From a Sunday to a Monday girl.

Happiness found in laughters that seem to come from an endless spring inside of me. Sadness that is made worse by the breakup of one of my favorite authors in my country. And pictures to forever remind me that life is kind sometimes.

Which one goes first?


Sundays were always intense days for my heart. We would dress up in Sunday wear. These are dresses(definitely dresses) that are too pretty for everyday wear. My friends don’t get how I have Sunday clothes. Well, this is how, where I grew up, all days except Sundays are work days. Work days mean wearing clothes that we can comfortably carry chicken feed in. That we can move oil in, knowing it’ll spill on you definitely. So on the day we get a break to be pretty and clean the whole day, we shine, both literally and figuratively.

We forget the tiredness of the week, the days we slept with our backs paining, the days we woke up early to deliver orders, the end of days when our math didn’t add up and we calculated and recalculated for the a thousandth time to find the missing penny. We push all that at the back of our minds, dress up to look like people who grew up winning in this life and go look for a miracle.

And even in the city, the cycle repeated itself in me. At least figuratively. Dress up and try to forget the week. The emptiness, the depression, the anxiety, the darkness in my soul, the skeletons in my thoughts, the heaviness in my chest, the dirt in my spirit and the complicatedness of life. For that one day, I forgot all that and went to church.

Looking for a miracle. I just wanted to be happy. Happiness. That is all I ever looked for in life. And for the longest time ever, that has been the most elusive thing for me.

But I thought I would find it in church. So I tried. So I took my burdens to Jesus. They said that would lighten my burdens. So every single Tuesday, I went to church for my personal prayers. I made sure I left no burdens at home. I carried all of them to his cross. And I cried. I cried as I let it all out. Tuesdays were cry days. I let it all out. All of it. My darkness and pain. Hurt. All of it.

But every single Tuesday, found me at Jesus feet, unburdening myself. Burdens that never ended. Burdens that this cross never really got rid off. Burdens that were clearly too large for miracles. Burdens that sexual purity talks didn’t remove. Burdens too strong for ‘God loved me so much that he gave his only son…’ sermons. Burdens too heavy for Trust in the Lord and he will direct your paths verses. Burdens too heavy for the cross to bear.

We even burnt those burdens in an exercise of faith. Were given a sheet of paper full of burdens to tick where they apply. Like a hundred burdens. You ticked what was most appropriate for you. Things like depression, witchcraft, drinking too much soda and taking too much sugar were also burdens. I ticked furiously on that Friday night. You should have seen me. Then we had a bonfire. We burnt those burdens down in Jesus name. Burnt them things down.

The next Tuesday found me crying in church. And the next Sunday found me all dolled up. Waiting for a miracle. Searching not for happiness, we had long ago realised that, that one fruit of the holy spirit, may never locate me in this land of the living. But searching for a painless life. For sleep. For existence that functions. Searching for thoughts that don’t torture and hearts that don’t bleed.

And fast forward those Sunday to yesterday’s Sunday.

Seated on top of a moving bus in a wildlife sanctuary, observing giraffes, staring at wildebeests, ogling at zebras, laughing so purely with friends and strangers turned friends, I found what happiness looks like finally. Hearing my own laughter spill over and over again as if it never ends, I can now say that I know how happiness sounds like. And feeling this space in my chest fill up with joy, I know how happiness feels like.

So when I read this heavy story about that break up, I understood it deeply. That some things, though beautiful don’t work out. It cut my heart across literally because I could tell he wanted it to work out so badly.

Because that Sunday girl would have given up her two lungs and kidneys to just have life work out. To just live. That girl wanted it so badly. So damn badly.

And I remember one day wondering, that if I lived, would the happy days have been worth that sort of anguish? That if I one day saw the light, will that kind of pain have been necessary? That if I one day laughed, would the Tuesday cries camouflaged as prayers, have been a well deserved price to pay for this happiness?

And I remember knowing that regardless of how many motivational stories I read of appreciating the low moments because they prepare us for the high ones, that my answer will never be a yes. I would never wish living death on anyone.

And so when someone close to me said something spiritual about my life in the morning, I got all worked up inside there.

I now understand why some people amass and amass wealth( okay, I still don’t actually) . But if hunger was what you were running away from, then you would never want to go back there ever again. Ever again.

I realise that I will never ever go back to a place where a miracle, that depends entirely on a deity’s whims, is the difference between a smile on my face and anguish in my heart. That shit almost killed me man. Almost did. It was this close.

That I don’t mind if anyone tries to hurt me in any way. But don’t touch my soul. Don’t you dare take me back to that place of hopelessness, anguish and unburdening burdens that just don’t end. Don’t take me back where I an unworthy and undeserving, because then I would rather be dead dead. Like literally dead.

Coming from all that indoctrination, to smiling in the mirror, and seeing the most worthy person in this life, seems like the kind of miracle I was looking for all along. And I found it outside miracle centers. The irony of life.

Had you asked me before yesterday, if I had something I would kill for or to maintain in my life, I would have said no. But seeing all that beauty and feeling how good a day can be, I knew that no one is dragging me back to that Sunday girl. Nothing and no one. Its not even negotiable.

Nowadays i’m a Monday girl. We lazy around on Mondays. Sundays are just days of the week like the other days. On Mondays we rest, and plan for the coming week. We think of what we would love to read and do for that coming week. If its a month, we figure out what our desired outcome would be. We trust our souls to know the way.

Unlike before when Sundays were days of drowning the sorrows of the ending week, Mondays are the days of welcoming and anticipating the future. We look forward to living some more nowadays.

And days like yesterday, prove that happiness did indeed locate me. Just not in a deity. Or in environments that sought to tell me what to do or be. Instead it found me in me. When I finally faced myself without squirming. When I finally dusted of my eyes and saw myself for real.

And if I had a choice, I would commemorate all my Sundays. I know, sounds really extra to just go out there and try and replace every anguished Sundays with a happy one, but I get how tempting that can be.

I saw someone write that those who grew up in love and those who grew up on survival view the world from very different lenses. And most replies were of how its difficult for those who grew up in love to date the survival group. I’m the survival group. And I see how letting go of all that memory of pain is hard. Not just because its all we’ve known, but because nothing scares me more right now, than anything that seems like it’ll take me back to my Sunday self. That’s my ultimate nightmare right now. Like i’m willing to cross mountains and cut friends if that’s what it takes.

But I also realise that, that in itself is a binding thing. So we work on that on Mondays. And look forward to beautiful Sundays ahead.


I feel like a nomad.

There is this song I’ve been binge listening to. Its sang by an African man with a deep voice. And no instruments. The background is the sound of people humming. They sound like men mostly. Then at the chorus they join the man singing in such beautiful harmony.

Its a sad song. Sang by a man. Explaining how he is feeling about a life situation beyond his control. He doesn’t blame anyone about it. Not even himself. Its just what it is. But he does something else beyond express his sadness.

He asks for help. He tells whoever he is singing to, that they should answer him when he calls. He says he feels alone. With bones creaking. And a broken heart. And with that he beseeches this person to not hide his face away from him.

I feel exactly like this person. Except that I don’t ask for help. I can explain how I’m feeling. Or at least try. But it never occurs to me, that when my bones creak, when my heart hurts, when I feel like a nomad, I can actually ask for help. That sadness can also be shared. That I can specify what I want from someone at that point.

Today someone who knew how I was feeling called me. It only later occurred to me, that she didn’t call for whatever she called for, she called to give me an opportunity to ask for help from her. And I didn’t. It didn’t even occur to me till much later.

And I hope, that as I continue feeding my soul to this man’s voice, I shall borrow a leaf from him. And learn how to ask for help. How to express myself as vulnerably as he does. That I shall be able to pinpoint to where it hurts.

For now, I feel like a nomad.

Is this how people drown?

I wasn’t a good swimmer. So I took a life jacket. And made sure to maintain company in case of anything. I also made sure to check every once in a while, that we were not that far from the beach.

Then I let myself be. I floated, I swam against the currents, I let my body be carried by the waves, I let the sun toast one side of my body before turning for the other side to have its fair share of the tan. We laughed. Split into many smaller groups. Rejoined. Split again. And off we were. Into the ocean. Safe. Happy. Joyous. Content.

This went on for two or so hours. Time stopped being of importance (hehe). We didn’t even go back to the beach for a break. I don’t remember being thirsty. We had talked enough. We weren’t tired. Not when waves were doing most of the swimming for us. We drifted. Lazy content seals in the water. Even took a picture or two.

There was no plan really. We just were. Safe and happy to swim the 8-4-4 system away. We were now officially out of school. We didn’t know what next. The only guaranteed next step was our graduation,a month away. The rest of our life was just beginning. We knew it wouldn’t be easy, some would get married, some would get jobs immediately, some would fly out, while the majority would hustle.

But at that moment, none of those things mattered. We were not worried. Not because we knew worrying has never added a strand of hair onto anyone’s head, but because either way we had no control over what would happen next in our lives. We had played our cards, now it would be life’s turn.

And so it was in the midst of all the above, that I found myself brushing shoulders with death. Fighting a tag of war with the grim reaper.

It was approaching 6pm in the evening. Since around noon, water starts coming back to the beach. We all knew that, precisely why most people swim in the afternoon. What we didn’t know, is that, the waves’ intensity increases as time goes by. Such that by night time, hotels near the beaches have to have some sort of wall( mostly made of sacks full of sand) to prevent the waves from crushing into their property.

Our group had been thinning out. But we hadn’t noticed it. Out of around 15 people, we were left 3. How it happened, none of us can tell. But we weren’t alarmed either.

Until a swimmer native to the coast brought along two of our colleagues, he had found them further away from where we were. Apparently, we had drifted off from what he would consider safe, even for excellent swimmers like him. He pointed out that the waves had increased greatly in strength ( something we had noticed but hadn’t thought it dangerous), and from where we were, they were pushing us to a creek. And once there, since there is no beach, its only a wall, the waves would crash us onto the walls. It would only take 2 waves for death to occur.

We panicked. But he was like there was still time. We could still get onto a near by beach in a few minutes if we started swimming towards it then. And with that he left us behind.

Apparently, without knowing it, we had swam away from the white sandy beaches. The waves we had been happily drifting with, had pushed us to the east. Now ahead of us, was a wall. Not a beach as we all thought. Meaning we couldn’t just swim to that place. Now we had to swim against the waves to reach the nearby beach.

And its like once we realized how much danger we were in, everything became worse. The waves started acting with vengeance on our poor swimming skills. The two ladies who had joined us started crying. Time started a marathon against us.

I don’t remember what I was thinking at that point exactly.

When you are drowning, you don’t remember who to blame or what could have been done to prevent this disaster or what went wrong where.

All I could think of at that point was how to survive. How to not die in the middle of a seemingly safe ocean swim. All my eyes could see at that point, was the nearest beach. And how not so near it was. I don’t even remember thinking about the waves. Except start to figure out ways of how to swim to avoid them taking me back 5 metres for every 1m I swam ahead.

The more effort i put, the less progress I seemed to be making. Others were fairing worse. Only one of us seemed to be making progress.

Drowning. We were drowning. In my head, I had always assumed that drowning meant drinking lots of water and sinking inside a body of water.

I had never realised that you could be breathing, seeing, floating, but still drowning. The waves would take us under for a few seconds, but we were breathing above water. Our lungs hadn’t collapsed. Our ears were full of water yes, but not enough to not hear. Yet we were drowning. Unless we got saved, we were facing imminent death with each passing wave. And the waves seemed to be going faster than time.

An year down the line, I find myself drowning, again. Just not in an ocean. And just like last time, I am breathing, I can hear, I can see, but yet I am drowning.

I had not noticed it happening. I do remember that two months ago I stopped enjoying reading. Something my soul derives immense pleasure in. I do remember noticing my enthusiasm for life wane. I do remember noticing that my anxiety levels had gone a notch higher. I also do remember feeling like cancelling on meeting my friends. Or turning up and my mind struggling to be present.

But just like that water incident, I saw no danger in those alarms. They are alarms yes, and there is a reason why they act as signals of how I’m doing internally, but how could I say I was drowning, yet I was breathing? How could I see death, yet the last time I checked, I saw some beach somewhere, never mind that, that was a really long time ago?

I think the worst moment of it all, is that moment when it hits you how bad it is. How close you are to losing it all. At that point, you don’t get paralysed. But there is this chilled wind that grips your inside. This clarity of thought that propels you forward even when the body wants to initiate a freeze response.

The shock that comes with that realisation of danger. That some seconds ago, I thought I was happy, safe and content. Now I know that I am in danger and I realise how hard it is to be safe given the current circumstances.

That shock. On Friday I walked from someone’s house. I felt so many things. Raw. Poked. Opened up. But what stood out from the rest, was shocked. I felt as if my insides had been turned inside out. And its not just about not liking what i saw there, I was shook by what I saw. Not of the things themselves, but of my inability to have figured that that’s how badly we were doing. That we had been drowning. I wasn’t shocked because I was drowning. I was shook that I didn’t know that I was drowning.

What comes next is help. Getting to a safe place within time. Fighting from death. But for now, I float around, breathing, seeing, hearing, and wondering… Is this how people drown?

When I tell you I am alive..

When i tell you I am alive, it does not mean what you think. Or maybe it does. But let me try and explain to you why that is the most befitting answer to your question.

I am alive. Bare minimum you say? You can only say that when you haven’t been in my shoes. Or rather, in my mind. I’ve died many times in this life. And just like in real life situations, in all those times I never saw it coming. Death crept into my soul when I was looking the other way.

It seeped into my days when I woke up and took white tea instead of black. It followed me when I dressed and chose what I could find. It got into my steps and made me tired after every few steps. Yet I never saw it coming. Nor felt it taking up space in me.

But I saw it. When it has made a home out of me already. I saw it in my nails that are overgrown and untidy. I saw it in my reluctance to read my favorite authors. I saw it in the way I spend money. Until finally I became it.

So when I tell you I am alive, its an achievement. Its an accomplishment. Its a break of my world record. Because it means I’m looking death in the eye and inviting him to a duel. it means for the umpteenth time in this life, I’m rising from the ashes. That I’m leaving the graveyard.

When I tell you I am alive, know that that’s all that matters now. And that’s enough. To breath in the cold crisp air of this forest, to walk alone amid trees that have stood the test of time and to allow my thoughts to flow through me.

It means I’m resetting the button for the a thousandth time. Knowing that this time too death shall come. It shall creep in when I’m watching things I don’t even like, it shall slither in during conversations that touch the unhealed places in me, it shall announce itself once again, once it has a home in me. And I shall rise once again from its grip.

Maybe that is my portion in life.

So when I tell you I am alive, imagine a new born, being coerced to come out of her mother’s womb. That child who knows that this world is no one’s mother. And even if it is, sometimes mothers break their children’s hearts. But the child comes out anyway.

I am not asking you to start a bonfire to celebrate my rebirth. That would be lovely, but some things require solitude. I am asking you to keep your eyes open, your inner heart eyes that is, and behold my glory.

For I am. And that is the greatest honor of being alive.

Digging up the soul.

Functional. Functionality.

Its hard to remember when I wasn’t being functional. Everything about me has always been about getting by that moment in life with the least baggage as I can. And I’ve lived like that for so long. Written about pain for too long. Been sad for as long as I can remember.

I’ve always dressed for functional purposes. Never for beauty. Always enough money as I would need, never more or less. Eaten what I can afford. Dreamt of things I can have. Even my goals have always been realistic. Or do I say basic?

I’ve always prepared for the worst. And the worst has been my visitor a bit too regularly. Always prevented my heart from getting hurt. Which didn’t work most of the times. I’ve always been on stand by for life’s tantrums. Even my clothes. Most stay packed. And life has handed me its tantrums quite generously.

Till now. I’m restructuring. My playlist is no longer functional. I’m bringing back that little girl who loved all Yvonne Chaka Chaka’s songs. Who sang along to Sean Paul’s new hits. Who enjoyed just taking a ride on her bike for the sake of it. Who joined all trips to Tsavo regardless of the strangers in the bus. Who dressed as she wished to the protests of her mother. Who wanted and dreamt beyond her means.

And its hard. Bringing her back that is. Its a lonely process. Digging, dusting off a soul has got to be one of the most vulnerable things to do. It hurts in a sweet way. Its like a sour fruit that one can’t just say no to.

Fear. I’ve always been afraid of the wind. It has no grounding. No sense of direction. And this process feels much like the wind. I have no idea what will become of me. Being functional, as I’ve always been, requires me to check all my parts and ensure they are at least working. Now, i’m required to worry about nothing. And enjoy Ali Kiba’s song if that’s the one playing. Look up Jaymo’s silliness and allow my mind to go wild as I go through Joy Isi Bewaji’s page.

And as I listen to an old classic whose title I assume is Listen To Your Heart, i’m filled with tears in my heart. Tears that won’t spill. It has nothing to do with the song. More with my heart. And how for years I’ve listened to everyone but my heart. And I didn’t even know it.

I found myself missing a friend I’ve had for the longest time today. I guess I needed permission to be who i’m becoming. From someone who knew me when I was still wide eyed. Man, moving on afraid is easier said than done. Coz its a cycle. I get into this point where I feel extra vulnerable and need assurance that its going to be okay. I rarely reach out and if I do, I won’t come straight with what I wanted. Years of putting other people’s need before mine taught me that. While at times I just want to be the center of attention. Anyway, being as resilient as I am, I usually trudge on, while still afraid and scared. And the results are usually breathtaking to say the least.

I’m afraid of sleeping nowadays. I want to savour these happy moments a bit longer. I guess I always assume closing my eyes will make them disappear. At some point, i’ll have to get used to this. To life. To its changing nature. And to my awesome nature.

For now, I drink coffee in the wee hours of the morning and enjoy good music. Alone. And this feels like heaven.

I call it the universe.

I realise that you might have lots of questions from my last post. Its okay. You can ask them if you are courageous enough to. Let me answer the few I’ve gotten so far.

Are you now an atheist?

No. I believe in God. I believe God exists. I’m a scientist by profession. A traveller by choice. A reader by birth. And all those things have showed me that there is a higher power than me and you. Kwanza when you realise how grand our universe is. And the fact that our universe isn’t the only one around. Surely, all this must have come from somewhere. I came from somewhere. My soul that is.

So no, I’m not an atheist. I’m just not sure whether I’m a Christian either. Like I’m at a point where I want to consciously find God for myself. Is He or she found in the bible? The Koran? Philosophical works? I don’t know. I’ll find out for myself. I’m at that point where I want to hold the things I believed to be true accountable, are they really true after all? I want to learn new things about myself and my spirituality. I won’t limit myself to one specific way of finding God. Not when God is bigger than all our universes combined.

What is the universe? Or what do I mean when I say, “the universe”.

I first encountered this when I watched The secret some years ago, and read The Alchemist last year. Those two proved that what I thought existed wasn’t only in my mind. They gave a name to a phenomenon I had experienced over and over again.

When I was going to buy this phone, I wanted a tecno camon 9 or 10. I didn’t even know whether they existed . But my roommate had a tecno canon 7 or something like that and I loved it. So I got my money and went to Safaricom shop, straight to the tecno desk. I asked for the latest version of the tecno camon series. Whatever I wanted wasn’t there. But they had this one. I wanted a phone that would take good pictures of nature. I didn’t know much about phone cameras. But I knew what I wanted from the bottom part of my soul. I bought the phone I got. A step sister of the tecno camon 10(or x, that how they refer to 10 in the technical world ). And over and over again my choice has been validated. I’ve seen 4 photographers with my kind of phone. They didn’t buy it because they didn’t have money to buy iphones or the latest Samsung’s. This phone does truly do justice to nature pics. Selfies nazo hapana. Its too detailed for face photography. Did I get what I wanted? Yes. Did I know it at the time I was buying, no? Do you sincerely think its a coincidence that I got what my heart really wanted?

There is this person whom though we are not so close, we’ve been friends for years. And every single time I miss them, they call the next day. Like I can stay for weeks without thinking about them, but on the day I do, be rest assured they’ll call the next day. Like it has happened that way for years now.

But the most common occurrence is with my thoughts. There are times I could be thinking about making a certain decision. And maybe dilly dallying about it. Then I open social media and find over 5 different people talking about that thing I was refusing to think about. Do you sincerely believe that its a coincidence, that on the day i’m hesitant about a certain thing, is when the strangers I’ve never met talk about that thing?

I could go on and on.

But I can only witness what I’ve gone through. Not what you swear by as the truth.

Over a hundred times I’ve gotten signs and signals from the most unexpected quarters pertaining something I was thinking about or a decision I was to make. And that’s what I refer to when I say the universe.

Its not a religion. At least the last time I checked it wasn’t.

Its that thing that when I miss a certain song, I get into a matatu that is playing the exact song. Or when i need to hear some words, some stranger says them to me, or when I desire eggs in the morning and then forget about it, in the evening I get to eat eggs, or when want to go to a specific place, an opportunity that I had never noticed before comes up to go to that exact place.

I don’t know what you call it. Or if you’ve even experienced it. But for me, I call it the universe.

God and me.

I would love to write about my relationship with God. Or its inexistence. Or how it came to be. Just to be undone in an year.

I’m trying to think of that moment when I stopped believing. My break was actually not with the church initially. My issues with the church have always been there for as long as I can remember. What we had, me and the church that is, was a failing but active relationship.

It sounds cheesy, but I broke up with God when my last boyfriend broke up with me.

My friend was joking that she can’t believe in the universe or God after me telling her how much they had given me the go ahead signs for that relationship, just for it to crumble. Meaning they were wrong. Or what were those signs I saw and believed in, she wondered?

You see, this is isn’t about that relationship. Though I hope to talk about it someday. Its about God and that relationship.

I had been told over a hundred times before that if I put my heart into God, my trust in Him, my hope in his everlasting love, then God would take care of me. Then I would be like a planted tree besides a river. Then I wouldn’t lack, and if I did God would give me peace that surpassed all understanding.

I was told to not trust my heart, because the heart of a man according to the Bible, lies or deceives. I was told to bring all my decisions to God. To consult Him. But above that, to wait for instructions and guidance from Him.

I tried. I really did. Trusting anyone is really hard for me. But I cultivated it in me to trust God. It took a while. But I can confidently say that 2017 was the year I trusted God most. I trusted Him to have my back. To lead me to greener pastures. To make me lie beside still waters. To be my fortress and shield. And actively while at it.

And it really felt good to trust God. There is this peace that flows from the heart when you know He got you. Its like a child with her parents around. She is carefree. She knows that whatever happens, her parents are there to watch over her. I believe this is the reason religious people seem so oblivious. When you think someone has your back, whether its true or not doesn’t really matter, what matters is that your mind thinks its true, keeping you at rest compared to someone else who they know they are all they’ve got. Themselves.

So I liked this guy in church. But for a while I ignored it, from what I had observed, men in church have this unique characteristics in them that make them almost boring to date.

So I forgot all about this man till later when circumstances brought us in the same vicinity for a while, so we got talking. And he was pretty interesting. We started talking. And talking. And spending a lot of time together. It was obvious to us that something was brewing between us.

So what did Mercy do? She prayed about it. Honestly. I believed that God would give me the right direction to go. To step back a bit and just be friends, or plunge ahead and see where this goes. God had spoken to me before. In various ways. So I wasn’t doubting whether or not He would answer me. He would. And with every cell in me I knew I would go ahead with whatever decision He chose. Like I had never trusted God before as much. Or depended on Him to make any life altering decision for me.

So me and God were good. We were talking. We were growing closer. I was reading His word more. I was entirely at His mercies. If He said jump, the next second he would have to look for me up in the skies. I was committed to him. Like a soldier to a country. And like a son to a father.

I dated the handsome guy. Me and God were still really doing well. Excessively well if I may add. At some point I started even getting scared. God would reveal stuff to me in the most unexpected manner. It sounds weird, but sometimes in my sleep, God would visit. Just to hang out. Or I would be looking at something and I start getting lessons from it.

My relationship went through ups and downs. Quite normal. Not to be unexpected. I knew God had approved it. Our channels of communication were clear, which never happened if we weren’t good. Plus I had trusted Him from the beginning. With all my heart. Willing to drop everything in case God said so.

Until we broke up. A few weeks later.

I was heartbroken yes. But what hurt beyond explanation wasn’t being let down by a man, that happens. Its pretty normal.

For three days straight I was in a daze. What just happened there? Si we had talked about this with God? Si He was supposed to warn me of potholes ahead? Si I was told to not trust my heart and instead trust Him? And hadn’t I just done exactly that? I had done everything I was told to do. But still.

God had broken my heart.

That was the most intense pain I’ve ever felt. Yaani it was pain so intense, that it took me days to feel it. Have you ever observed small kids when they are hit or fall? If the pain is slight, they’ll start crying immediately. Like you’ll hear the sound out of their mouths immediately. But if the fall was exceedingly painful, they open their mouths but no sound comes for some seconds. The more the silence before the noise, the more it hurts.

I did everything right. Like I can swear on God himself.

Then people started telling me that God knows best. Maybe it wasn’t in God’s plan. God has better plans for my future. God knows best. God . God. God.

What I knew for sure, was that if that’s how God loves me, then I would be better off without that love.

Because as cruel as I can be when stretched beyond every limit possible, I knew that I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain upon a living soul. Even if I hate you with a fury. I just can’t. Yet I’m only human. So these people were telling me that this God who loved me so much to give his son for me, was okay with me going through all that pain when he could have stopped it? Does that sound like love to you? And if it does, what kind of love was that?

All I knew, is that whatever kind of love that was, that watches as the person you supposedly love gets raped, ripped apart, broken, crushed beyond repair, while they still call you a fortress, I didn’t want it. If anything, I would run away from it. Inhumane doesn’t even begin to describe that kind of love.

You see, had I broken up with God due to some theological teachings I heard , then maybe there would be a chance of us getting back together.

But I tested God. I did what I was supposed to do. He failed miserably on His end of the bargain. He didn’t provide the fortress, green pastures or still waters.

All I know, is that my heart, is clearly safer with me.

Will I and God get back together?

Maybe. Or maybe not.

But if we do, I know it won’t be on the same terms as before. Not based on the ” I’m evil, He’s holy ” model. Because I come from somewhere. And if whoever created me, saw it fit for me to be this way, then who is another deity to call me a sinner from birth?

But I wouldn’t discourage a believer from their faith. Hold on there brethren. If claiming and owning it in Jesus name, makes you sleep better at night, then by all means sister. Claim it and own it. If knowing His grace is sufficient for you removes all guilt from your soul, my brother stand strong. If knowing you are so loved till the son of God died for you, assures you of your ticket to heaven, then hold it a little more tightly.

I’m not wise. I don’t know much about heaven or hell. Or sins and holiness. Or souls and spirits. Or virgin Marys and miracles. Or even earth and its creator. Or the universe and its sustainer.

But what I do know for sure, is that I only have me to live for. And that on my last moments, I won’t be thinking about that pastor or my mother and if I lived right by them, i’ll have myself to answer to. Did I give myself the best that I could at any given moment in my life?

I so want that answer to be yes. And if leaving an abusive relationship with God is what it takes at this point in life, then that’s exactly what i’ll do.

I’m giving myself the permission to grieve. About my relationship with God for the last 15yrs. The good times we had. The ups and down. The lessons learnt. And the scars gotten. The baggage from that relationship that I carry to date.

One of my issues with God was his luck kind of working. Where He would bless you today then allow you to lack tomorrow. Maybe it wasn’t God. Maybe it was life that’s just like that. But at that point, I thought it was God.

I want a love that chooses me all the time. Not some of the time. I want sure ground, not a hit and miss.

I want to be wanted as I am. Not to bend, crawl, give you my mind, and still tell me that I am not enough. I am tired of that love.

And I allow my heart to cry. For all those times it sought love from a supposed God, and instead got rules to follow. For all those times I needed words of comfort, and I got told instead how its because I doubted or sijui what I did wrong.

My beginnings usually start from a negative point. Where I get over the baggage I carry, then now start from zero. Its not easy.

But as I love saying, the universe has aligned itself. I’m getting signs from left right and center, that I’m on the right path.

I hope one day i’ll tell you about the Universe, and what I mean by it.

But for now, let me enjoy this peace that has come over my spirit, as I let myself be.