-sampling art in Newfoundland Foundry-

A friend recently invited me to go to a sculpturing studio and while i am not a big fan of sculpture as an art i gladly went with her. I loved it.

The Newfoundland Foundry gentle people:

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-the winner stands alone-

Today is the most important day of your life. Your happiest. You have reached and gained purchase. And yet you sit alone; your left and your right blank. Today is also the saddest day of your life.

-the last time i am homesick-

The last time i am homesick i am sitting in a theater hall. It is packed. i am here with friends. The show opens with a song that reminds me of honey. let the birds of the air tell mama that i miss her. this song breaks and balms my heart at the same time. a heaviness engulfs me. something dark grabs me. something i later came to know as loneliness. i think of mama. long for her. i call her to me. wish her here. let the birds of the air tell mama i miss her. will these birds find their way to Kenya? to mama? the last time i am homesick i am calling mama to my heart.

-Sept 2013-

i sit here

sun shining

bright and magical

just as it shines at home

kisses and welcomes me home

wind singing

in a hum that lulls me

soft and gentle

not as angry as the Winter winds in Antalya

the waters flow in perfect harmony.

i sit here and go back

go back to Sept 2013

home.

i stay there in Sept 2013.

i stay.

-death-

Junot Diaz, in one of his works, describes a father as a hard thing to compass

and so is death.

are we walking towards death

is death coming at us

are we dying a little every day

*

i sit in the woods

the white chair out of place in the woods

awkward

yet in place. At home.

you sat here ages ago

i don’t know you, didn’t know you

now i think of you

the dreams you must have dreamt here

the laughter, the tears, the silences

what books communed with you here

a reader knows a reader

*

Banana Yoshimoto sits by me

Mayu has died.

The young die unfinished

Mayu was young and finished

*

How we labour for things and people

mostly things.

yet when we think we have gained purchase

death sneaks in. Takes us.

If we are lucky we are old and formed

just like you.

If we are not, and we will be unlucky, we are young and unfinished

just like Mayu.

*

we have done all this to die

we have done nothing of this to die

*

were you happy?

your white chair tells me you are.

-book thrifting-

Hello book nerds,

I love a good book hunting session. Forget the upmarket bookstores that come equipped with a coffee shop and have such stands as Summer Reads just at the entrance. I love quaint second-hand bookstores. I mean I will go to the upmarket bookstores because let’s be honest coffee and books? yes please! But I really love the those old bookstores tucked in back streets waiting for you to discover them.

This week I went to Afterwords Bookstore in downtown. Spent hours browsing their vast collection.

This is what I got. More non-fictions reads
Decor section
For the History lovers
I am not big on this genre so I just moved to other sections
My happy place 🙂
“May the Road Rise to Meet You”

-change-

“I do not find the pleasure in reading anymore”

Someone I deeply care about recently told me.

These words hit me hard. You have to understand; words, books, reading is something we have always shared with this person. It is -I should say was- our thing. Some people you meet via mutual friends, some in dusty street bookstores, some in dingy pubs and others in upstate pristine coffee shops. If you are like me, where and how you meet people define your friendship; makes it special even. Words brought us together those many years ago when the world was young and bright.

I was young and looking to learn the tools of the trade while my friend H was a writer. Those early years in our friendship are marked with us hunched over sheets of my work; H critiquing it and me nodding furiously. I was both awed and a tad embarrassed by the stuff I was writing those days but it was never an issue with H. Besides writing, we both love(d) reading. I remember exchanging books, spending hours discussing characters, arguing style and language. I can still call back that thrill I had reading V.S. Naipaul for the first time at the recommendation of H. And every time I pick up Naipaul I am young again and discovering new worlds.

For H to then wake up one fine morning and respond to my text asking about a current read with a casual I do not find the pleasure in reading anymore broke my fucking heart. I stared on my cell waiting for an explanation. Anything. So, how’s Summer so far? I don’t want to talk about the damn weather H, I want to know why you think you can wake up one morning and decide you don’t like reading anymore.

Change.

I am one for change. I get both apprehensive and excited. I have had many monumental instances of change and they are etched in my heart. The most important part of change, I feel, is when you are just into the thick of change, the very first moments, hours or days. It is important to fully experience the onset of change. I have since resulted to documenting my very first days of change because once you get the hang of it that feeling is gone forever. You can’t get it back. Until the next change and we all know no two changes are the same. Having said this, I can’t understand why someone would just wake up one morning and decide not to give a fuck anymore about something they once loved so. I just can’t.