I\’m jus\’ sayin\’

November 30, 2007

Luke 14:27

Filed under: Uncategorized — Bwandungi @ 12:46 am

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My cross lay on the ground. It felt like I had been carrying it forever. I could see the places where my sweaty hands had made marks on the wood. The smoothness of some places on the wood bore witness to the fact that my body had had continuous contact with it over the years. The testimony it bore was not one of periodic and brief encounters.

There was a splinter in my hand. The fact that it was even there frustrated me. I was tired. It was hot. Sweat poured down from my face and neck and made little pools in my bra. Why did this come now? I couldn’t keep a good grip on the wood with this nasty pain in my palm. Why did it have to happen? I can’t continue and I don’t want to stay here. You would think that nineteen years would be sufficient time to grow calluses that would protect me. My skin was still so soft. Was my body always going to be this slow to get with the program?

I plonked myself by the side of the road, tears brimming in my eyes, blurring my vision. All will power gone, I turned my eyes to He who promised He would walk beside me. My tears welled over and mingled with the film of sweat that covered my face. Would He even see them? Would I have to sob aloud first before He saw the pain I was in and my abject sorrow?

Nineteen years.
During this time I had become a woman. I had changed. When I looked at things they just didn’t seem the same. What had happened to the innocence? The joy I had experienced everytime we took a turn down the road and the excitement of what was to come, had been lost. The business of carrying this cross invoked a gripping weariness in my sould and I found myself paralyzed and emotionally unable to cope. This journey had turned to drudgery somewhere along the way, much further back than I can remember.

I can’t go on. I cannot do this. Take this cup of suffering away from me. You saw it coming, you didn’t warn me. Now here I am, defeated, tired, hot dirty and thirsty. I put down my cross and you didn’t even bat an eyelid. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? Or maybe it is I. You don’t like me like you used to. Or maybe you just don’t care. In any case my mind is made up. I am tired and this is where it ends.

Like a spoiled child, I pouted and folded my hands as my chest heaved in a frustrated anger. I let the sobs come our as wildly as my heart would allow and turned my face away from His.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see him move. He had not said a word. Kneeling in front of me, He took my hurting hand in His own. I could feel His heart asking me to lift my head, but my shame at my failure kept it bowed and I knew that I couldn’t take His love – truth is I didn’t want to. The pain started to ebb out of my hand as He gently caressed the hurting spot and very soon it was gone.

My hand didn’t hurt anymroe, but my heart did. And when my sobs subsided He was still there, kneeling in front of me. I took my hand out of His and attempted to wipe the tears from my eyes. Sheepishly I looked up at Him and there I met his gaze.

In a moment all else around melted and was insignificant. I was transfixed by what I saw reflected in His eyes. The deep sorrow and pain, immense overwhelming love, never ending compassion, understanding, strength and fire. Like a fireball, in whose path I stood, all those powerful emotions came rushing toward me and hit me like a bolt of lightening. I was transported to a place far away from the dusty path to ripples of laughter and shouts of joy, moans of anguish and cries of dispair. A place where light danced before my eyes and thunder and lightening roared. My eyes were opened and I saw and I knew.

With the hem of His garment, He wiped my face and smiled. I smiled back. Now strengthened, I stood up and walked to my cross. Hoisting it up on my back I set my feet on the Narrow Path again.

November 28, 2007

The Show

Filed under: Uncategorized — Bwandungi @ 5:23 am

rulesTears unshed ready to explode in a place where you think you are safe . Be careful it might be called a show. Expressing the thoughts of your heart and just being you is called a show. Your wounds, hurts and imperfections are seen by others as festering, rotting sores that are in dire need of cleaning. The tears that would clean them – that would bring healing are not allowed to flow. Instead bandages are presented so they don’t have to watch “your show.” Will you ever be able to express true feeling? A show?I will tell you what I do. I hide, act, put on a face. This is the real show. Those who are looking, satisfied that I have been put in my proper place in their cramped little worlds, ecstatic that THEY discovered my niche. The mask I wear hides the turmoil on the inside… so I can be safe… so I can be free… and have peace… be me.

Behind the thick velvet curtain the cacophony of the audience is muffled out. Somehow, somewhere you begin to hear the noise of the audience as they demand to watch the show they are directing so they can praise themselves and pat each other on the backs. Their screams reach a fevering pitch, they will not be held back. You put the mask on and give the signal. The curtain is raised and the real show begins.

Dazzling lights! Fancy speech! Give the audience what they want, what they believe they have paid for. Push your tears and sorrows aside, dance and sing! Sing till your throat is sore and your vocal cords break and bleed. Dance till your feet scream out in agony and the blisters burst and tear, reopening old wounds. Bid everyone adieu and ask them to come back!

The curtain falls back into place. Protecting you and your thoughts allowing you to think in peace. The silence is soothing, but don’t let down your guard too long. They will be back. Like bloodhounds they will hunt you down unless you satisfy their thirst for your lifeblood. They threaten the very thing they know you desire with all your heart every time you don’t dance or sing the tune they want to hear and watch.

And yet, I will be free. Not today, but someday, not too far away.

November 22, 2007

Spectaramajingalicioustinselribbonistmas

Filed under: Uncategorized — Bwandungi @ 1:44 am

Spectaramajingalicioustinselribbonistmas

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Things we do this time of year to take the place of Christmas

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T’is a fact the birthday of the King has somehow missed us!

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Spectaramajingalicioustinselribbonistmas

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*not my own words! Can’t find the writer’s name.

November 21, 2007

They’re MINE!!!

Filed under: Uncategorized — Bwandungi @ 6:50 am

In June 1978 my momma had a baby boy. Her first. She called him Paul. My dad called him little man till he was a big man and I guess now he’s just Paulo.

Just like my sister, Paulo is a very talented person. We’ve all learned to tell a good story and write a decent tune, but I think in these two the talents have practically exploded. I’m immensely  proud of them both and visit their blogs as often as I possibly can.

So anyway, in honor of my brother, and his musical talent, here is a song I’ve particularly loved that he posted on my facebook link.

In honor of my talented sister here is her blog.

I love you guys.

November 16, 2007

Doodles

Filed under: Uncategorized — Bwandungi @ 2:12 am

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This is one of my doodles. See some others here!

How does one decide what to do for the rest of their lives? How can just one job bring joy and contentment? Is it possible or is it just a myth perpetrated by employers so you can stick with them for 15 years making money for them.

I’m a little frustrated and that is an understatement. My education was supposed to provide a channel for my creative side. I enjoyed the architectural studios. My favorite professor, had the most interesting way of teaching us what she knew. The entire semester was connected as a whole and we had fun projects to do.

Here are pictures from the various projects I did in school. It was very interesting and exercised parts of my brain that loved the workout.

Then I got to my fifth and final year and every creative idea I came up with for solutions (I’m really big on building green) was squashed like a bug on a windshield on the highway. It was either too expensive (as though they’d given us a budget), or too gregarious (forget your own personal fabulousness), or didn’t work with the math (when I know Math can work it’s own damn self out). So there were 5 years down the drain!

So now here I am wondering what I’m going to do with the rest of my life coz I sure as hell am not going to do any kind of engineering and yes it is as stuffy as my brown suited unimaginative professors.

Thhhhbbbbbbttttttttt!

November 15, 2007

Juicy

Filed under: Uncategorized — Bwandungi @ 10:27 pm

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This is what I’ve been reading. Shouldn’t be taking me as long as it is. Ah well!

I read a description that I really loved.

About his face there was nothing very unusual. He had the long Stewart nose, thickened at the tip with age and open pores. his eyes were Stewart, too, pale, round, wild-set and slightly protruberant. , cradled in soft, sagging folds of flesh.  Page 127

Can you see it?!?!?!?!

And the winner is….

Filed under: Uncategorized — Bwandungi @ 7:43 pm

And the winner is…

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Once the tattoo is done I’ll post a picture!!!

November 14, 2007

Things to do

Filed under: Uncategorized — Bwandungi @ 10:35 pm

My best friend and I are goofy and often do things people around us do not really understand. Sunday night we were watching some of our recorded shows and were a little distracted by a “conversation” we were having. vendetta-009.jpg

We started with the bowling pins and ended with sign language and it’s all one conversation.

Tuesday I had a conversation with myself.

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So my bff decided to ask me to design a tattoo for her. Boy, have I ever been challenged this much or what. Here are todays trials in the order in which they were thought up.

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I love graffiti and really don’t understand when some people say it isn’t art. Hip hop music, rap and graffiti are not art. Hmm…. I wonder what the stipulation here is. I love it. I’m trying to learn.

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Human forms are not really my thing. But the grabbing hand motion thing might just be the part that makes the tattoo.

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praying hands… so predictable, eh? Ah well. I got the idea from the Oral Robert’s Sculpture. It’s a little pretentious so… I tried something else.

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Now this one is way too cheesy! Anyone who knows bff knows that this one will never make the cut. Ah well. It was fun to draw.

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Couldn’t figure out how to make eyes and words go together. Should the words go between the eyes or what? thought the pupils could be the first and last letters of the word. Too embarrassed to post that one. Tee hee!

As part of this project I had to restore some brush pens I got from Hobby Lobby a couple of months ago. I have two nieces (by proxy, they’re not really mine) and we’d shared the brushes till they got dry. But growing up in Africa teaches you some ingenious ways to restore markers. I spent the morning restoring the brushes and cleaning up and the cleaning paper towel ended up with the most interesting pattern. I liked it so I dried it and kept it. I think I’ll do one of my famous doodles on them.

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Again I ask, why did I spend the last coupla years becoming an engineer?

Ugh.

Ah well! Tell me what you think!

Can’t think of what to say…

Filed under: freedom,mistakes,music,sunshine,writing — Bwandungi @ 6:48 am
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Been struggling to express my ideas the past few days. Was undone a couple of days ago by a misunderstanding persisting between myself and a loved one. Was watching late night TV and heard one of my favorite songs in the Pantene ad. Thought I’d let it speak the words of my heart.

The lyrics are below! Press play and sing along with me!

 

I am unwritten, can’t read my mind, I’m undefined
I’m just beginning, the pen’s in my hand, ending unplanned

 

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

 

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

 

Oh, oh, oh

 

I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We’ve been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can’t live that way

 

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

 

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

 

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

 

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

 

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten

Acoustical Performance Version

 

November 9, 2007

This is why I’m hot!

Filed under: Uncategorized — Bwandungi @ 2:59 am

Puff-alicious

How do you like the picture? Huh? Huh?

My hair is black and shiny. It is strong and healthy. The natural kink in it makes it look full.

This is my goal! http://public.fotki.com/Kemi21/hair/june-2007/dscn1238.html. Get a load of that!!!

My hair is a political statement and I insist on speaking in loud tones. It is a commentary on the oppression of black women that continues to permeate all facets of the society. It’s a loud declaration that I believe chocolate brown skin, kinky hair, red lips and dark gums (or light gums) are beautiful.

For many years we have believed a lie. The lie that a woman’s skin color and hair texture has got to be as close to the white woman ideal as possible. So we tease and pull and practically poison our hair and skin into conforming to those ideals. We’re lied to when we’re told that it makes our hair more manageable and more energy and money is spent on enabling that concept than figuring out how to manage our natural kinky hair.

My hair has got to be one of the more kinky types out there. According to one system, my hair is type 4b or 4c or something like that. Who cares?! It was Oprah’s stylist who came up with that system *rolling eyes*. But seriously, my hair curls to a complete o the size of the o on your screen when it’s sprinkled with water.

As a professional woman trying to make it in a professional world controlled by men who have fashioned bras to their liking, which means lots of cleavage and painful underwires; they’ve dictated what professional looks like – high heels, panty hose (or shaved legs), pencil skirts (forget your trousers), and blouses (YUKK!); they’ve instructed us on what sexy is about, long straight hair, reddened lips and who else knows.

I’m sick of it. From this point on, I determine what is sexy, professional and fashionable.

A Photographer Okhai Ojeikere, dedicated himself to taking pictures of black hair styles. Check out some of the pictures

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