I haven’t written in four months, according to WordPress. Which I’m guessing is just before I left for Kenya. I don’t know if it’s that I didn’t have time or inspiration, but rather I thought what’s the use. I write a bunch of words no one reads to please myself or make myself believe that by writing eloquently makes me worth more. It doesn’t. I don’t want to write pretty words anymore. I want to write truth my truth. Not a truth that people can “connect” to. As of now, I don’t care if anyone ever reads this. I’m writing my story with Jesus anyways,so people’s inputs honestly don’t change much.
I want to write using phrases and see if in reading it I can recall those moments. I’m not in the business of writing down my whole life, so here goes.
No French, turbulence, December in Kenya: no storms, lean chicken,passion fruit at breakfast hotel, Nyeri hills moms school, rohotie wanjohi clan never saw elephants monkeys warthogs pastors son no picnic,roway downhill walking stick miwa hard to eat, Mbugua-Hercules/Jack of all trades sleepy watching movie big portions, Kasheli-music and lectures and younger,Mwende-sweet and ,Ken-hugs and drinking good heart skinny , Miles-cute looks like ageless Uncle Joe,Grace-happy lady and mom, Meja-funny ,Shida-chill,Uncle Francis-successful,Wanga-custer,Njeri big-twinning,Aunty Rina’s-moms twin, Puppy-ticks Mbuguas,Doggie and his kid-jumping, piki piki at gate-first ride downhill bumpy, Naivas-quirky bata shoes, Cucu-strong and underappreciated communication barriers, Guka-tall and grandfatherlike , Hyeinas, Wasps, sheep-skin, Njeri wa Uncle Peter, Aunty Judy, Ngendo,Irene, Ngong, Cucus house, our house, Uncle Willy nyama choma mutura chickens bees big tree cool hat dad and aunty eyes newspapers, Eric green suit serious but funny grit, Kelsey same but taller video games, Angie unfamiliar nosebleeds, Solitei younger waiting for nails, Matatu fun then annoying wifi gross
Until I can come up with more,,,
I’ve realized that I can’t “write” about adulthood because there’s no such thing. It’s a concept that we’ve made to define maturity. I’ve realized how independent and dependent I am sometimes. There’s so much fluctuation I’ve decided to leave it alone. Adulthood is not mastery, it’s just a recognized part of “growing up.” The ideal of growing up is overrated because my life is differently that the next person; so my milestones and someone else can be valued differently.
…that you call me deeper still. That you love,love,LOVE. You’re a Good Good Father. It’s who You are.It’s who You are. And I’m loved by You. It’s who i am It’s who i am.
You are perfect in all of your ways. Such moments can never be recreated by words, no matter how hard we try.
always remember that He is a GOOD GOOD Father.