I was rifling through some old music last night. It’s on tape, that’s how old it is. I was singing along and rasping my voice and amusing myself and amazing my princess that I can remember all the lyrics. I used to play that tape when I was expecting princess, and I remember Risper, a lady from our shags. She’d hear me and tell my brothers how when they go out, I put on the radio and I know every single song that plays.  Heeheehee.

I was thinking about a few other things too. I realized that karaoke date I promised Mo just might backfire on me, coz my ‘stellar’ voice just isn’t what it used to be. Blame it on the sugar. Back in the day [don’t you just hate it when people say that] when I could actually sing, the nuns took all our jam, biscuits and Saturday chocolate…and fed us on a diet of hot water and honey. Great for the vocals, bad for the…is there a pretty, scientific term for addiction to sugar?

Anyway, back to the musing. It’s kind of interesting that when asked about myself, I always list my qualities without thinking.

Personality: warm, friendly, unsocial, aloof, loner

Hobbies: books, music, poetry, baking

Passions: writing, reading, sleeping, ice cream, black forest cake

Recently, I was put on the spot.

‘You like reading? What do you read?’


‘Actually, I haven’t read in a while…I’m pretty busy with work.’

‘Of course, but what was the last book you read?’


‘Lovely books. When was that?’


‘Right…you’re passionate about them, clearly. What else do you read?’

‘Um…well, I’ve read every Sheldon before Doomsday conspiracy. After that they just got sort of…dry.’

‘I totally agree. When did you read Doomsday?’

Eh…before the D.


‘I think it was high school.’


Then there was the question on some form princess brought home from school. It said ‘How many times do you finish a book?’ I’m sure they meant how often do you read books, but I pounced on their lack of English and gigglingly replied ‘always’ [which is true!] knowing they’d interpret it as ‘all the time’ without noticing the pun.

I love, love, LOVE rock. Never mind that the last time I listened to any was…98? All I really know about rock is words and sounds. I can sing the guitar solos of all my faves. Yes, I did say sing the guitar solos. And I’m pretty good with lyrics and band names. It’s pretty hard to forget Bare Naked Ladies or Smashing pumpkins or Blink 182.

Band trivia? I know exactly four lead singers: Rob Thomas, Chad Croeger, the William guy from Creed [I am the only person alive that likes Creed. There. I said it. Though in all fairness, the singles were great, but the album sucked] and Bono.

Beyond that, don’t ask me who is in what band or which one sang what song, or even what colour their eyes are. I could pass Petra in the street as easily as…Nameless. Start a lyric and I’ll finish it, but don’t ask me what the song is called, coz me, I don’t know. And I don’t do concerts – coz I don’t do crowds, and I like my instant replay and fridge-pauses.

Plus, the last hit song I know was by Avril Lavigne, and I can match her screech for screech, coz she’s kinda cool with all the chanting and stuff. I know Staind doesn’t have an ‘e’, and I know SOAD means System of a Downs – whatever that means, and that the disorder song is classic. I know that Three Doors Down song with the funky video, something about time. That’s pretty recent – last July I think. Beyond that, the only rock hits I know are B***h and Ironic, and all the stuff before.

I bought a mini oven coz I just looooove to bake. But the last time I made anything was…waaaay before princess. So I’m looking at my shiny new 12 inch oven shakingly afraid to try. That and the electricity bill would kill me, especially since it’s shared.

I’m thinking about that, and this, and goldy, and all things teen, and wondering if my self image is stuck at sixteen. I mean I always pride myself in ‘still being me’, and I love it when my friends say I haven’t changed, but is it because I don’t see myself?

Today, a dear friend called me unbelievably naïve. Is it because when I look in the mirror, I still see a chunky Form 3 kid just starting to find shape, still ridiculously in love and so very unsure of anything? When people look at me, they see a brash tough nut, a survivor, a conqueror, but all I see is a scared little girl afraid to say the wrong thing in front of the boy she likes, so she says nothing at all.

I AM mad about music and books, and my dream holiday involves beaches, malta, and an endless supply of both. In my heaven, I’d lounge in the ocean sipping iced maaza, reading a novel with emo blaring in my headphones, strictly bass, no tweeters. But if I can’t name a single living artist [I still declare, proudly, that my favourite band is Matchbox Twenty], or any books that I read past lit class, then am I really a bookaholic soundophile?

PS: My interesting American friend found me. Yay! He just followed the billboard, found my office, greeted the watchies, and asked for the pretty dreadlocked Kenyan that he met at the pool yesterday. Now that’s guts! But then, the man is over 50, and he’s from New York.

The watchie called the office know-all who then called me. Oh, you should have seen the look. Priceless! There I was, standing in the carpark, talking to this lovely grey-haired old man with the laptop and the accent and far better Swa than mine, and there they were, my workmates, peeping through the shades and guessing who my friend was. What I wouldn’t give to hear those lovely guesses…

Oh, and I’ve just rediscovered, I hate kids. I have no problem with mine, but the rest of them, well, I find them annoying and crass. Sorry *M*, don’t kill me. It’s probably PMS, but it’s lasting an awfully long time!!

Doesn’t stop me from being fiercely protective of them, and my heart shatters when they are hurt or abused – I would kill to save a child, any child. But apart from my own little one, I’m just not big on kids. Which makes me wonder what I shall do now that somebody clearly wants a new one.

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