It’s a song by Linkin Park, and I was sure I had it somewhere on my hard drive. It’s actually kind of a sad song, all about graves and clouds and misery and loss. I have no idea why they called it Valentine’s day.

Speaking of which, I’ve never actually celebrated Valentine’s. I don’t really know why, since I’m as romantic as the next guy. Still, if anyone is thinking about it, a single peach rose will do nicely thank you. I wouldn’t know what to do with a whole bunch. And please don’t ever serenade me, unless the song is quirky rock. I’d probably make a really ugly face if anyone tried to sing Don’t wannna miss a thing. Also, Cashew and Coconut Dairy Milk only costs a hundred bob.

Today was pretty interesting. I sent off a Valentine’s wish to someone I really care about, and then the lights went off, so I went back to bed. I got up at 11 and called up some cousins to say hi. They were on my mind, and it was nice to hear their voices again.

I made a late fried-eggs-and-jam breakfast, then thought about watching Grey’s Anatomy, but changed my mind because it’s before the wedding episode. Then I opened Google Reader and checked out a bunch of Valentine’s blogs.

This one here caught my attention. I’m not sure why. I read his blog a lot, I like the way he writes, and I almost always comment. I think it must beautiful to have a man like that, one whose mind is vast and deep. But I also think it would drive me mad to know he spends quite so much time analysing other women. If I was with a man like that, I would look into his mind each time he glanced at a girl. I’d ask leading questions to see what he was thinking, and it would feed my insecurities. I’d see him watching some random girl and wonder if he thinks she’s sexy. I would constantly wonder if he likes her more than me.

It takes a major superwoman to be with a man like that. Or at the very least, it takes a girl that’s smart enough to not think about stuff. The kind of girl that keeps things on the surface and never stops to analyse. When he makes deep, moving, profound statements about beauty, she waves her hand dismissively, or smiles, changes the subject, and says something completely irrelevant. Not dumb or blonde, just irrelevant. The kind of thing that freezes his philosophy and makes him burst out laughing. The kind of girl that is a mother.

A girl like that thinks thoughts are overrated and lives by common sense. She rarely gets suspicious, and she keeps a thinker grounded. A girl like that knows that he chose her, that he’s with her, that he married her, so she doesn’t bother with the hows and whys. Sometimes, I wish I was a girl like that.

Today’s Valentine post, had me thinking about lurking. I couldn’t quite decide on what to say, so I settled for a smile. I figured I’d come back to my own space. Sometimes, I don’t know what I think until I write it, so I did. I like the part where he talks about the sexy lady. I wondered for a few minutes whether I might be a sexy lady. It’s been on my mind for a while, because I seem to attract the guys who just want sex. I don’t say that in a bad way. I suppose all men – and some women – want sex. But what I mean is that men in my life want sex and nothing else. I’m the type – so it seems – who inspires unabated lust. So I thought – for a few minutes – that I might be the Sexy Woman.

I like the way I look, but I’m aware that I’m not typically female. I don’t have the grace, poise, or presence that make men want a woman. I’m a bushy-eyebrows-jeans-backpack-and-unwashed-sneakers kind of girl, and I mostly get hit on by Maasai watchmen, makangas, and sugar daddies who don’t believe I have a kid and am almost 30. So in that sense, I don’t know what I possess. Still, by Biko’s definition, the fact that I’m having this conversation disqualifies me already *shrug*

For the record, I want reincarnate as Laughing Octopus. She is so hot.

I wondered if that woman does exist, the one that makes men drool but doesn’t know it. There is something magic about unassuming beauty and the X Factor. I concluded that she does exist, but only in a man’s mind. Biko put it beautifully – a man is enamoured by his visions, his perceptions, his ideas of what a woman is. The second he gets out of his mind and sees what’s on the surface, her beauty fades fast. That’s what makes falling in love magic and fleeting. It only lasts while the image remains. And that’s probably what made Halle Berry’s husband cheat.

Still, it’s a beautiful thing to have that image, to have this girl in your mind who has no clue what she’s doing to you, to want to touch her and feel that you can’t. On this date, after a brief bathroom break, the guy came up behind me and tugged my hair. It was such a weird thing to do that I laughed, and he claimed the hair he’d touched was falling off. He then spent five minutes talking about my hair.

Guys talk about my hair all the time, so that part wasn’t strange. What was weird is he’s a village boy, all practical and logic-like. So it was weird that he would touch my hair, even if it was falling off. All the other guy’s who’ve touched the hair on my head have been barbies [like me] and seemed to think it was some kind of conquest scripted from a soap opera. I mean really, it’s just clean matted hair *shrug*

[And now I shall giggle for hours because my head is full of Uncle Ben and Mami Wota.]

Anyway, back to the power of touching, I can’t really comment on that, since I’m masculine in my approach. I not only invite a boy to touch, I sometimes do the touching for him. Impatience I suppose. Or liberalism, or feminism, or just plain dumb-ism. I’ve never learnt to play coy female games. I hope my little girl does, though I know she won’t learn them from me. Those games do a girl a universe of good.

I have learnt to wait and let a guy ask me out, so that’s progress I suppose. But I’m glad that I’m okay with who I am. I started to ask boys out because I thought they never would. I lack the vulnerability that makes a man want to serve and protect. I’m more the type that men pursue simply to prove a point, and the point is proven by getting me into bed.

It’s probably the confidence. It makes me seem inaccessible, so they’re trying to pull me down a peg. It’s probably why they say I’m an unmarriable dume-jike who needs a wife – not a husband, then contradict themselves by trying to bed me anyway. I’m afraid I take the fun out of the challenge by making it way too easy, which makes them feel terribly confused and emasculated. Poor little things. I guess they just can’t win with me.

I realize that by sitting back and waiting I reduce my shots at dates, which is ironic really. Still, I’m glad that I’m okay with it, and that I know what I’m doing. I’m glad that I’m confident enough to act with full awareness, and that I can deal with the consequences. It’s a pretty funky feeling, and I’m glad that I can smile about it.

Happy Valentine’s day everyone 🙂

The logical ending for that phrase is … until it’s gone. But that’s not what I’m on about. I was reading a blog post earlier by a guy I know from Twitter. I haven’t met him offline – lately I’m wary about doing that. But he seems nice, he has a gorgeous smile, and he writes really well. The funny thing is … he doesn’t seem to know it. He started blogging quite recently, and when I read his work, I was surprised. I had no idea he wrote so well, and I wondered why he hadn’t started earlier.

Everyone and his little sister has a blog, but I’m a fussy reader, and I really think some blogs should be taken down by force. So when I find a blog I like, I read, I comment, and I hope the writer realizes how good they are. It surprises me that so many of them don’t.

I understand some of his reasons for not writing more. They’re totally valid. It’s hard to be honest when you know the people that are reading. It’s a huge two-sided panga. You want more people to read, but the bigger the crowd gets, the more you can’t say. Every once in a while, my little brother leaves a comment here and I shudder a little, because I’m nervous about the posts he might have read. I made one of my [many] blogs private after my mum left such a strong comment that I deleted a post. Mind you, the comment was anonymous, and I didn’t know it was her until after deletion. Strength of a mother!

But I suppose my strength is also my weakness – I can’t help TMI. It’s easy to talk about myself because it’s a form of therapy, and sometimes I feel like I have to say stuff, even when I know it’s bad idea to say it.

On one of my earlier blogs, I used to write a lot about my little girl. But one day, she read a post and said, ‘Mummy, I don’t like it when you tell your friends about me.’ So I stopped, and I deleted all those posts, even though they were some of my best work. She’s an awesome inspiration. Lately, I write a bit about her, but I always do it with her permission.

Still, it’s a blessing to have the temperament that lets me show off all my warts. I’m realizing that not a lot of people have that. It comes with chains, and it exposes me to hurt and criticism, but it’s still awesome to be able to express myself like I do.

Everyone has that one thing in their life that they’re sure of, the one thing that they know they do well. For some it’s sports or a career or horizontal acumen. Usually, when people praise that skill, it sounds like bragging, so most people don’t. But we all have that one thing that nobody can make us doubt.

For me, it used to be intellect. I thought I was really smart until I went to PB and found 360 girls who all thought they were genii[?]. Some classmates worked harder to outshine the crowd, and it got really competitive. Me, I slowed down on academics and turned to writing. I did a lot of poetry and became a sort of Poet Laureate after winning some school Val’s competition. I started a novel after a fellow Ruwe [God bless you Norah, wherever you are] said I ‘look like writing a novel’. Ten years later, I got it published, and it feels really good to see By Crystal Ading’ on a paperback cover, even though it’s sold about 30 copies since 2008.

Point is, the thing I’m most sure of is that I write, and I do it well. I don’t get as many hits or comments as some sites, and I’ll admit that bugs me … a lot. But I am never in doubt of my skill.

I realize that’s a blessing, because so many bloggers constantly worry if people are reading. Even people with books out and newspaper columns and blog awards still wonder if they’re really any good. It surprises me when they do that.

When someone compliments my work, I smile and say thank you, and they feel belittled. They feel like I’m dismissing them, or that I disregard their opinion. An acquaintance once got excited about me being in the paper. I replied, ‘It’s not hard. You just have to die to be in the paper.’

I didn’t mean to be rude. I just honestly didn’t think being a writer was a big deal. It’s not something I struggle with. It’s something as natural to me as breathing. Half the time I write, it’s not even conscious. It just comes. [Except of course when a client is paying and there’s a deadline. That can get a touch tricky]. So for me, saying I’m a good writer isn’t a thing. I get far more excited when someone says I’m a good mother, or a good driver, or even a good cook – things that most people take for granted.

For the record, the acquaintance decided I was arrogant and conceited, and never spoke to me again.

I look at people and I wonder about them. There are things in my life I’m insecure about, and these are things everyone seems so good at. I no longer meet tweeters and bloggers offline, yet others attend tweet-ups without a second thought. I wonder about raising my daughter yet some mums make it look like the easiest thing in the world. I wonder if I’m actually a woman yet some females are just effortlessly glamorous. I keep to myself and I’m happy that way, yet I constantly wonder if the people in my life really like me.

People say I’m popular, but I only have a handful that I consider friends, and they have the frustrating task of constantly saying that they love me, because I’m always afraid that they’ll run away. And the sad thing is if they have to reassure me for long enough, they get fed up and they do run away.

I’m happy and content being single, but it’s largely a defense mechanism, because a big part of me knows I’m not female enough to find and keep a good man. And the men that do want me only want me as  a mistress or a second wife.

Well that’s not entirely true. I have one ex that seems to want me back, but really, that was a bad idea from the start, and I wish he’d understand that and back off.

I am glad I can be honest about things like this while the whole world watches, but I’m aware that it sounds like a pity party, or a cry for attention. I’m glad that I’m secure enough in this that words don’t sting me … much. I’m glad my stubbornness appears like confidence.

But I do wish people would really see how brave they are. My confidence is in all the wrong places. It’s in my talent, my ability, my passion. But none of these things are useful for functioning in the real world. In the real world, you need to be able to network, to dress appropriately, to schmooze, to make small talk, to be nice to people you secretly want to kill, to suck up to in-laws and the boss. None of these are things I’m good at.

I suppose I was going somewhere with this, but I can’t remember where that was. Bottom line, cut yourself some slack. We all seek validation in some area. Find the thing you’re confident about, then use it to judge the other parts of your life. I say this to myself as much as I say it to everyone else. We all have places we’re in doubt, so don’t be so sure that you suck. Like it says in the sunscreen song, you’re not as fat as you imagine.

For every section in your life where you look down on yourself, there are five people watching and thinking how awesome you are. Find them and hang out with them. Everybody needs an ego boost once in a while. And try to do things for yourself. I know I do it sometimes, but it’s really hard to live for other people.

We all have various things that we do well. I have a pretty good singing voice, and some people think I should pursue it professionally. But I hate the limelight, I hate practising all the time, and I’d have to give up sugar. Lots of people can run really fast when a gun or dog is behind them, but they don’t have the discipline to make it a career. We can all dance in a club when we’re high, but not everybody does it for a living. Everybody can write, but not many people can do it all day every day.

Some people start blogs because it’s a fad, or because everybody does it. Some people go on Pop Idols because they want money or they want to be famous. Some people become anchors because they want to be on TV. We all have stuff we get into for all the wrong reasons, and then we wonder why the stuff gets so hard. We get into a job for fame or money or groupies, or simply to prove a point, then we wonder why it’s such a struggle.

But some things we just do  out of love, and that’s what makes us good at it. Think about Bono, or Christian Amanpour. You can’t compare them to … say … Lady Gaga … or Oprah.

Find one thing in your life that you do solely for yourself, the thing that you would do even if no-one was watching or nobody was paying or no readers were commenting. You’d be surprised how good it feels, and how well you excel.

You can still do that other stuff that you’re good at. I can still karaoke when I want to, even if I never release an album. But writing is my true passion. Find yours. It doesn’t have to be anything dramatic. I cringe whenever I hear Support people whining about the stupid questions people ask, because I’ve genuinely asked every one of them. Yet to the IT gurus, these issues are ABCs they could fix in their sleep. My brother could dismantle computers long before his degree in IT. That’s his thing, and writing is mine.

So instead of wondering how hard you have to struggle, do it for pleasure, and find your thing. It’s almost as good as milk-free ice cream *cheeky grin*

PS: I get mad at the people who assume that just because something is easy for one person, anyone can do it; people who say things like, ‘Oh I made a million dollars, you can too!’ I’m smiling because I realize I’ve just done that, and I do it all the time. I assume that because I can speak from the heart, tell a boy I love him, or do something simply because I want to … no matter what anyone else says … then everyone can. Hm. Well, I hope I can at least open a mind a little, and help one person realize that sometimes, it’s okay do something just because you can.