Assalam Aleykum Warahmatullahy Wabarakatuh.
Hey guys!
It’s currently night time and I’ve been intending to post something for the past two days. However, multiple things keep getting in the way. Things like me perfecting the art of doing nothing, coerced chores and watching bad tv. I’m back home, in Mombasa for the holidays, and you could say I’m stuck between the bliss of not having a myriad of urgent things to do, and the misery of not crossing anything off my to-do list.
I had forgotten what free time looked like and I don’t think my heart is ready to get back into the hustle and bustle of to do lists. Nevertheless, in between the toxic television and social media I’m helplessly indulging in, I need to find the time to create. Even force myself if need be. Consequently, I feel that i am in need of a detox from all forms of negative vibes. Be it people, feelings or various forms of ‘entertainment’.
My journal has lately been filled with drunken words about becoming a better Muslim, stupid boys, my fears, people I love to hate and life in general. I’ve been quite exhausted this past semester, and I’m utterly grateful to be over with it.
However If there’s one thing I’ll miss about last semester, it has definitely got to be my storytelling class. In the formal academic dialect, the class is known as ‘Principles of broadcasting’, but to me, it’s the storytelling class. It was through this class that I bloomed as a writer. I’ve mentioned my lecturer from this class on my blog before, so I doubt that it comes as a surprise. Not only was the class absolutely fun to be in, but I actually learnt something worthwhile and not just to excel in exams. Most importantly, learnt how to write clear and hard about what truly hurts. I learnt how to be honest, which still does not come naturally to me. My lecturer kept pushing me to tell my stories and at first I had no idea what he was going on about. I knew I wanted to write my stories. I thought that was what I had been doing.
Until one day when I just decided to write what I truly felt. From the heart, and all the pieces magically fell into place. I stopped letting myself get in my own way and started listening to the voice within. Most times, that voice doesn’t come at you screaming. Most times, it whispers in the faintest of voices. For some people it takes years before they can hear that voice let alone start deciphering and mastering it. For others, they just know. For me, it’s a work in progress. And progress is what I believe truly matters.
Finals went great. I know, those are words rarely heard of. But they did Alhamdulillah. I only had two sit in exams and the other two were hand in assignments. For my story telling class, we had to hand in a treatment and proposal for a 60 minute documentary. As much as I was freaking out because I had never delved into such a project before, I relished every moment of it. I might post it on here in shaa Allah, not sure though. My documentary was about Sharon Mundia who is one of the top fashion bloggers in Kenya. The documentary implements a follow me around kind of technique, so the audience gets a glimpse into the life and work of a fashion blogger. I would definitely be interested in filming such a production. The thought of actually doing it however, is terrifying to me.
Speaking of fear, graduation is in two semesters and I still cannot wrap my head around that. I’m literally freaking out at this ‘new chapter’ that’s about to begin. Sometimes I feel like I’m too young for my age and life is coming at me way too fast. I mean where does time run off to? Kind of like how one minute I’m in Nairobi, and the next I’m in Mombasa.
The ambiance in my room back in Nairobi is exceptionally breathtaking. Not only because I know it, but everyone else that comes into the room, does not fail to re-emphasize this with their compliments. I put fairy lights all across the ceiling and wall, and it definitely brings in a whole new feel to the room. One night, I got a tad bit overly sensitive and decided to go through my high school diary. I realized that as much as I hated high school, I experienced some amazing moments there and I thank my diary for taking the responsibility of refreshing my memory.
There was this one girl who always pestered me to stop keeping a diary, because one day someone was going to get their hands on it and all my secrets would be exposed. Like I flipping cared. Like anyone else cared. I bet she was the one who even wanted to know what was hidden in those pages. Just thinking about her makes me want to punch a wall. I thought my high school scars were healed, but no. I just really detest some human beings and I’m honestly not sorry about that. Even though I feel I should be. But they made my life a living hell, and I need time to get over it. If I ever get over it.
This holiday is all about being productive, creative and being happy. I got sick the other day and it suddenly became evident that I need to slow down and re-learn how to relax and be more present. I also think I’ll start posting more lifestyle oriented posts as opposed to ‘my life’ posts because as much as I enjoy pouring my heart on this blog, I think it’s healthy to give people a break from my disturbed mind, at least once in a while.
Ps. I'm exploring blogging from my phone so please excuse any irregularities.Thank you!
