. The most important person in your life is you. The most important person in my life is me.

Finally, since we have established that the most important person in my life is me…as I turn a new leaf in my life. I promise to go all out this year. I promise to make more effort in achieving my goals. Both long-term and short-term. I promise to try new things and take more risks. I promise to love unequivocally and fuck irreparably. I promise to chase only the woman I really want, not those who I think will have me. I promise to live. Not exist. I promise to do better, live better, be better. The best is yet to come.

Happy 23 to me. I have arrived folks. I have arrived.

My book comes out next month!

Disclaimer: The content published herein is copyrighted to the Author (Bujabs Dennis) and may NOT be used anywhere else in ANY format, whether in Print or Electronic.

Hello good people. Its been a minute since I last wrote onto here. I have been working on my book. Its like Eminem said, Harley, daddy’s gotta write a song, the song won’t write itself. So yeah, that’s where I’ve been. Writing and rewriting, fighting off feelings of deplorable haggardness and all the while feeling as though my brains were wilting.

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Its been amazing writing my own novel, its a special feeling.

Technically my book’s already written, Its the gritty nasty part which comes after that I’ve been painstakingly undertaking. The editing and proofreading. And take it from me, that shit is difficult. But hey, no good thing comes easy. Besides, I’ve got a really good motto…its simple yet motivating and it doesn’t have any of that mushy sentimental bullshit you get from everyday internet quotes. Mine says… When in hell, the only way out is through the fire. Cool huh? I know.

Anyway, enough with the complaining. On to the good stuff. I have created something of worth. Something that will leave a mark. Wait till you read the summary…yeah, you read right…before this post is over I will release the summary officially. So read on pal. Its gooood up in here.

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The editing led me to my first cup of cappuccino. It isn’t as delicious as it looks.

And because we’ve started on the good, lets not stop. Details on the book are as follows.

TITTLE: Before the Games.

Author: Bujabs Dennis (obviously)

GENRE: Epic Fantasy.

Alternate world, death defying warriors, magic,birds of prey that can be ridden as men ride horses. Powerful sects, corrupt government officials, noble princes, beautiful princesses and mighty kings. Yeah, that’s what you are signing up for in  “Before The Games” 

There is something for everyone.

 IT’S GOING TO BE A TRILOGY!

This first book is only the first in a series of three. One that before it ends will see you to another dimension and immerse you in gory battles, amazing cultures, magic, and romantic interludes.

The name of this continuing series is The Vanah Chronicles.

THE SUMMARY.

BEFORE the GAMES. (book one of the vanah chronicles.)

 Five nations coexist.

The thriving cosmopolitan republic of Vena.

The waterlands, Biru.

The Desert chiefdoms of Konta.

The grassland nation of Marubi.

The cold mountainous monarch, Ostabi.

What unites the five are the games. A ritualistic competition that happens once every decade.

Meanwhile in secret old forces rise again. Rivalries are renewed and the games that once promised harmony and fostered peace could be the harbinger of doom.

But the games must go on…

Look alive folks. I will update you in due course on which platform or platforms the book will be available.

Till then, keep reading. Keep dreaming. Lets leave a mark.

When will they learn? Beauty is unmerited. Beauty is luck.

She is constantly posting pictures of herself across social media platforms. Pictures of her lips pouting on Facebook. Pictures of her butt on Instagram, pictures of her eyes on Facebook and Instagram, pictures of her bellybutton on Instagram and Facebook. Is it insecurity I wonder, is it driven by a compulsive need for compliments? Who knows, perhaps it is pride laced with mediocrity, perchance it is a superiority complex. A never-ending urge to look, appear, do and be better than the next man. Or in this case, woman.

With her pictures come all manner of affirmations. “Self-love is the best love.” Who said so? Or “Stay slaying.” Whatever that means. Or “Life is too short to not have fun.” Fair enough. Or “Meeee.” As if me with one e isn’t good enough. Still, the most pathetic affirmation of the bunch is the ill-disguised lonely state of “Crushing on myself.” Who does that? Who crushes on themselves?

I told her not to be self-absorbed. She told me to go get a life. I asked her if she already got that life herself, she said, “Whatever.” I told her beauty is unmerited favor. Beauty is luck I said. It is not a talent I rationalized. I told her she shouldn’t be good only at looking good. There would come a time when she wouldn’t look as good. What would become of her then? She answered with “You are a hater.” I said, “Am not hating, am empathizing.”
I asked her what her future aspirations were. She gave me a vague answer, “I want to be in a happy place.” I told her there is no such place and to be more specific. She said she wants a happy family. I asked her a question then. I asked… “Who would you like to marry you?” She said she wanted a loving, loyal and financially stable man. I asked her another question then. “Are you loving, loyal and financially stable yourself?” She answered with silence. “Then why should a loving, loyal and financially stable man marry you? What does he have to gain from the arrangement?” She wasn’t able to answer yet again. I smiled and went on to tell her a simple truth. One as universal as the sun, a truth as sure as the rain.

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“Beauty is luck, No one works for it. Don’t let looking good be your defining feature. Beauty can get you places yes, it can open some doors for you I agree…but beauty fades…and when it does…go figure. In the meantime, it hasn’t. If you keep using it to get the things you think you want but which in real sense you don’t need, then you are no better than the prostitutes that line the streets at night. Indeed in your hypocrisy, you are worse than they.

In conclusion, no one respects a beautiful prostitute, but everyone respects a beautiful singer, lawyer, actor, teacher, author, business woman. You get my point. Get something to be good at and be good at it. Let not your beauty be who you are, but rather let it compliment who you are.”

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YOU ARE MAGIC, a romantic tribute. 

You are Magic.                                             Your legs are bewitching in their bewitchingly long elegance.                 What I wouldn’t give to follow the path they lead.                                                     Even blindfolded I would reach my journey’s end up where they end.

You are magic.                                                     Your waist is a sensual creation sent from dreams and drunken visions to fuel my imagination.                                                 I don’t care much for dreams and drunken visions…Still my imagination has a mission to get from your waist an occasion for a sensual lesson.

You are Magic.                                                     The unrepentant swell of your sweet ass terrorises my every waking moment.         The way it wiggles…The way it rises…       The way I whistle…                                           Wherever they lead I will follow.                 Forever to rise and fall shall be my motto.                                                                   Because in their movement I see a better tommorow.                                                         I just need to spank and see, to hold and feel…to squeeeze and feast.                           Its illegal how they move.                               Its magic how they look.
You are Magic.                                                     Or your boobs are…                                           Or I think they are…                                         Like dormant volcanoes they sit.                 Tipped by two nipples.                                     Like live pistols to touch them is to enact an enchantment.                                               Suck them and watch with merriment the rise of sleeping giants.                             Squeeeze them and witness a feeling outside the bounds of science.

Aah my love. You are magic.
That’s how I know you are mine. For I believe in magic.

 

 

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