Category: society (Page 1 of 3)


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.



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.


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.


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.


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.




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.



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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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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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.


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.

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.




Its not an easy thing being with a girl. And no one knows this better than yours truly. Obviously, if you’ve been reading this blog for any decent amount of time you are no doubt aware of my ratiocinations concerning the human female. If not, well…time and blogs wait for no man. You may want to scroll down to the previous articles and let your enlightened betters continue with today’s story. The subject of which is clear. As the tittle brazenly suggests, I want…I need a wifely girlfriend.

I have dated enough girls to know better, I have had enough sex to learn I have a talent for it and I have done enough self evaluation to know I deserve better. After all, this world we find ourselves in demands you put yourself first, otherwise no one will. That said, the wifely girl I need should possess the following traits.


My wifely girl should be possessed of an animal need for conjugal mannerisms. Because I like having sex, I don’t like not having sex and I don’t want to look for sex elsewhere when am already committed. That would amount to cheating. The logic behind that requirement follows therefore…one rationale leading assuredly to the next until we unequivocally come to the last. High libido.

P.S: It goes without saying that a high libido should come with an affinity for bedroom matters. Or in absence of sensual skills, a willingness to learn.


I don’t want to date a girl who is materialistic. I am a man of little means trying to be rich. And Rich I will become. That said, I don’t need a girl who doesn’t see past her nose.
I have enough bills to handle without a girl going and adding her list of luxuries to my list of needs. And that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate you, I do. I just need you to be visionary enough to know it won’t always be this way.

But of course if that is too much for you to handle, feel free to be with a boy who takes you swimming and buys you presents. Just recognize that the said boy gets his money from his rich sponsor of a dad. Moreover, even his undergarments are bought using money from his mother’s purse. Enough said.


If you don’t dress sexy when we are dating, whose to say you will dress sexy in the future. A leopard never loses its spots. And please, PLEASE, don’t come to my place in trousers unless of course you are on your menses. Otherwise, that’s like saying you want to switch roles and be the man.
A lady should look lady-ish when she goes to visit her man and nothing looks more feminine on a lady than a dress or a skirt.


In this context respect doesn’t mean you curtsey whenever you see me. It means treating me as an asset rather than a liability. If I call and you miss it, call back. If you can’t, call back when you can. If I text, reply. If you are busy, text back saying you are busy. Don’t wait for me to call always, call too. If we make an appointment, keep it and keep time, if for some reason you can’t, inform me well in advance. If you are in the wrong, don’t just text a miserable sorry, show you are sorry. And please, don’t use the universal respect is earned thing on me, you are not a Job to be done and to earn anything as recompense.


You are here to be my companion through life. My partner in crime. My stress reliever. My lover. My best friend.
You are not here to be my investigator. My judge and jury. My highschool principal nor my university dean. So play your role.

In conclusion…I want a wifely girl…with whom…for one moment…for just a little while I can be more than just me…with whom I can connect on a level undefined by expectation, unencumbered by explanation….well…you get it…am not a bloody poet.


No one’s worse is worst.” Bujabs Dennis.

Eldoret town, better known as the city of champions is home to some of the world’s greatest track athletes. The likes of Vivian Cheruiyot, David Rudisha, Ezekiel Kemboi and Eliud Kipchoge just to name a few. But the home of champions isn’t home to champions alone, or so I have come to learn after staying in the town for a little over two years now. Living in Eldoret is a lesson in humility, perseverance, determination and strength against all odds. I say this because a walk through the streets of Eldoret is a walk through the grimy and brazenly exposed murk of poverty and struggle…the lowliest state a human being can endure is endured by many in Eldoret each and every day.

I write this article because I must, in addition I write it to educate the blissfully ignorant people living in every corner of the world that what they take for granted in their lives are blessings of a magnitude they could only comprehend by witnessing abject dissolution and poverty. I write to enlighten…to motivate and most of all to remind everyone that your situation isn’t the worst there is…trust me…it can be much worse. And the best way to figure that out…is to take a walk through the streets of Eldoret as you read this article. Walk and read, walk and learn. Walk and be grateful.


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Eldoret town exists at an altitude of 7000 feet. Now it goes without saying that such an altitude is cold. But then the word cold is relative…so I’ll be more circumspect. Eldoret generally has hot days and cold nights. By cold nights I mean shiver inducing, goose-bump growing, teeth rattling, dick-shrinking, blanket-penetrating, you-cannot-sleep-without-socks-on-plus-a-marvin-plus-two-blankets-or-alternatively-with-one-hot-as-fuck-lady-type of cold. That’s how cold the cold nights in Eldoret get.
And yet as cold as that…people sleep outside. Yes…people. Human beings with bipedal mannerisms. That said…thank god you own a bed, or your parents bought you one. Because your nights are warm. Some people aren’t as lucky.


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Our earliest childhood memories, those that steer us, are grounded on home. The people who remain most important to us are those we share home with. It follows therefore that our deepest affections, our base, our sense of belonging and community, the very foundation upon which we build our lives…gravitates around a home structure.
Without it we are reeds floating in the sea, lacking a sense of direction…lacking an anchor and lacking continuity because it knows not where it goes. Yet millions all over the world are without a home.

Every day on my way home from work, I witness abject poverty in the homeless street families that line the streets of Eldoret. Most often than not, these same families are invalids…the result of accidents or sicknesses. Their state is absolute misery.
The only familiarity they know is familiarity to hunger. The only companions they have are the weather elements under which they are exposed day and night. By day they suffer the noon day sun and by night they endure the cold without bed or bedding. Such is their life.

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I never really understood prostitution until I came to Eldoret. I knew the definition…and I saw prostitution on Hollywood movies and the like. But the reality of the trade escaped me because I hadn’t interacted or met any prostitutes. My ignorance didn’t last….
We all know what prostitution is…or we think we do. But do we really?

Do you understand the gravity? Could you explain the desperation that causes one to take to the streets for the purposes of selling their virtue more often than not for a pittance?
To be honest, the money doesn’t even come into the equation for me. It is the act of vending your essentials to complete strangers, without regard to self or to the state of the stranger. Because like in all businesses that deal with consumers, the customer is boss. So whether said customer is as smelly as a rabid dog, or uglier than a combination of machete and lady Brianne of tarth…the prostitute can’t refuse to sell. The reality of the trade is dark, and cold and dangerous and painful.

I see them each night. Paraded along the darkest streets of Eldoret. Young girls as beautiful as summer roses. Girls as young as sixteen. Going about their trade… whether it is because of poverty or desperation I will never know. All I know is to be grateful for each and every thing I once took for granted.

Home, hot food, sweaters, blankets, beds and mattresses.


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The tallest building is still under construction.

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An aerial shot of Eldi.

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Enough said.

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Zion Mall. Where I go to work.


Never stop wanting what you want. (Bujabs Dennis)

At this time…a young man someplace stands in the rain. The icy prickles of the rain his only companion. Reminding him of that which he would give anything to forget. That he is human. He stands in the rain…and dreams about the future. Hoping with everything he holds dear, that it is one worth living.

Else-wise, all the strife would have been for naught. And that, according to him, is just fucked up. He contemplates that which he doesn’t want to think about…that which he has no power over. What if the future isn’t bright…he doesn’t even want to think it. But think it he must. And if after everything he’s been through that happens to be the case. Well, that would be fucked up in all kinds of fuckery.

Because the truth is…the young man has been through a lot. And every once in a while he sits down and curses by all the curses he’s learnt. He stands and dances all the dances he remembers. Sings all the songs in his head and prays the only prayer he knows. “God, please don’t fuck me up. Please do not fuck me up.”

He does all these things, not because he is in any way mad. And not because he is a fool. No, the young man is no fool. He does this things…in an attempt to understand…to make sense of the fuckery that is his life.

The young man is no fool. Neither is he an idiot. Indeed all the things you think he is. He is not. What he is…is desperate. He neeeeeds to understand, he needs his question answered. “Why? Why not him? Why not now?” These are the questions that refuses to leave his head.

The young man has tried. And continues to try…to be the best version of himself. He figures that if he works true…he must succeed. Till then he will do everything, anything… to get his fuck on. Because he has realized one thing, his life depends on it. And with it the meaning of it.

The future cannot afford not to be bright. Not for the young man. He will fight every fight. Run every race…hell, he will beg and lie and steal and fuck and plead. He will do these things and more…. So if you know what’s right for you…you will stay out of his way.

I am your number one fan.

Sometimes life treats you in ways you would be completely justified to call mistreatment. Why? The things you want so bad don’t seem to be coming your way anytime soon. And the worst part of it all is, no matter how much you try…nobody seems to notice. Nobody appreciates the enormous amount of effort you put in. Well, if you can relate to these words. If in any way they resonate with you…then am here to tell you… The night gets dark before it gets darker. Hell it gets darker before it gets darkest but even the darkest night must dawn.
I know you are trying, trying is an understatement. And even though it don’t seem like it right now. You are a champion in waiting.



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How many auditions you been to…all to no avail? How many times have you left home to attend an interview, smiling as bright as the noon day sun… and still you can’t seem to land that job you need so much?

So you feel your singing dream is a waste of time because it’s so hard to be a professional these days amidst millions chasing the same dream. Maybe you’ve been told the music industry is full of cons and cheats and to make it out of the murk is an effort that even at the best of times rarely comes to fruition.

Maybe you want to be doctor, or engineer…the problem is you cannot imagine where the money is going to come from. You put your head down and think…and think…but thinking never raised no money before. And now you feel like giving up. You tell yourself not everyone is a doctor and maybe that career path wasn’t meant for you. Yet fire burns in your heart and as usual you refuse to give up. You tell yourself you will find a way.
The way of a warrior is in finding a way. There is no shortcut to success. But succeed you will. If you want it real bad. And I am your number one fan.



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The strongest human beings on planet earth are single mothers. Forced by circumstances to play two roles at once. That of father and mother.

Her name is Naomi…she is a nurse at a local hospital near the rented one bed-roomed shack she calls home. She has five children. All of school going age. Two just finished high school and are looking to her to pay their university tuition fees. Her eldest, Ruth just delivered twins. More mouths to feed.

Naomi’s monthly paychecks are full of subtractions. And if the pattern continues her net salary may just go into the negative. She now borrows loans from one bank to pay her loans in other banks. And the circle doesn’t look to be ending soon. Why would it end when her husband, now dead for five years isn’t likely to resurrect and come to her rescue.
The balancing act she does is starting to affect her health. She now suffers from ulcers and the occasional bout of coughing. She has committed no crime. She is just a mother looking out for her children.

And I am her number one fan.



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They say, expect nothing and you won’t be disappointed. Expectations, after all, only breed disappointment. Well damn them all, I say. Expect nothing and you will get nothing.


His name is Moses. He is eighteen years old and all he wants in life is to be famous doing what he loves…dancing. His parents think his dance a waste of time so nowadays he doesn’t dance in the living room. His friends tell him that dance is the most competitive and least rewarding art in the world. They don’t understand him at all.
See everyone thinks Moses is dancing to compete with other dancers. But no. Moses is dancing because he is in love with the music. His whole universe is in sync when his favorite music genre comes on. He forgets everything when he steps on stage to dance. To Moses, not to dance is not to live. Life is dance and dance is life.
So no matter how many times he gets punished by his drunkard of a father. No matter how many times his friends tell him otherwise. Moses has vowed to dance.

And I am his number one fan.
In summary. My name is Bujabs Dennis and my word to you is. Do what you do because no one else will do it for you. And in whichever way you pursue your dream. So long as you are pursuing that dream. Bring it on. I am your number one fan.

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