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.