Why I write a lesbian blog

how-not-be-a-writer
I will go ahead and make a horrible fool out of myself and write a very serious post. Before I started this blog a year ago, I had toyed with the idea of writing about my daily happenings, but then it hit me that I don’t have a life hence will run out of ideas in under one month max.

Glory to God the highest, his son gave me a sign. In his own commanding voice he asked, how many more endorsements do you need Queer Kenyan Girl? Do you actually need me to drop on earth again (urrgh those fuckers!) and speak to you about how big a lesbian you are? I was thoroughly shaken. You know, this was God’s voice and all. I would want to imagine it was. Or maybe I was just hallucinating. I drink way too much coffee. I mean, what will happen when I ran out of lesbian stories? Because trust me, there are not many left out here. Lesbians practically spend their lives behind their screens, or holding tight tiny notepads writing things that actually make sense.

See, I am my worst critic. No big deal with that actually. Thing is, you will find no prose or thesis of lesbian history here, nor activism, neither journals of how lesbians should take over the whole world. I can tell you dear reader, it’s just pure melancholy and doom. That’s what you signed up for. Please don’t say you were never warned if two years from now you are expecting me to post statistics of lesbian divorce rates in a state in I don’t know what godforsaken country. Say your adieus to all hopes you had in me.

So really, why do I go to all the trouble that is writing?

A reader asked me that, and then another. Before I could get the time to act all grown up, kids in high school started writing to me asking for big sister lesbian advice. Shit just got real. It is like the universe has conspired to finish me.

Is somebody allowed to not have a reason for doing something? For instance an answer; I write because I realized hey, I could do with those amazing typing speeds! God. That’s the day the world will finish me no doubt. You are not living this life if you haven’t memorized all Mother Teresa quotes. It’s sacrilege to even mention such a name here. Oh, be very inspiring and sh!t. You are the adult here! Growing up is seriously underrated. Anyway, this post is all kinds of reflective. I have in fact very little sense of reflection. Feed me with humor and my stomach will sit balmy in the corner of people who don’t take life seriously… (Now I am stalling).

Question: Do I love women? An emphatic and unequivocal, Yes! This reason by itself towers above all the rest. Like-the-class-is-over-you-can-all-go-home-now-yes. Does this motivate me to write? Is it reason enough to cost me endless all-nighters? Do I get inspired by women? Hell-fucking-yeah! Women make me exceedingly happy. Duhh, my law of attraction revolves around them, I just can’t fight it..oh how I could go on..

My posts are written against a background of moaning women.

Forget about finding muse in coffee shops and in the woods. Just download audio of female voices (God bless the interwebs) and you are our next J.K Rowling. I am all types of weird.

I write because I am not a talker. I am so very socially awkward. I could be a hermit but then again I would go quietly mad if I lived in a confined space with no pizza. I make up for my non verbal skills through writing. My mess of letters has made me correspond with women all over. The small joy of a woman telling me they look forward to my posts. Another one saying I write well. I am not tooting my horn, no, on the contrary. Honestly, I said here in a past post that I am not a writer. Just because I can put words together doesn’t make me one. I undermine myself; and yes, it is totally a self-esteem thing because look, five therapists on my phone’s speed dial! I am trying to make a point that it’s the possibility that someone will actually take time to write to me because of a particular post I have done that makes my blogging life orgasmically interesting.

I write because I have met a few wonderful and amazing women in the year or so I have blogged, in real life. I am finicky about people I meet up with. Writing a lesbian blog is like a veritable minefield; you just never know who uses what pseudonym; whether they are an actual human being and if they are, they are not desperados who will decapitate your head and drink your blood. My sexuality is a closely guarded affair and writing is a way of connecting with these women, giving myself to them since I wouldn’t have met them otherwise. They inspire me to keep writing, the proverbial grease in the wheels. They are jaw droppingly incredible and I would sacrifice anything for their friendship is dear to me.

I write because we are not many out here. Lesbians are natural story tellers. The stories that stalk a lesbian’s life are way too many to not be written. I looked around the Kenya lesbian blogosphere and decided to jump into the bandwagon. There gotta be loads of us telling these stories. Write your own story the way you want it we are told. (queer is me). Is that even proper English? That, I will leave to you grammarnazis. Also, blogging in our social scenes is regarded as an activity for people with too much time in their hands, a pure form of madness. It is a measure of showing just how ratchet you can get. Being all bored and ratchet is totally a thing nowadays peoples.

And finally, after I heard the voice I had mentioned earlier, I said unto My Lord, I am not worthy that you should pick me as your servant, but whatever you say I will write.

Authors note: Caffeine side effects: Hearing voices that disguise themselves as God. Google it up.

Advertisements

A lesbian, incognito.

For the purposes of full disclosure, I support lesbians who live closeted lives (being a victim myself) as much as I support all out lesbians. I hope that we can be in agreement here for once that we don’t necessarily have to live in the closet/out tick box. The entirety of your sexuality should not be dictated by the society or your partner for that matter. The lesbian in the closet versus the out lesbian is not a comparative listing, it is not a goal we should all achieve, it is not a contest where we are promised some brownie points at the end of the sexuality race, it is not a seal of stability, it should also be your very own battle to fight.

Battle is a strong word to use, but it has been made to seem as such. Battle so draining we are seen as the-partners-who-don’t-bring-their-all-into-the-relationship. Seriously?

I know what you are thinking. I am saying this because I am closeted and ashamed of my sexuality. You are right on the closeted bit (which I have disclosed of course) and very wrong on the shame part. You guys, I would eat my lesbian life and take it out on a five star date. Keep in mind that lesbians are generally frugal women and going for five stars dates is no mean feat.

Inasmuch as it is liberating to live outside the closet, inasmuch as I love the feeling it leaves in my mouth, it should not be a mark of the ultimate lesbian love story. Sacrificing everything for my partner is one thing, showing this through coming out to the society and family is another. Lesbian relationships have been reduced to are you closeted or not check boxes. You are not lesbian enough if you can’t stomach reading a coming out to your family speech. The proverbial victim-villain story.

I wish people would trade families for a year or two. (And I dare you to survive a week in mine). Maybe then, we shall all learn that it’s not all bliss behind the closed doors. There are so many things that my closeted life offers, and maybe that’s why I have decided to stick with it. I have toyed with the idea of coming out to my family. However, by process of elimination I have found myself on the closeted standpoint time and again. Maybe I just need more time, or maybe I feel safer here. And maybe I sound very selfish.

Participating in we don’t bring everything to the table talks is in my opinion, very retrogressive. What I actually do bring to the table is far much important. It should be about surviving together as partners in not so friendly environments. It is already harsh out here; being looked down upon by fellow lesbians because I have not joined the exclusive non-closeted lesbian club is extremely dejecting. We are lesbians. Period.

To those of you disengaged from reality

bleh

There are a couple of words in the gay world you can say if you want to get ahead and look really clever. Use words like pederasty, libertine, exhibitionism, heterosexism et al in one sentence and this turns you from (let’s say) some simpleton with a Diploma in puppetry (do not take offense puppetry people) to some genius with impeccable erudition. Coming on the heels of the Anti-Homosexual bill signing in Uganda are queer bashers having a field day from here to Murang’a. Let’s leave Museveni and his fragile ego thing for now and talk about these facebookers and their 140 characters neighbors.

Christ! I bet this is the closest some of these people have ever got to a climax. I don’t befriend them for one nanosecond but their avalanche of crap somehow finds its way towards me. This is a huge culture of mediocrity and it has a huge following. No amount of muting or blocking will stop them. I am sure they gathered somewhere at night when they were adding friend requests and following each other on these social media platforms, did some weird rituals and decided let’s go and create havoc to the wicked. They are voluble and pestiferous; and they are idle. Stop them dead on their tracks and they will pounce on you like the proverbial crap hits the fan. Really, I have never seen so many difficult words in my entire internet life.

One of those idle people is Irungu Kangata, Kiharu MP. I won’t give him much airtime here but he is out there in Facebook practically surviving on huge doses of homophobia; which is putting it mildly cuz if this guy had a wish he would decapitate our heads. Update after update on his page on how homosexuals will cripple the economy of this nation and I am doing a running commentary in my head that it’s either these updates are for the amusement of small children or he is just deeply, deeply boring. I am not being figurative by the way; it is there on his wall. The economy of Kenya is coming down y’all.

So you got blood pressure? Bad hair day? Anglo-leasing? Marital issues? Jehovah witness at your door? Caught watching porn in the office, anyone?

HOMOSEXUALS!

Satan has nothing to do with it.

I am a seasoned lesbian. If you are going to spend your days thinking that your bashing is going to send heterosexual shock waves to my brain, you better come prepared. I’m driven by very primal lesbian urges and all the English vocab is not going to save me. The seasoned lesbian thingie comes fully equipped with immune for two. And I have had it since my pre-pubescent days.

Ah-ha. Kenya is very democratic. And you should voice your opinions. Now, assuming we were to all march the streets of Nairobi and torch vehicles every time a girl in her early twenties is made Deputy Ambassador of some country? It would be very unprofessional for a citizens known to stomach bigger scandals. We don’t carry placards and publicly rub ourselves on innocent pedestrians at the first opportunity. That’s what counts.

This post is about to turn political and it might rub on some people suggestively. I will leave politics to the intellectually inclined folks.

Stop being so melodramatic about it is all. It’s hackneyed and cartoonish.

Will the real relationship please stand up?

To say that I always have it easy as a lesbian is downright crazy.

Curious researchers have probed, poked and dissected lesbians relationships and concluded that yes, this is quite a walk in the park. In fact, it is such a slow leisurely walk that you can all bring your fancy barbeques and let’s all have a party in here.

Humor me, please.

When I try to reminisce my love stories, I get a whole different picture it’s very hard to relate. Not that I have had many relationships, but the little I have experienced has come in all shapes and flavors I almost never recognize myself when they are over.

As a small girl, weddings fascinated me. I was a flower girl in many of these. While donning a little white dress, nobody could talk me into not believing in living happily ever after. I believed in my prince charming sweeping me off my feet and living with me in his castle forever after.

Though the gender of the prince has changed, I wonder whether the story has remained the same.

I agree that when it comes to PDA, we have it easy. But that is as far as it goes. There are queers and quarks, those with secrets and checkered pasts, those in love and those flaky ‘lesbian’ straight women with multitudes of personalities. You might turn into a pretzel pleasing her, but she will go back to her heterosexual nest anyway.

love 2

There are issues plus a zillion others in lesbian relationships.

After we are done recycling the small circle that is our community, we are left in the mercies of our not so eager to see us happy families. Not many of them would understand why their beautiful daughter would torment her soul getting heartbreak after heartbreak from another woman.

I mean, look at the sea of all the tall, dark and handsome men. It feels sort of like the voodoo, very difficult to explain unless you are in it.

love 3

Though there are some robust lesbian relationships around, picking them in a crowd is very difficult, it is like explaining to a four year old the meaning of twerking. They find them eventually now that the videos are all over on Youtube! Look at what we have done to our children.

The average lesbian relationship around here lasts anything from one day to maybe seven years max. By the time the partnership is over, you have trekked to Masai Mara and hunted all kinds of rare meat in the jungle for her and most probably, you have been disowned by your family. You have fought the daily signature fights with courage and resilience. You have survived the wilderness of PMS for two and finally, this has culminated into a therapist inducing break-up.

The formula for strong relationships still remains elusive; every one writes their own stories. A woman will tell you of a girlfriend who got miraculously pregnant, others will tell tales of how she ran away with her first lover and others will pay homage by inviting you to their weddings. With an opposite sex of course.

I ask myself, but what suddenly happens to that first cosmic kiss. What became of the lightning bolts of lust and love she melted our heart with, what of the nights and days of deprivation to remain true to her?

These are the street we wander, and there is nowhere to go but forward.

We are willing to be discriminated upon, because in order to call ourselves lesbians we had to be swept off our feet by women, we went against all odds and lived lives that contradicted all the previous myths, about what is expected of us and what is normal or right.

Because those are our love stories.

Have a rocking weekend! #TGIF

This is for the lesbians above thirty| a guide.

And it is a difficult post to write because I am not thirty and age is not a topic women do during their pep talks. Lesbians talk about weight loss, calories, nips and tucks, padded bras, sports bras, money, sex, (particularly in that order).

I was having a chat with a lesbian woman above thirty. I won’t disclose her exact age for fear of eerm, I am looking for a very big word…yes that word. You know the one that gets you jailed for five years? Yes that one.
I am always talking about going to prison, in and outside this blog life. I googled this one and found out that there is no official registered fear of going to jail. Really? There seems to be all kinds of phobias and this one was made just for me urgh. There is actually one called vagina dentata; an abnormal fear literally of female genitalia and the vulva.

I don’t know what you live for if you don’t eat pussy.

nag 1

Back to the topic in hand, ladies ladies; by this age you have sampled all the lesbians, you compliment strangers on their looks, you have a dozen strapless sun dresses, you have discovered the secret to longevity, you are all outdoorsy and confident, you are deep in your career or whatever you have going on, No?
What I am trying to say is, you have seen it all. You are mature and you don’t give a fuck about who cares or who doesn’t.

HOWEVER, there is the little question of marriage. Okay BIG question of marriage.

When you wear your little strapless sun dresses, I bet many of those times are to attend to your cousins or friends weddings right? And in those weddings there are other married cousins, right? The said cousins have mothers and those mothers are your aunts, and we know they all have a Master’s Degree in biological clock studies, yes?

Now, let me give you some lessons on surviving Aunt’s (let’s call her aunt Beth) blabbermouth. Also, I regret and deeply repent my sins of using the name Beth to all my dear readers who goes by the same name. (There is no single Beth I know, and I trust me I know a lot of women).

Like a skipping CD she gives you a painful headache. She pushes all your mental buttons day after day. She tests your patience, and patience is something we, the lesbian folks weren’t given in abundance. We want to get a quick lay the first time we are in a confined space with our crush, touch and go generation redefined.

You see, Aunt Beth identify herself as ‘motherly’. She tells you all the things your mother won’t tell you. My said friend above told me her aunt even told her how many times a husband expects sex in a day. She also went ahead and told her how to space it out. She had clearly underestimated the motherly power of her aunt. Severely.
They say the first step to helping yourself is admitting you have a problem, but what if your problem is with your Aunt Beth?

nag 3

You are a regular woman doing okay in life, you set your goals and fulfill them, you make new year resolutions and stick to them, you drink eight glasses of water a day, you make to do lists and abide by them, you don’t have mismatched socks, no road rage and drunk dialing your first girlfriend who is now married with five kids…you have it all together.

Except the existential crisis that is Aunt Beth. This is the only bugging issue you can’t fix? Is it?
Here is the thing; it is not. Aunt Beth is obsessed over you; Heaven forbid maybe she is a closet lesbian even. Study Aunt Beth carefully; does she spend her days yapping about her husband, his wayward libido and drunken ways? Does she complain about her kids and what a waste they are? Does she seem depressed about anything and everything in her family?

nag 4
You are the perfect child she never had. She is just a jealous bitch.

Now, use her family against her. No parent wants to hear about her reckless child from another person.
Don’t be afraid about observing respect and existence of superpowers that can strike you dead the minute you stand her off. I mean, children have been disrespectful to their aunts since 1700BC, Come on!

Tell her that you are okay with yourself and what a true blessing it is. In fact, take this opportunity and come out to her. Tell her you dived into the lesbian world in your formative years and nothing, not even the holy communion wafers can change that. Tell her there is nothing she can change about you and you can only get better and better at loving women.

The fact that she disrespects you to keep reminding you what a disgrace you are because you are husbandless is reason enough to make you say to her categorically and equivocally that you know her whole marriage is a scam and a sham. It is like those newspaper lifestyle features you read and know for sure they can’t be real. The journalist is just interviewing her friends and passing it off as a trend. You won’t and can’t get into the marriage thingie with a hubby to please anyone.

You see where I am getting with this? Great! Now start practising it in front of your TV.

Come back and tell me how it goes when the face off happens. You can’t plagiarize my work like that and refuse to give me credit for it 😀

Self Identity

Hey Kitties 😀

What do you have going for you?

This may lie in things like religious beliefs, a person or calling you would die for, your way of life etc.
Take me for instance, I love and dream women like my life depend on it. I am fond of pizzas, chocolate …and on and on the list goes. If you are a healthy freak, maybe what you have going on for you is your ability to live on steamed vegetables and carrots every single day of the year. Living permanently on the grocery section of the supermarket is what tickle your fancy.

Necessary side note: I would rather eat nothing than live on steamed vegetables; I’d rather eat an ant hill.

There has to be a thing you identify with so clearly. Something that makes people aah and ooh at you. Here comes Jane and her runaway mouth! a statement I use on one of my co-worker. She never stops talking that woman.

I had a conversation with a friend recently and seeing lust is my first name, we were talking matters sex. I will call the said friend Ed. As in Edward, I keep explaining things because you might think I am talking about a friend with erectile problems:

Me: Which day of the week is it? (Sometimes I even forget my name)
Ed: Friday, why?
Me: Eer, how is your girlfriend?
Ed: (grinning), whimsical as usual.
Me: You mean you guys are still feeding each other pickled onions during sex?
Ed: Hell yeah! Yesterday she burned my knob with a candle.
Me: eeer so your eeerr is half way burned now, can I see?
Ed: (unzipping his pants)
Me: (panicking) Stoop Ed! I am kidding! I don’t want to see that creature!
Ed: (grinning, again) but it is not a creature, damnit! Why can’t you say PENIS and move on!
Me: But why do you do those things during sex, what if she falls asleep on top of you and burns your entire manhood?
Ed: But I like it! Did I tell you about the day I almost bite off one of her nipples?
Me: (throwing my eyes to heaven), can we talk about something else?

After he had successfully scared the lust out of me, I realized that maybe the two individuals lived for kinky sex. Maybe that is what keeps them going.

Evaluating my here and now, past or present, my brain goes into a host of locations. I have identified areas in life I am not good at and vice versa, some things I can do in my sleep while some, I do trial and error until I master them. Like math for example. I have to repeat one equation a thousand times to get it right.

Talking of math, there is a fourteen y.o kid I saw recently getting interviewed; he is doing a Master’s Degree Yo! He fancies Quantum Physics and such like stuff.

I mean, people on this earth can make you feel inadequate.

It is a world full of ghouls and knaves and this is when self-identity becomes your best companion. Identifying what you are good at and doing it good.

As a kid when mother dressed me in a dress I didn’t fancy, I used to pour water all over myself and even though she would give me a good beating, I wouldn’t go to church or wherever with a dress I considered ugly. Poor mother, I always kept her on her toes. I was a stubborn kid maybe but that is what got me through my childhood days. I identified with my stubbornness.

People’s idealistic goals about you don’t matter.

Live for your cause and enjoy the things that give meaning to your life.

... aand watch movies

… aand watch movies