Posted on by crystal · 114 Comments

Colour me burgundy

I was working on some stuff about psychology, drawing houses and picking creatures and shrinking heads and stuff like that, and I got to thinking.

When I was little, my favourite outfit was a black-and white tiered skirt and an ‘I love Kenya’ t-shirt. I wore it so often that eventually, my mother hid it. Or gave it away. Apparently, when you wear the same outfit every day, people will think your parents are too poor to buy you enough clothes. **russumfussumkeepingupwiththe joneses**

With that gone, my default clothing of choice was a grey-and-white girly dress. How I loved that dress. There’s a picture of me wearing it somewhere, and pretending to drive my dad’s car. That one I was forced to give to a relative after I was convinced that I’d grown too big to wear it *pout*

Then came the white skirt with red polka dots … or was it a red skirt with white polka dots? I liked to wear it with a black beret. I can’t quite remember what happened to that one.

Next came the huge flowing A-line skirt with massive checks in various shades of purple. Oh I loooooved that skirt. I’d wear it with this silkish lilac top that had a flower embroidered on one corner. My dad dismissed that outfit after he decided it didn’t suit me. *russumfussumfatherlyfashion**

Okay. There was also a navy blue culotte that I wore with a little-sailor white top, and the spanish embroidered top that I wore with brown almost-pedal-pushers…

But I’m supposed to be talking about colours. I liked black at some point. Because I was at a stage where my classmates were throwing away all their skirts and buying jeans. I owned one pair of jeans, and this gorgeous long black t-shirt with some coloured print on the front. I’m thinking about it now, and for the life of me, I can’t remember what was painted on it! Odd.

I liked blue for a while, no idea when or why. And I always liked green eyes. Mostly because everybody else likes blue eyes, and I just love to disagree, even when I really don’t. It’s the only reason I like Arsenal. That and Thierry Henri. Yes, I’m aware he left a while back, but I’m stubborn like that. Arsenal damu.

Then, I picked the habit of saying I like black and blue. I just liked the reaction it drew, that whole raised eye-brow thing among the few that nyitad the joke, mwehehehe.

It’s been a while since I thought about my favourite colour. But I think I liked black because I was in a dark phase, depressed a lot, and doing some rather silly things. Low self esteem, what what.

Then I liked blue because I’d found peace, or because I felt it gave me peace. Or maybe just because of the blue culottes.

But now I like a new colour, burgundy. It’s a maroonish purplish pinkish shade of red. I started to like it because of my pal Z. Usually I hate red, but I saw her wear it, and it looked fabulous! Plus she has pretty much the same complexion as me, so I was like why not! I went to buguruni and bought a burgundy t-shirt. Gorgeous, just gorgeous!

The first day I wore it, I felt all warm and confident and va-va-voom! It’s still my favourite, though I’ve worn it so often that it’s faded to maroon 🙁

Either way, I was sold. From then on, I grab anything I can in that colour, from bracelets to swimsuits. I want to be surrounded by burgundy. I bought this jumper on River Road [literally] because it was burgundy. Never mind that it had a stain-slash-singe that will never come off, and I can never wear it anywhere except indoors or in AC … it’s a pretty big stain! I just love that it’s burgundy. My very own little red riding hood.

I don’t know what it says about me that I suddenly like red. I want to think it means I’m finally in my skin, that I’m strong and confident, that I’m in my peak, gutterally speaking. I imagine the fact that it’s a deep off-red rather than a fiery bright one means I still have some level of conserved … conservativeness … conservatism … what’s the word I’m looking ?

Reserve. Yes, reserve. I think I still have some level of reserve, even now  when I’m at my most self-assured. I want to wear a little bit of red every day, and I do, with my bracelet.  Even my dream car is red – well, burgundy *grin*

I’m now shopping for a little burgundy dress to wear to my pal’s wedding. I already have the hair, the bag and the shoes, all I need now is the dress. The only question is … can I wear red to a wedding?

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Posted on by crystal · 8 Comments

Finding the girl in me

Disclaimer: …

I’m not a very girly girl. That’s what I think anyway. *insert Victor and Hugo theme here*

A while back I started feeling a little more … feminine. I had cravings for make-up and spike heels. Fortunately, that didn’t last very long, phew!

But while I was home I got three pairs of super girly shoes. The first was a gift from my brother, this gorgeous pair of dark buckled heels with a solid walkable sole, yay! After that the bug was caught, no turning back.

The second pair are industrial leather [?] black boots with a burgundy-laced ribbon on the side. They look just beeeeaaauuuutiful. But my feet ache if I walk all day.

The third pair I haven’t tried yet, they have a high light brown wedge and open toes. Preeetty. I got them at Bata for a K. Then, for the first time ever, I let Rashidi style my hair! Usually he just twists it and ties it in a ponytail, but this time he wanted to be adventurous, so I let him. Hmph, that’s all I’m saying.

I have also lately acquired a taste for accessories. I have a faux ruby bracelet, two jingly blue glass bangles [the other two died, *sniff sniff* And no, I don’t mean bluegrass], a choker with matching earrings and a massive pair of silver gilt hoops. No, I do not wear them all at the same time. But lately, I always have some item of bling on my person, and I am saving up to shop for more.

I’m watching this with interest, and wondering what form of oestrogen will attack me next. I hope it’s something useful, like the sudden urge to clean, or some metamorphic ability to cook things that are considered palatable by someone other than me. In all fairness, my ‘food’ usually seems fairly edible … until you taste it.

One other thing I have developed is a **shudder** facial regimen. I read about a milk mask at Lily. It was more like ‘my auntie said to get rid of pimples I should sleep with milk on my face’. Right. Well, I tried it, and it worked!!

I got curious and went a-googling, and found that if plain milk doesn’t work, you should add a steaming. I did that last night, and voila, my face is spotless. Yay! Except for that annoying heat rash, but there’s no beating that.

I was pretty lucky as a teen, I had a spotless face for the longest time, so I never bothered with all that cleanser, toner, moisturiser stuff, even though my dad worked at J & J. But lately I’ve had awful breakouts, and I pick at them when I read [which is like all the time!] so I have nasty marks on my face.

Luckily, I’m really dark, so no one can see the spots but me, and only in a certain light, under a certain mirror. I’ve tried Bio oil to get rid of the marks, but even as I squint at the mirror whining, my live-mates claim they can’t see them!! They must have some super power invisi-cream or sth.

Now I need to go to a supermarket and shop for face products. I’m not looking into make-up, heavens forbid. Just the stuff to wash it with before I sleep in milk and steam. I hear egg white makes a great weekly mask as well.

I just hope this spirit of adventurous-ness-ness doesn’t stretch into tweezing, threading or waxing…

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Posted on by crystal · 13 Comments

True to self?

This is apparently, an INFJ anthem, all that nonsense [?] about being true to myself. It’s something that occupies my mind a lot. When I meet childhood friends and they say ‘Oh you haven’t changed a bit’ I get really excited, coz it means I’m being true to me.

But then, am I really? Lately, I feel like I’m changing a lot, yet in most ways, I’m still exactly the same, and that makes me happy.

I’m totally into MBTI, and I read on it a lot. Some of the stuff they say about INFJs is that we are sometimes mistaken for extroverts because we have such a strong Fe, and that it confuses people on those random occasions when the introvert comes bitching out. You know, like when someone visits unannounced and you let the dogs out?

Another common thing is that INFJs are sometimes hard to diagnose, and that we even have trouble recognising INFJ-ism in others. Interesting. I guess that’s why the stats say we’re so rare, because we can’t even recognise ourselves! My new tactic is that if I can’t figure out what type someone is, I start looking for signs of INFJ-nism, and I’ve been right twice so far *grin* Not bad.

Apparently, INFJs are also known for deleting blogs. Hehehe. I know of three deleters, including me. I’m sure if I think about it long enough, I can find some type-specific reason for that. For me it’s about closure and new beginnings, and tantrums and bouts of depression. No idea if that’s linked to my nature.

INFJs are also said to withhold part of themselves. I’ve seen this in the two that I know, and I’ve done it myself. There’s also an eerie thing about INFJ-ism, when we see things that other people don’t, and we can’t say it because it sounds totally creepoid, and also a little paranoid. So when we see stuff like that, it helps to keep it in, and so it’s a lesson that I’m glad I finally learnt.

It’s weird, that most people get along perfectly with their type-mates. It’s like when you have a pal that gets you, and you realise you’re the same type and you’re like no wonder we get on so well.

I’m not like that with the INFJs that I know of. I’m actually a little in awe of them. I find them amazing, admirable, but also a little … scary. It’s like I’d like to be with them, and hang out with them, and get to know them, but somehow I don’t quite know how to approach them, how to connect with them.

I feel like I like them, but keep wondering if they like me or whether they simply tolerate me and want me to go away. It’s an odd feeling that I don’t get with anyone else. And this is BEFORE I discover they’re INFJ. This aspect is totally bugging me. Some people that I ‘admire from afar’ have ended up testing INFJ. Interesting.

Anyway.

I quite amuse myself watching people, seeing parts of their being that they keep hidden, and whispering ‘I see you!’ In the past, I’d voice this feeling, and it only got me into trouble because, duh, no one else can see it, and after all, I can’t prove or explain it till it comes out, years later. By which time nobody can remember that you warned them about it. It’s a function of Ni, I think.

So now I just chuckle and whisper and sometimes tell a confidante, who agrees that I’m utterly loopy but at least listens and chuckles at me. :- ) I read that somewhere as well, so I’m not sure if it’s inborn or if I’m living it coz I read it.

In my twenties I’ve been a lot more open, deliberately. See, this funky guy I met, after talking to me for a while, says that he thinks I’m looking for something, but that I’m afraid to find it, so I’m consciously warding it off. He wouldn’t tell me what I’m looking for though, and I think he was, at least partly, projecting his own idea.

At first I thought ‘What bosh’ [*grin* and if you just Lolled then I know what school you went to ;-)] But then I thought about it and I was like yenyewe … I know what it is I’m looking for. I long to meet my soulmate. Not just a guy I care for and love being with, but my actual soulmate, the source of my ribs. Apparently, this is a thing with INFJs as well. *grin*

But because I’ve been hurt, I ward him off by exposing all my warts. Anytime I meet a guy who sparks my interest, I start announcing how I’m a slob, and terribly undomestic, and hate housework and am very ungirly and etc and etc. Oh, undomesticity is said to be INFJ as well, according to the stuff I’ve read. So there *grin*

All these things are true, but I realise that’s not why I say them. The real reason is that I want to scare the guy away before he starts to ‘see’ me. That way, he won’t start to like me and then run away when he eventually spots my faults. I figure if he knows the bad things from day one, and still seems to like me, then I’m pretty much safe from there.

Of course, being the humans we are, nobody ever believes what I say. See, the average person spends so much time working on their masque, the image they show to the world, that when they see and hear me, they assume it’s a masque as well. So as they let their guard down and start showing their true colours, they get confused that I seem to be maintain my ‘masque’ and that’s a lot disorienting.

Because everybody lies, it’s hard for people to take my truth at face value, so they dig deeper and deeper and deeper to try and smoke me out. And when they realise I really am real, then they just don’t know what to do. I mean, what do you do with someone who always tells the truth? Hence the running begins.

Of course there’s alternative B where people who love digging up dirt find all the dirt on the surface and get bored coz there’s nothing to find, no intrigue, no mystery. And that’s just silly.

But generally speaking, being the Africans that we are, the second I announce, and proudly so, that I don’t cook, don’t fawn on in-laws, and barely speak my mother tongue, then interest goes from anything to zero in six seconds or less, and once again, my heart is safe. Yay…?

So anyway, with my recent trend of Code Cold  Silence, not shouting my opinion and keeping my heart-sleeves at least partly shrouded, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m being true to self.

In a sense I am – it’s typically INFJ to keep parts of me secret even as I desperately want to let them out and be accepted for them, loved even. But I don’t know if I’m just saying that because I read it somewhere. A certain twi-she mentioned, rightly, that sometimes we read our MBTI profile then start acting on what we read, sort of acquiring the traits we saw described. It’s some kind of interweb-inspired Pavlov thing.

Anyway.

I’m told true love comes when you’re not looking for it, so I have a little game plan. No, I’m not going to say it *grin* Though one person knows it already *cheeky grin* I don’t want to jinx it.

I’m such a sappy romantic, For me the ultimate image of love is when a boy watches his girl singing aloud to some music and dancing, and looks at her all starry eyed with this look that says ‘you’re amazing’. It’s even cooler when she doesn’t know he’s watching, and only turns suddenly to see that look in his eyes. Bliss.

[And note that I say ‘you’re amazing’ and not ‘i want to peel you like a grape’. Entirely different scenario that]

I have no idea where I got this image from, but I’ve seen it in several movies, so that’s probably it. And one of my favourite things in the world to do is sit with my headphones on, singing along to my favourite songs, bopping my head, playing air drums and sometimes dancing. I love to do that alone in my house, or in my office, it’s my little piece of heaven. Sometimes when I do that, I imagine him watching me and smiling, and it makes me all giggly inside.

I’ve got Linkin Parks ‘leave out all the rest’ on spincycle. It haunts me, beautifully, I’ve no idea why, but in this moment I am happy. Yes, I do wish you were here. Silly words from another song that always makes me smile.

I wonder if, when I find him, I will actually want him to watch me do sing-dance thing. I’ve never done it for anybody, it seems like such a private thing. My baby has seen me do it, but then, she’s seen me do everything. She’s heard me talk in silly accents when there’s no else but us, and then she laughs and says ‘Mummy, stop being silly.’ She’s seen me wear some pretty dress and heels and strut around like a model while she takes pictures. She’s heard me sing Silly Songs with Larry and Hot diggedy dog, complete with the silly Minnie Mouse jig.

A few days ago she watched me as I pretended to be a sandwich I was eating, and made my squeaky voice begging ‘pleaaasee don’t eat me!!’  It was utterly silly, and really quite fun. I do that a lot, Princess just shakes her head and says ‘Mummy, you’re crazy’. Sometimes I wonder who’s the adult and who’s the kid in our house.

I long to find that special someone who will see me do my sandwich voice and dag dances, and will smile and think it’s cute. The one with whom I will be so free that I won’t hide any bit of me, not even my most embarassing secrets, or that itty bitty teensy mini’d domina. The one that will actually want to know all that stuff about me, and want me to know as much about him.

But I also wonder if I’ll ever be as free with any man as I am with my baby girl.

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