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 🙂