Diary entry 12th Feb, 2015 : Just happy
I miss being six. Don’t you all guys? Then we had real friends, real toys (we didn’t play around with ladies’ emotions), real presents on NewYear’s and X-Mas (these days I just accept the gifts you peeps tag me on B’Days on FaceBook) and wait, we could chase real girls around the compound under their fathers’ nose, even past the hedges, bushes and right across the road through the water ducts without arousing suspicion. Now a mere like on her pics is termed a mind-chase. Of late, I’ve been accused of being the creepy, psychic mind-reader guy. Not just here. Even in the village. Haha, I’m not done. I just disclosed I’m in the village, yes? Things changed here though I’m still kind of village star. Fishpond dried up, thanks to global warming.
Then there’s the MPESA chic who wouldn’t even notice me ages ago. Late twenties, single, female. Do the math. Flirty flings were fabulous until she hit the big three-O. All downhill from there. Biological clocks seemingly started ticking like time bombs waiting to detonate, gravity exerted more pressure on her than her mom, and suddenly, even the dog-ugliest creep looks like David Beckham. She said ‘hi’ today. I returned pleasantries, looked eastwards like a pilgrim does; there where the sun rises, and I thanked time.