Being of the TMI persuasion, I find statements like this quite intriguing. For the longest time, I’ve had this theory that people hold a certain image of me, and that once they meet me and realize I’m not that way at all, they run away. It surprises me that anyone would get the wrong idea about me, since my life is – quite literally – an open blog. But then again, what you say (or write or tweet) isn’t always what people hear.

There have been countless articles about why male-female relationships are so messed up. Most of them blame feminism and gender equality. They say women have taken over male roles, so the guys don’t know what to do with themselves. They say a girl earns money, pays bills, and raises children on her own, so a part of her feels she doesn’t need a man, even though her woman-parts often crave one.

As for the girls, we often get upset by the double standards. A woman today can do pretty much anything a guy can, but she gets victimized for trying. She can drink and drive with the best of them, but when she ‘acts like a man’ she’s considered a slut. A girl that asks a guy out is labelled desperate. One that shows sexual intent is labelled loose.

Meanwhile, the guy says he feels emasculated by these ‘independent women’. They say no matter how modern and self-reliant you are, the best way to get a guy is to go back to your roots, hide your brilliance, humble yourself, lie about your salary. They say a man loves a woman of mystery, a girl he can’t quite figure out, a girl that plays hard to get but knows the thin line between modesty and impossible achievements, because if you’re too unattainable, they give up and chase something they’re more likely to catch.

They say a man loves to chase, and that you’ve got to give him something to run after. Make it too easy and he’ll go hunting for fresh meat. This suggests that no matter how good you are to chase, once he catches you, he’ll just get up and go chase something else. Unless, of course, you have some secret trick or magic potion to keep him running forever. For example, if he feels like he constantly has to ‘earn’ your affection, he’ll be chasing you for years. Or maybe he’ll get frustrated and find someone more appreciative.

I know a girl who even after 12 years of marriage never ever calls or texts her man because ‘a man likes to chase’. She loves him, but maintains an almost aloof demeanour, just to keep him on his toes. He can’t figure her out, and doesn’t know quite what she’s about, which keeps her attractive in his eyes. So in theory, if you can just keep a guy guessing, even after being his wife for 15 years and bearing six of his kids, he’ll be too excited and pre-occupied to chase anything else.

I guess my real question is … how do you keep them chasing? You’d have to live in a way that keeps him constantly curious, especially when there’s absolutely nothing to be curious about. You have to seem to be hiding ‘stuff’ even when there’s nothing there to hide. And you have to do it in a way that makes you alluring, as opposed to – you know – him wondering what you’re scheming behind his back. You basically keep up the early parts of the dating game throughout your relationship, which – incidentally – is what every wife wishes her man would do.

That sounds like an awful lot of work to me, which is probably why guys get upset when we ask them to do it. It makes sense in theory though, because once you’ve been together for a while, you know everything about each other and the mystery is gone. Some people claim you start to look alike, and to see each other as siblings rather than lovers. Then unless his character just won’t let him cheat, he can use familiarity and boredom as an excuse to chase some nubile young thing.

I suppose some things will never really change. Women, no matter how modern and independent they are, will want a man to take care of them and protect them. Guys, no matter how intelligent and refined they are, will want a girl of mystery they can chase. And relationships will always be made through sheer hard work, and will only succeed if both parties have the same goals for the union, put in a vast amount of effort, and agree to work things out no matter [who or] what gets in their way.

♫ Amazing ♫ Blue October ♫

I’m one of those women who’s immensely possessive, even though I rarely show it. I make mental effigies of girls that flirt with him in my presence. I get jealous rages that shake me to my core, and I pity the b***h that calls him at 3.00 a.m, even if she happens to be his sister.

Of course, the guy never really knows what I’m thinking, because I hide it with a smile and a dash of nonchalance. The only hint he gets that I may be a tad … unstable … is when I text him 5 times a day and get upset that he’s tweeting without replying. I don’t know what it is that makes me so crazy jealous. Some people say it’s a normal part of being in love. Others say it’s petty insecurity.

One of my exes once said he wished I didn’t love him quite so much, because people who care that deeply could end up stabbing someone. He said his greatest fear was me walking into a room with a knife when he was in bed with someone else. Of course when it finally happened, I didn’t hurt anyone. I just yelled a lot, cried a lot more, and told him I forgave him. A few weeks later, once I realized that he wasn’t going to change, I gathered myself and simply walked away.

Loving any man scares me. It wakes the murderous jealous rage that’s lurking just beneath the surface. Yesterday, I had a chance to question this emotion. It started with an innocent retweet on my TL.

I spent several … minutes … drooling at this picture. I even blew it up and daydreamed as it covered up my screen. I don’t know what it is about broad shoulders and washboard abs that does it for me. After all, in real life, I’d probably never be with a guy like that. I’d be way too self-conscious to really enjoy myself, and I imagine a man with such a perfect body would expect me to work equally hard on mine. Diet and exercise is not my idea of fun.

Once I was done drooling, I asked myself a painful, basic question. Why is it okay for me, but not okay for him? Why do I feel no guilt, no shame, no inkling of wrongdoing for lusting after not one, but 11 guys, yet when the man I’m dating so much as glances at a girl, it’s claws and daggers out?

Why is it okay for me to salivate on live social media, yet when he so much as mentions Halle Berry I’m ready to kill them both? Why is it fine for me to twitpic Jason Momoa or Naveen Andrews, yet when he drools at someone’s avi I’m yelling twiticide? Why is it believable when I say that I’m just looking, but ridiculous when he says the same thing?

Please note that I don’t have an actual answer for any of those questions. Double standards I guess. We have to benefit from it some time. All I know is when I like  guy, all reason goes out the window. I was dating a gorgeous guy once, and we were watching The Losers. He mentioned that he likes Zoe Saldana, and for the rest of the movie, even though I didn’t say anything out loud, I was obsessively wondering whether he thought I was fat.

I think I’ll keep that photo of the 7s team by the poolside. Maybe it’ll help me. Maybe it’ll keep my big green monster in balls and chains. Maybe it’ll help me cut some slack to the boy that I like. And maybe the next time I’m in a relationship, it’ll remind me that it’s perfectly normal to look, as long as you don’t touch.

On a slightly related note, there are two things that melt my heart. One is watching a loving, dedicated dad, with his little girl perched on his shoulders. It’s innocent, and beautiful and absolutely adorable. The other is hearing a man talk about his wife with pride and affection. This happens a lot less than it should. I guess it’s a cultural thing. Maybe our men are afraid to look weak in front of their boys. Or maybe they’re worried that praise will go to a woman’s head.

Of course the girls have reason to be scared too. When a woman hears a man talk like that about another girl, she typically responds in one of two ways. The good women feel fuzzy, sad, and just a little envious, daydreaming of a man that would love them that much. The less scrupulous ones want him for themselves. After all, if he can talk that way about her, he can talk that way about me , yes?

I suppose you could argue that if the man is yours, then nobody’s going to steal him. Just like you could argue that if he did get stolen, then he was never yours to begin with. Some people say that men are naturally polygamous, and that a man is only as faithful as his options. They say people cheat because they’re looking for something that they’re not getting, and that cheating is inevitable, because everyone has at least one thing that you don’t.

He could cheat because he wants someone taller, shorter, fatter, thinner, smarter, dumber, broker, richer. In that game, you really can’t win because there will always be someone who is more or less than what you are, so there will always be options. But just imagine, for a second, you walked by a table and saw a large ice cream/cake/beet/car/*insert temptation of choice*. What would you do?

Some people would look around to see if anyone was watching, then take the free merchandise. Some people would look around to see who it belongs to, so they can return it. Some people would admire it, then go out and get their own. Some people would stop and trash the stuff because they can’t have it and don’t want anyone else to have it either. Some people would take the object of their desire, simply because it’s there, while others would pretend it wasn’t there at all.

To me, cheating not about options. It’s about choice, will power, character. And there are really only two options. You either do it, or you don’t, and once you’ve decided, you rationalize, explain, or find reasons to justify your choice. You could choose to be faithful because you love her, or you’re scared of getting caught, or you don’t want to risk AIDS, or you don’t want to spoil your budget, or any number of reasons. You could also choose to cheat because she’s a gold digger, or you never really loved her, or you like the secret thrill, or you want to prove a point, or it’s just a bit of fun.

I guess that’s why I don’t believe in fighting for someone’s love. I give myself to you, wholly, truly, deeply, and if you feel you’d rather have someone else, I let you go. Simple. I hope one day I’ll find my special someone, a man who will love me and be proud of me and take care of me. A man who will respect me and be faithful to me. A man who will love me and my little girl, accept me as I am, and not be overly fond of diapers, colic, blowjobs … or other women. Also, this girl has totally made my day. Bless you, child.

♫ Guitar song ♫ Texas ♫

Sasa?

Fit.

Uko na dredi poa.

Thanks.

Si nilidhani unaishi Ngei?

My dad lives in Ngei, I live here.

Weuwee, Miss Independent … we hu-do nini?

Niko niko tu.

Hata mimi niko niko tu. Lakini yenyewe uko na dredi poa. Miss Black Beauty.

Thanks.

So … unafanya nini kesho?

Niko niko tu.

Si basi we do a polite?

(Laughing) A polite what?

A polite drink.

(Smiling) I don’t drink.

A soda then? … Si you take my number.

No, but thank you.

Haya … sawa … goodnight.

So here’s my question. Is this a typical conversation between a guy and a girl? I ask because last night was my first one. I was walking home when the guy walks up to me and we have this exchange. It was 9.00 p.m. and I’ve never seen the guy before, though he seems to know me so I guess he’s from the neighbourhood. I’ve lived in the area most of my life, so he could be anyone from a long-forgotten childhood playmate to a watchie, a waiter, or a guy from the posho mill.

The upside (and sometimes downside) of living in the same neighbourhood all your life is the familiarity. Every village has a madman, and every area has a resident drunk, or a known petty thief, or a token gigolo. In my case, they’re all people I went to nursery school with. So it’s not unusual for a dude to come staggering up to me at 9.00 a.m. on a Tuesday and give me a hearty hug. I hug back because in my mind, this drunk is still the kid I knew, the five year old who shared my desk, or the ten year old that was my first crush.

My daughter knows all the estate boys I went to school with, and she knows to be polite but keep a safe distance. The trouble is these neighbourhood drunks have friends, and so does my building caretaker, hairdresser, the car-wash guy, the charcoal vendor, kiosk owners, or even the cyber-cafe owner that I chat with every day. So any one of those ‘friends’ may think it’s okay to make a move on me, since I’m so … nice.

I didn’t get a good look at my five-second-guy, because it was dark, and because I was too amused and confused to pay much attention. Also, I’ve always assumed that if a guy likes you, he asks for your number instead of offering his. At least that’s what it says in the movie. Of course once I was done being confused, I switched to paranoid. I mean, for all I know, he could be a thug planning a break-in, or a kidnapper who followed me home.

All this week, I’ve been going on about how no one ‘normal’ ever hits on me, and yet in the past three days, three strangers have asked for my number (or, in this case, offered me theirs). Clearly, someone up there is laughing loud and long. I’m not really sure what to make of it, or whether it has any impact on the ‘bigger picture’ but it does feel nice to be asked out, even in paranoia-inducing-circumstances. And after all, watchmen are people too.

Once I got inside my house, I called a male friend to ask if the exchange with Mr. Five Seconds was a typical thing. He laughed and said, ‘Frankly, if I wanted a pretty girl’s attention and I only had five seconds, I really don’t know what I would do or say.’ The conclusion was that if this guy is serious about asking me out, he’ll show up again, preferably in daylight. And maybe next time, I’ll be focused enough to check him out and see if he’s an actual prospect or just some guy from the local who was trying to win a bet.

♫ Return to innocence ♫ Enigma ♫