The Decision Drawer

She stood aghast, her heart throbbing rythimically in sync with the saliva down her throat. At a glance, you could hardly tell whether they were traces of tears or sweat that ran down her cheeks. At second glance, her mucal discomforts in her breathing gave away her emotional state.

She hugged herself tightly, a feeling of loneliness engulfing her which was one she knew too all well. She had been kicked to the curb years ago and life had a knack for reminding her that she was just a lab-rat on earth.

She was at her front porch, her legs wide open and her mind wondering off to no particular place until she settled on one...the shower. She imagined herself scrubbing off all the iniquities she had had to endure. She scrubbed hard, and soon the friction had blood oozing out of her smooth skin. She enjoyed the self-inflicted pain and in the peak of her self-gratification, she came back to her senses. She was not in the shower, she was still dirty, ashamed and vile.

Never in her life had she contemplated suicide, but hey! There is a first time for everything. Once a chin-up, self-driven and successful lady, this day made her vulnerable and disgusting. This time picking up the pieces was proving to be harder than she had ever imagined possible, being a lady of endless possibilities. She felt like she had finally drawn the shortest straw.

Slowly but steadily, she let out soft wails to the memories of the hard thrusts from the remorseless monster. She cursed the day she had laughed off the self-defence classes...if only! She had fought, more so with words of supplication which were to no avail. He was so strong that he took off her clothes without breaking a sweat. He then proceeded to lick her neck like a piece of meat. She blocked out the rest of the graphic memories......especially the ones she dared not admit. At one point, 'God-forbid' she liked it and she shouldn't have despite it being a purely physical reaction.

The piercing cold moved her into her humble abode where her clothes lay, along with her dignity. She threw herself to the floor and wailed some more until her voice was hoarse. Suddenly, she was done....she got up, wiped one cheek with the back of her palm and headed to her bedroom. She was done.

She looked like a lady with resolve, and her face beamed with satisfaction of having a concrete plan for her next chapter. The radical misfit was never one to feel sorry for herself. She was not the type of lady to sit on a psychologists' couch and talk about her childhood and hug it out.

She opened her 'decision drawer' which provided her with three items which helped her make up her mind. One she always needn't use, the other motivated her resolve whereas the other she had to use in her expeditions. She grabbed first her law degree.....she could not believe how useless it had turned out to be in half an hour. She then clutched at the picture of the rapist......the picture taken of her 7 months pregnancy.....potato patato. It was the only one she had. Besides the picture, there was also the childhood bracelet now lying on her living room floor.

She pulled out a gun from the dusty lower chest. She smiled.

This is an excerpt from my incomplete novel "One Foot." Leave a comment if you think the book is worth it.

Weekend at 7's

The weekend could not come fast enough for yours truly. Not only is my head still spinning from the preposterous week I've had but also the current craze is well upon me. All roads lead to Safaricom Stadium for the annual Safaricom 7s rugby tournament.

Remember the feeling when your mates did not include you in games as a child because you weren't good enough? Well, I don't but thank you for your participation anyway. Anyway, my mates are attending this event and I heartily weep for their mediocrity.

I am neither a kill-joy nor a sombre introvert for taking an unnoticeable raincheck to this god-forsaken fuckery (pun may be intended). I have laid down my reasons for peace of mind.

1. Historical Injustices
Aren't we a forgetful nation? It has been barely a year since scores of people were massacred by terrorists in Westgate mall on the same day as this jinxed event. I am in no way condemning the terrorists, on the contrary, I think the source of terrorism should be better analyzed. I needn't say I condemn violence.....my point being, having fun on such an anniversary is quite phlegm. Moreover, according to my superstitions, lightning does strike the same place twice.

2. Affairs of the Heart
Frankly, at the moment I cannot get a girlfriend to save my life and as you know such events are only fun for love-birds and unicorns. Touché, it might also be a haven for the relentless single love thirsty vampires. However, besides the fact that I am not the boldest, naïve and vulnerable ladies do not pose much of a challenge.

3. Sporting Affiliations
Calling rugby a sport is a rather undeserved compliment for sumo-wrestlers playing with an egg-shaped ball. Sure, it has its moments, especially the provision of eye candy for members of the fairer sex whose idea of foreplay is men tugging on each others' shorts. When all's said and done, there is very little I'd miss a Chelsea game for.

3. The Numbers Game
Due to my aforementioned relationship status, third-wheeling with couples is not exactly my idea of fun. Hanging out with my vast group of friends (beats me too, introvert and all) will only bring me to befriend mutual friends....let us just say playing facebook in real life is not my speciality.

It is finally the end of an uneventful day for yours truly and vice versa for most of my faithful readers with nothing better to do on weekends than watch a mediocre D-list tournament.

Anyway, like parents tell their poor-performing children after their mediocrity, "as long as you had fun."

Five Steps To Metro

There is a new paradigm shift in town. Is it a bird...is it a plane....no its queer-man strotting around town looking like someone who would not augur well with prison raiment. Whether most metrosexual men are actually homosexuals as well is not my place to say. However there are signs that can tell whether the man you have in contemplation is metrosexual or not.

1. Pretty Billy
First, I delve into the classical pretty-boy who spends the better part of his mornings practising the perfect winks and smiles in front of a mirror. They prefer a stylist to a barber and some never cry, not for being macho, but to avoid smudging their mascara. While the closest alpha males come to make up kits is a box of shaving cream and a rare nail cutter, the quintessential metrosexual strolls around with lipgloss in his "man-purse." If you are a man who knows the difference between a pedicure and a manicure, I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

2. Moody Rhoody
The overly sensitive male species is something most of us are familiar with. You know, those guys that blow everything out of proportion and vent out their feelings to any busybody willing to be indulged. Their friends are ever walking on egg-shells with them and even their girlfriends toe the thin line of minor break-ups and everlasting vendetta. This lot will probably stop reading at this point out of spite.

3. Wimpy Willy
We cannot all be brave knights with feisty eyes, fast feet and fists that speak but being a complete and total wuss is no excuse for lacking the aforementioned attributes. Maybe its the fear of being maimed or they just lack the testesterone that comes with male parts. Either way, (precious wimps) it does not hurt to wear the pants in your relationship from time to time....comprendéz?

4. Pompous Paul
Every man has his pride and that comes with the territory. However, it is a whole different ball game when the pride extends to dealing with members of the fairer sex. They expect the women to approach and flirt with them. Anyway, it is all fun and games until the egocentric moron decides to be broke and expects to be treated like the queen he is. Women love that, love it!

5. Girlfriend Greg
Ever heard of a chronic bufoon? Well, I define this person as being a part of clique dates (where they prefer wine because beer apparently tastes like porridge) and sundry. To these sorry excuses of the male species, being friendzoned comes as naturally as a teenage wet dream. Ever had a moment where you high-five a girl buddy after a very "funny" remark during a conversation? Kindly take a moment to re-think your life choices lest you find yourself in a closet you may not want to come out of.

Whereas celebrities can get away with the metrosexual publicity mayhem, it is a long way downhill for all the common faggot "wannabees."

Unfortunately, 90% of the male population have one of the metrosexual traits. The other 10% are either in diapers or live in caves.

The Dead Beat Three Ring Circus

Yesterday, I woke up to the worst morning of my life. The cold wind pierced through my skin and as my left eye peeped, it was met by the condescending, judgemental eyes of the group of people murmuring by my side. I was stark naked, lying on the side of the road and it was not a pretty sight. The men looked with pride and self-reassurance whereas the women looked in disgust, ashamed that I was part of the male species. I immediately wanted to scream that the cold prevents blood flow to specific areas to announce my masculinity every morning but was stopped in my tracks by the mirth of the present children and the camera-weilding hounds who would soon realise that photogeny is but a myth. Well, I whispered grinding my teeth, "Bite me!"

The previous night had been one of mixed feelings. Clubbing with friends is always associated with fun, unless your girlfriend has discovered your cheating ways and your friends are sick and tired of your constant bamboozles and treachery. Because I did not wake up lying in the van I had rented the previous night, I assumed that I had been drugged, stripped and dropped off awaiting my audience. I hoped with a tear deep in my throat that I had not been a victim of any sexual abuse whatsoever, I dread that.

With journalists presumably not far behind, I made up my mind to head upcountry and await my inevitable death because I am too much of a coward to attempt suicide. I was ruined, and ruined did not even begin to describe how I felt.

Hitherto, I feel sad, but not for the lies I have concorted above to make it apparent how the victims of the recent Dead Beat Kenya actually feel but but for the latter factual reality.

The week old Facebook page has generated quite the stir and has since seen many men fall from grace in the frenzied propaganda. It primarily seeks to expose parents who neglect their sirred offspring and fail to pay child support. The villians' name, photo and phone number are put up in the page with a brief history of the parental fiasco. Long are the days when facebook group administrators reaped only likes for their gallant efforts.

Its proprietor Jackson Njeru has written its description as, “This is a descriptive term that refers to parents of either gender who have freely choosen not to be supportive parents, or who do not pay their child support obligations. Deadbeat dad and deadbeat mom are commonly used by child support agencies to refer to men and women who have fathered and mothered a child but are unwilling to pay child support ordered by a family court or statutory agency."

It has received support and criticism in equal measure with the former coming from the female population. They contend that it takes two to tango and as such men ought to own up and take responsibility. Prezzo has been one of the victims with his ex-wife Daisy claiming, “You all know this monster called Jackson
Ngechu Kimotho Makini aka Prezzo. I have not seen or communicated with him since my daughter was 2 yrs. I finally took him to court to pay child support and upkeep of the child
and up to date hasn’t paid a dime. He goes around on TV and since he is able to hold a mic or have fake written interviews he is always claiming to be taking his daughter to the best school in Kenya and that she is her princess spoils her rotten. He has never paid her fees never paid any dime for her up keep all this is my sweat and my blessed parents and family support.”
This dead beat is simply an avenue to give voices to the voiceless and since investigations are carried out before defaming the "dead beats", it is justified. Why let women bear the economic burden of raising children while their fathers drink in the cup of plenty? Touchè.

However, in such situations it is difficult to differentiate truth from malice. When all's said and done, all that is posted in the group are claims or in other words, hearsay. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and it is interesting that only 1% of women go to court to validate such claims while hundreds of thousands would rather air their dirty linen in public. Most of them are well off women with vendettas against men. Well, in truth, courts cost money but at the end of the day justice is upheld and child support is actually paid whereas the satisfaction they get from the social fuss is putting their men to shame. Sour grapes?....I think so.

This group will surely be cleaned like bad weeds in the day of harvest because it is just but a passing cloud. We live in an ingriguing state where new beastiality, virus or crime story always takes the media by storm. The last time I checked, even dead beat cannot be classified as new under the sun. As for the genius proprietor of the public court system in social networks, best of luck to him in the libel suits that are likely to follow him for years like a bad haircut.

Come to think of it, this dead beat circus is not worth my valuable time and neither is it yours.

Dropping The Other Shoe

"Filthy story-teller, despot, liar, thief, braggart, buffoon, usurper, monster, ignoramus abe, scoundrel, perjurer, robher, swindler, tyrant, field-butcher, land-pirate..." These very words were printed by Harper's Weekly regarding arguably the greatest democrat this world has ever seen, Abraham Lincoln. It is of no surprise really then, that Governor Okoth Obado was heckled in his own backyard (hell, Jesus was denied in his own hometown too) and chaos erupted before the very eyes of our Commander-in-chief to cap off an ironical event. Vain attempts by Obado and Nyatike MP Omondi Anyanga only yielded a disparaging outcome of a pair of frantic moustaches.

We finally have a new-age President who directly calls hotline services, publicly adopts young budding talents, buys school buses for ecstatic girls, publicly contributes to noble causes, dons millitary apparel....I could go on and on, and really, what's not to love? And yet, our Migori neighbours would rather walk home barefoot than listen to his words of wisdom, literally.

Our third president needs to learn the patterns and principles of his predecessors to salvage any hope of tolerance in South Western Kenya.

First and foremost, he ought to understand the demographic significance of different people. Generally, the impoverished societal class loves a self-made man, you know, in a "started from the bottom" kind of way. Moi and Mwai both represented a dream for many, that you can actually work your way to the top, and as such they commanded respect and admiration. I am in no way saying that it is his fault that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and that ship is sailed. On the contrary, Raila was too, but he remedied that with getting his hands dirty from time to time, say in the fight for democracy. Even Mwai Kibaki would ocassionally take jibes at his driver just to connect with the people. Uhuru Kenyatta's actions, although effervescent seem planned, showy and forced on him really. He needs atleast one genuine and spontaneous "people-person" act. Mzee had his whisky harambee, Moi had his rungu ya nyayo, Mwai had....well his moments...you get where I'm going with this?

Secondly, he should reprimand and advise his advisors because clearly, they seem to be more of social than political advisors. There is time for everything - even the Bible can attest to that. Unfortunately, the president could not have picked a worse time to take his goodwill to Nyanza. In contrast, former President Kibaki had learned the art of timing during his tenure. In 2007 during campaigns, he was scheduled to officially commission the Sh. 12 billion Sondu-Miriu Hydro Power project in Nyakach, and also visit projects in Rarieda. The two functions were cancelled for unexplained reasons. Further functions were cancelled until 2009 when he had actually implemented policies like establishing more districts and then he could gracefully give political goodies. The Governor Okoth Obado is practically a persona non-grata in his governship and to top it all off, there is the white elephant in the room known as the referendum. This referundum hullabaloo has left the antagonistic Cord faithfuls believing the presidency will soon be up for grabs. Needless to say, the President needs to give his ultimatum on the issue. Furthermore he should radically work towards the implementation of the Constitution if he aims to leave the opposition looking like monkeys in a suit. Unless he can make radical reforms whilst in the highest political seat, he will forever be seen as heir to a throne.......and Mr. President, $15 primary school laptops and new NYS uniforms do not cut it.

Thirdly, our dear president should drop this condescending "rich-boy" aura he has since picked up. For example, these were his outlandish words in the aftermath of the actions of the over-enthuthiastic, rowdy youth, “Elections are a race and the race is over, so all leaders need to come together and move the country forward...I respect all the leaders and have never insulted anyone.” Simply put, he needs to stop addressing the leaders and speak to the people who put him in office for them to see a Kenyan leader, not a political tyrant son of our founding father. It is the least he could do.

Finally, now that our political heavyweight has witnessed the last kicks of a dying horse from the opposition, he can now settle and work for the people. His ICC tribulations are all but done and the referendum seems like the last card the opposition had left to play - which quite frankly is dead beat. With over three years left to govern this fascinating state, the president has his work cut out for him.

However, he should work fast lest he looks a gift horse in the mouth.

Tongue-Turning The Other Cheek

Unless I am a complete moron, I contend that domestic violence is not just on the aggressors, it is on us all.

In the recent revolt against this vice, our virtual activists have taken to social media to condemn the wife beaters, and sadly in our banana republic, the vice versa also. According to yours truly, writer extraordinaire, this whole resurgence of activism is a huge load of bullshit.

Ironically, the aggressors have been made scape-goats and although I would not wish that the low-lives with access to free wi-fi cut them some slack, they are not solely to blame. Infact our social compass is so broken that it actually points right. In other words, the moral high-ground we have taken on the issue has actually jeopardized our core mission, to stop the violence.

I bet you are reading this with the confusion of a homeless person on house arrest.....let me elaborate. Media outrage should be geared towards condemning these neolithic nearndathals and that is quite in order. However, it would be myopic to think that it is enough.

The World Health Organisation (WHO)’s latest report on Violence Against Women that was released in June 2013 indicated that in some
regions of the world, over 35% of women suffer from partner violence. With these staggering numbers, it is a very real possibility that every
one of us knows a woman is facing (or has faced) domestic violence.

We have become reactive instead of proactive in our fight against this domestic violence. This has not only given our antagonists the leeway to go on their hit sprees but also left our dear activists looking like choir boys in an opera.

Since crying over spilt milk seems to be the order of the day these days, my heart bleeds for the cuts and bruises inflicted on our mothers, sisters and neighbours whom we do not even lift a finger to help but running our mouths after they are mauled becomes as easy as a drunken college girl.

It all starts with the classic boy loves girl story. Boy then habitually beats the senses out of girl and friends tell the girl to be resilient because love is supposed to conquer all. However, love does not conquer blows, only self defence classes and instincts to escape can do that. Long gone are the days when turning the other cheek was a noble act by a submissive partner. Unfortunately for the hopeless romantics, love is not always the answer, sometimes it is rhetorically the question like.....why love?

To give a voice to the voiceless victims, we must be ready to stand up to the perpetrators of domestic violence. The main problem with victims of violent homes is that people who should protect them are mpnkeys in watch eating the proverbial popcorns whilst wearing their sad faces. They only come out of their cowardly shells for disaster management, which is criticizing the antagonists thinking it makes up for their timidity. Well, hypocrites...... if the shoe fits...

It beats me that after NFL star Ray Rice floored his girlfriend in the elevator, they got married just one month after. I could go on and on about how his girlfriend had no dignity and acted primitively by marrying a wolf in wolves' clothing, but that would be gravely stupid. She is just one example in the developed states. Two more players in the NFL have been associated with this vice and I doubt that is the last we are hearing of it.

Subsequently, while I wouldn't hold my breath on the numbers of illitetate or otherwise violated women in our banana republics dwindling, I am skeptical of the media attraction they generate to air their grievances. Most of these physical and sexual violence acts are rarely caught on tape and therefore, most of these acts go unpunished.

It is the 21st century and as such, we patriachs are obliged to teach women how to stand up for themselves by standing up for them in the face of tumult. As absurd as it sounds, we need to teach women to be men and if the best we can do is condemn the vicious acts of the transgressors then the best they can do is to take the beatings for purposes of mantaining our retrogressive campaigns. Our legislators would match rather discuss how the mongrels should be allowed to marry more than one wife in order to sharpen their boxing skills than tackle the trivial conundrum that is domestic violence. What a shame....shame!

We must be our sisters' keepers and protect them like a lion does its pride. Forget the transgressors, our duty is to protect the victims rather than punish the violent actions. If our priorities are not in order, we are better off riding off into the sunset with our exhibitionism oblivious of everyone else to live happily ever after.

Every woman is a queen and whatever happens to a queen is down to all her subjects, it is on us all....See, I am not a complete moron.

The Glass Half Drunk

I shan't be branded as partisan to social norms simply because I have my reservations. You see, I am a simple boy, I do whatever I like, whenever I like and however I like. Ofcourse, everything has its exceptions and I am no exception.

I started out living a straight-edged lifestyle, don't we all? However, mine lasted longer than most people....why? You may ask. At first I was actually gullible enough to believe the stories made to intimidate adolescents on the health hazards of alcohol. Well, the stories have a high degree of authenticity but the professors back in the final years of high school may disagree. These genius minds concur that you only live once, and as such death is inevitable. You might as well enjoy the ride because a life lived in fear and caution is not a life worth living.

I choose to adhere to the former rule of teenage conservatism. Whereas many of these kill-joys are detested, I was quite popular simply because my mind works faster than the quick trash talkers' mouths. I am a master of deceit and hence concorting stories about my epic stuporous excursions was a stroll in the park. To cap off a fine performance, I would ofcourse arrive at the teenage parties "drunk" and legends were told about the dimunitive outspoken son who could hold his liquor like a reverend in a whore-house.

Ironically, my drunken lifestyle made lose all the enthusiasm I had for the forbidden drink. Hitherto, I am still of the opinion that alcohol is not a useful component in my life. Some take it to boost their self esteem and that is understandable really, for loneliness is a female hound. My lords and ladies, you can attest that my self esteem could not be boosted more even if I tried. Whatever the reason people engage in partaking of the bibilical drink, they either aim to fit in or to distract themselves from life's problems. With that said, alcohol is for the lonely and the cowardly.

As common with pathological liars, I preach water and drink wine. I shan't lie to you about this though, I have parteketh of that which I had vowed not to touch, quite severally. Therefore, I can write objectively about something I know little of, which does not happen often.

I have come to the realization that alcohol is a greater phenomena than the average mind would care to fathom. At the end of the day, it is just a drink which has been a scarring choice in most lives. I am not here to criticize alcohol and earn points in the "goody-two-shoes" world....on the contrary.

Until we all appreciate alcohol, it will forever be seen as a stumbling block where there is none. Let us face it, forbidden fruits taste sweetest and preaching against it and rehabilitating addicts only makes the heart grow fonder. Appreciating alcohol entails knowing what it actually entails.

First of all, knowing your limit is unquestionably important in order to prevent yourself from being only good for working as a lab rat in an Ebola treatment facility or as an organ donor. We must realize that people will have their booze whether we like it or not. One of our main sources of revenue and job creation cannot be wished away on several prayers. People should in fact drink so much that our economic growth rate sky-rockets but so little that they remain in control.

Secondly is to realize that alcohol is not meant for everyone. Only an imbecile can be caught drunk whereas he/she has contentment in life, but only few of us are content in life. I am not saying that I am above alcohol - actually it is exactly what I am saying without necessarily sounding like a smug, pompous bastardo Kikuyunesis.

Finally, we need to stop blowing this alcohol madness out of proportion. One "Why look at the speck of sawdust that is in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the log that is in your own eye?" springs to mind. This is the part where the "goody-two-shoes" species feels bitterness rising up their throats like bile. My lovelies, everyone has an addiction, and hearty claps for you whose addiction is not alcohol....you've won the lottery. And the award for the hypocrite of the millenium goes to club "goody-two-shoes."

Do not hate the player, hate the game. This is the reason I quit my day job of campaigning against this alcohol propaganda. If I were to tell people about the dangers of alcohol, I might as well tell them about pre-marital sex, lying and so on.....but that is not happening. I finally quit my double-standards of stereotyping alcohol as a self destructing monster because lets face it, alcohol is the source of livelihood for most people as well as solace for others.

The live and let live approach has made me see alcohol in a whole new different light. I'll drink to that.

Amidst Normative Patterns

Today I start writing with absolutely nothing to write about.....no inspiration, no pre-meditated themes or anything really, nada. And paradoxically, in this very moment, I have just realised that my theme has been staring at me blatantly in the face, only I was too blind (read lazy) to see it.

It is freezing today, and although I'm dressed like a dying eskimo, I can still feel the freeze and thaw action piercing through my chest in a perplexing yet intriguing rythmic pattern. That is to say, my lords and ladies, that my body feels warm yet my mind has a cold vacuum feel.

Today is not one of those days that my exhibitionism is in contention, in fact, for the sake of consensus, I concur.

I have discovered that I have systematic patterns that outline my livelihood and ego. As lazy as I am, I have worked my way up the educational ladder by inconsistent concentration and half-hearted participation. This has led me to procrastinate and chase deadlines and inadvertently, punctual is not an adjective people use to describe yours truly.

I am a perfectionist and although the true perfectionist knows that nothing is perfect, I still strive for the impossible (and if that does not reveal my relationship status to you, nothing ever will). Therefore, for every appointment, class or rendez vous, it takes me an eternity to arrive. Perhaps I am ardoned with the mildly irritating feminine build-up. Perhaps in my strive for perfection, antecedence repulses me like holding hands does a six-year old. Or perhaps it has something to do with my inherent laziness. Who knows?

Nevertheless I easily justify my lack of punctuality with fate, yes you read right, fate. My reassurance that I have evaded inevitable accidents and a potential death is always concurrent with the arrivals. Hitherto, my superstitions have not failed me, or am I not alive and well writing this post? I rest my case.

Obviously, this laziness has led to a lack of punctuality and consequently I have become a pathological liar. You may judge, you may act all condescending or you may even detest my egocentric gut but wait until you find the subject (girl) you have stood up for more than two hours baying for your blood. The first lie pops up when your hug is greeted by a snorty shove and hearty unprintable insults and a curse upon your poor uninvolved family and voila!

The first lie is usually like a first kiss...spontaneous, risky, off-sync and for the few, unbelievable. However, like kisses, you manage to work yourself up in time and behold, lying comes naturally like dreadlocks to ugly teenagers.

I more often than not lie to myself that white lies are of no consequence..."I got late in traffic....The car was held up by police....I forgot my phone and had to go back..." See, no one gets hurt and in the end, nerves are at ease. However the more lies you tell, the bigger they get because a lie is usually covered up by another lie and another lie and another, its a never-ending cycle of deceit.

But like Bob Marley once sang, "You can fool some people sometime, but you can't fool all  the people all the time."

I have paradoxically found my kryptonite deeply embedded in my super power. Whereas I can easily bamboozle myself out of awkward situations with a few words, I still destroy great trusts and relationships I build with the same. Apparently, lying is not greeted with thankyou notes even if it was to protect the victim is question, and behold you are now a persona non-grata to someone you shared secrets with. I know what you're thinking, how myopic!

Words matter least, actions even less when dealing with pathological liars. In fact what matters most is patterns, which is to say that change lies not in changing your words or actions but changing of patterns. Quite like a drug addict, you do not just wake up and decide to quit (actually you can, but tell that to the rehabilitation centres) but it is a gradual process which needs change in patterns. A smoker of five packs changes to three, and after sometime two, then one day the addiction is gone.

This fairy tale rehabilitation step is quite candidly good for deceit. For deception is an addiction which varies from liar to liar, the extent of which is hard to determine because, well, you are dealing with liars. My cynical approach to this rehabilitation hullabaloo only goes to show that I believe in personal change. Even the so called psychologists tell you that change comes from within, and the gullible lot of us fork out thousands for the collosal help of the swindling practitioners. Quite frankly, paying a liar to cure your lying disease disgusts me, but such are the ironies of life.

Only when the lying patterns change can you eradicate this mind engulfing misdemeanor. I am skeptical that it can be totally eradicated because let's face it.....you cannot read all terms and conditions before installing a new software. However, honesty when it does matter can really be achieved, although those are double-standards.

Perhaps my cynical and widely skeptical mindset have justified my deception as being human. Perhaps lying is inevitable and it is therefore unfair to grade liars just because some people couldn't lie to save their lives where others suceed with aplomb and such grace, like yours truly. Perhaps....perhaps. Who knows?

But when all's said and done I am lazy and as such, I shall tackle this issue another day.

To Hell With Feminism

Have you ever had those mornings when you think about the ironies of life like why bald guys wear ponytails? Well, neither have I, but let us assume that we all have for the sake of driving my point home.

1 Timothy 2 : 11-14; Let a woman learn quietly with all submissiveness. I do not permit a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man; rather, she is to remain quiet. For Adam was formed first, then Eve; and Adam was not deceived, but the woman was deceived and became a transgressor. But women will be saved in childbearing - if they continue in faith.... Ironies.....ironies. Need I say more? I probably should, in that if you want to find patriachy, religion would be the best place to do so, but that is none of my business.

Hitherto, I see feminism and women empowerment everywhere. From FIDA organization where women are protected after they neuter their husbands to women groups and merry-go-rounds. Ofcourse the world has taken massive steps from ensuring that with pregnancies come the right to impose paternity on that unlucky Tom, Dick or whoever to remedying marriage with pain and suffering to the man in terms of alimony and child support. Hurrah!

I sound skeptical and a bit sarcastic but really, I possess the aforementioned feelings. The irony of feminism and women empowerment is that it has empowered patriachy which it intended to fizzle out.

The paradigm with feninism is that it is divided. We have the liberals who are the equivalent of the educated girl child, who believe that a teary speech with a clenched fist can change the world. They are the purse weilding, suit wearing stubborn types who believe that they deserve jobs and a good life, not because they have worked harder but because of "equality." They believe that men and women are equal curtailing the thesis that human stupidity is infinite. How can we be equal? Men lack intuition, problems associated with lady parts (including pregnancy) and the ability to have emotions. The liberals are evening playing fields which were already evened by patriachy, and woe unto you if you equate yourself to a lesser being like yours truly.

Secondly, we have the radicals who appreciate a stark difference and aim to be alienated from men altogether. I feel lesbians fall in this category and for that reason, I empathize. The perplexity with alienating men from women affairs is that it cannot be done, not unless we are wiped out of the face of the earth after the harvesting of our man parts for procreation. I strongly advise against this not only to save my life but my happy place.

We also have the cultural types who appreciate that women are different and celebrate their inner voice which makes them unique. They are the equivalent of the glass half full blondes who lol at every joke and OMG at potentially everything. This narrowly stereotyped group flaws on the dilemma as to whether this inner voice of the woman that they appreciate is actually inherent or is as a result of patriachy. The latter would result in them asserting male superiority which is to say that these blondes are digging their own graves with a moronic smile on their faces.

Then you get the neo-classical bunch who are a minority group of the majority population that is women. They have not only merged the aforementioned takes on feminism but have also developed a preponderance of thoughts. They seek to assert that equality does not mean equity and therefore women will only be equal when they are considered not as inferior, but special. They indeed are, and whoever thinks otherwise is a test-tube baby.

All in all, feminism is a good thing but it is deeply flawed.

Feminism tends to eliminate patriachy and in doing so, you impose a certain authority over the marginalised women. It is often said that your greatest enemy is yourself and that resonates all the way to feministic jurisprudence. The women empowering forgets that there is a faction of voiceless women living in abject poverty and gender-based violence. Somewhere in the world is a teenage girl being married off as a fourth trophy wife to her father's peer. I doubt that she would be the biggest fan of women empowerment two years down the line when that ship is long sailed. Feminism and women empowerment are myopic, capitalistic and biased to say the least.

In making men and women equal, we disadvantage the illiterate woman in the village who takes a beating from her husband to assert their love. Women are special and as such need to be treated in a special way. To hell with feminism and women empowerment!  Humanity is the way to go because it is not concerned with equality but equity. For equality is dividing food between two people equally while equity is giving the hungrier person more food. Educating the woman to have a sense of identity like the male species as opposed to identifying with temporary groups is a way to eliminate female vulnerability. For at the end of the day, groups come and go but your ego stays.

It is truly a sad day when yours truly is the voice of reason for women.