This place. It has no resting place. No shade. Its like an old silent train moving past the landscape. Slowly. Quickly. Villages pass by. Trees rush by. People in their farms working. Others seated thinking.

I saw an old man somewhere. He looked frail. But not too frail for an old man. Wearing loose fitting clothes. You know those clothes that you know once fitted him and now there is more space than body in them. He was dark skinned. Seated in front of a majestic old gates. Those gates that lead to houses that though its not old money, its not new either.

I don’t remember where I saw the man. Or the gate. But I remember thinking of how he didn’t own that house. Maybe it was in his clothes. But mostly I think it was in his gait. There is a certain way people who have, even when they wear sackcloth, still have some ‘lack of suffering’ aura around them. This man just sat. Facing a different direction. I didn’t see his face. I didn’t need to. But my mind took a photographic image of that scene, and stored it.

Scenes. That’s how this place is. Its like a book written by different people, but it all makes sense.

I jump from one day to another. They are moving so fast I can’t seem to grasp them in my hands. But do I need to?

I don’t know. But I do know that I do not want to let them go. The moments I’m living in right now that is. I finished my first Bukowski’s book. I didn’t see that coming. Now who will serenade me with tales as I take my breakfast? Who will make me stop, take a breath and reread that line again because it hits such a good spot in me? Or makes me reflect on things I don’t want to?

I reached the last page. Where his face was. And I felt this pain of being left, course through me. I felt left. By a companion I’ve had for the last one month. A good companion for that matter. Now who’ll take his place?

The high points. This place has some pretty insane moments too. Like reading about Colonel Gamal Abdel Nasser. And realizing that no one around me gets why I think he’s such a badass. And if they do get it, its certainly not with the enthusiasm I have for him. Man of steel. Is it because cowards is all they know that they can’t imagine an African man sinking international ships just like that? Or is it because they have more interesting people to look up to? But who in this generation? I think they are just cowards. But don’t ask me who. Maybe I just have a disdain for the lack of violent revolutions in this generation of ours. I mean, assassinating several leaders isn’t such a bad breaking news item.

But ooh well. This moments feel like water flowing through my fingers.

Nothing is sticking. Everything is as it should be. No excitement for the future. No disdain for the past. Just enough energy for the day.

And happiness. By Jove, and happiness. Happiness likes me nowadays. And I’m not playing hard to get. 90 days for who? We’ll just get to it the first time. Happiness finds me in my mundane activities. I even sing as I breath. Those songs that I used to belt out as a young kid full of joy of that specific moment. Songs I screamt out in class when we were given 2 minutes to break the monotony of the CRE class. Songs we sang in the class 7’s class right before we went to sleep. Songs we sang when we were playing.

My heart feels light most of those moments. And full. Like a balloon. Sometimes I bust it and we go back to being a train passing by an interesting landscape. But those other times I hold it in and let it out in small doses of honesty and honoring myself.

This place. Nothing sticks. Not even worries. The break out in the face that would have seen me worry endlessly is replaced by how my nails in the hands are finally coming around.

Isn’t it weird how some phases of our lives shine onto some body parts? I’ve always had hideous nails. Now they are just less hideous. But that’s not the story. The story is how I’m noticing it in the first place.

And instead of me finding things. Things are finding me. I have so many things to do. Tiny little things. Like to remember to subscribe to that magazine, to do that assignment before the deadline, to apply that damn thing even if its after the deadline. Time.

Time isn’t on my side. It just is. I wake up and live. Should I also die, it won’t be as desirable, unlike before when i was thoroughly okay with dying. Am I getting attached to life?

No. More like getting attached to the possibilities of life that I have in my head. The possibility of Guinea Bissau. The narcotic state. The possibility of Dakar, of Mozambique, of Malawi.

I’m becoming a little more dreamy nowadays. But that’s not the point. Its in the fact that inside there, I actually believe in those dreams. And by dreams I don’t mean being the CEO or achieving something regarded as successful by Forbes. More like digging a tunnel to my nearest bank( I wanted to say KCB , but I realized that would implicate me in case I went ahead with it and I wouldn’t want them to find out that its that little girl they used to send to birthday cards that betrayed their trust with spades), anyway, as I was saying, dig up a tunnel, get money and move into a nondescript village in a nondescript country of Africa. And move around till my money runs out and now I have to hijack a drug dealer for my next world tour.

Its in these dreams that I see how much my inhibitions disappear. What is wrong or right? Wait, there is no wrong or right. I just am. We just are.

I’ve ‘changed’ so much that I don’t feel it anymore. Change in quotes because there is certainly a word for it and change isn’t it. Evaporating maybe? You know, change from one state to another. But its still same thing in different forms. That’s exactly what’s happening to me. No wonder I don’t feel it. Coz I’m just the same person in different forms. And this just feels like me.

So I’ve evaporated? I love that word. Evaporation. Can’t remember the last time I heard it beyond primary school. I love how its turning over and over in my head right now.

My head. I don’t live there anymore. Hold up. I still do. I guess i’m just not as dependent on it as I was before. But this feels different. Unlike before when my mind was that place we went to change things, sweep some corners , add some chairs and in simple terms make it more bearable for us, this time, its that place that acts like a conduit. We still have permanent visitors though.

Permanent visitors. Everyone is dispensable. Okay that’s a lie. Gorgeous isn’t and a few others. But even I plus them don’t hold the same power we held over me. Nowadays when something is wrong, my insides don’t give me the time to get stressed over it for days, run away from dealing with it, do everything but deal with it, binge eat because of it, be sad and grumpy because of it etc. Its like the supplier of patience left us high and dry. We deal with things as they come. Much to my chagrin. Don’t my insides know how good sad stories are? How does one even write in a space like this?

Talking of space, Zambians have finally gotten around to removing a course on Space from their university guidelines. Almost 60yrs after that most interesting space goer from their country. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that laughter that day when I watched that clip. It was among the very first days of my non-depression state. I didn’t know it then. That soon my heart would stop feeling like this lead in my chest. All I remember is that for one or 2 hours, I laughed. And laughed. I laughed so much that I had to space my laughter lest I choke on it and died. And I couldn’t afford that. To die on the first day I laughed so heartily in years.

Years, its March already. Can you imagine. This one feels like its moving too fast and too slow at the same time.

Too fast and too slow. That’s how everything feels nowadays. I nowadays legit wake up feeling as if my 24 hours are not enough for the things I want to do. I even reduced my sleeping hours by 2 or 3 hours. In a bid to recover my time. But here we are, lazing around in the middle of the day. With a multitude of things to be done. Little many things. But they’ll be done eventually.

Eventually. That seems like the word nowadays. No hurry. No stress. We’ll get to it eventually. My heart doesn’t even worry when its last last minute and we haven’t done it.

Is it a carefree attitude? Or is it the realization that in the grand scheme of things, nothing matters anyway?

Except evaporation­čśä­čśä . Am i evaporating­čś│­čś│? ?

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