He cries in the corner where nobody sees
He’s the kid with the story no one would believe
He prays every night, “Dear God won’t you please…
Could you send someone here who will love me?”
Who will love me for me
Not for what I have done or what I will become
Who will love me for me
‘Cause nobody has shown me what love
What love really means
Her office is shrinking a little each day
She’s the woman whose husband has run away
She’ll go to the gym after working today
Maybe if she was thinner
Then he would’ve stayed
And she says…
Who will love me for me?
Not for what I have done or what I will become
Who will love me for me?
‘Cause nobody has shown me what love, what love really means
He’s waiting to die as he sits all alone
He’s a man in a cell who regrets what he’s done
He utters a cry from the depths of his soul
“Oh Lord, forgive me, I want to go home”
Then he heard a voice somewhere deep inside
And it said
“I know you’ve murdered and I know you’ve lied
I have watched you suffer all of your life
And now that you’ll listen, I’ll tell you that I…”
I will love you for you
Not for what you have done or what you will become
I will love you for you
I will give you the love
The love that you never knew
It was a lovely Kampala-n afternoon. By which I mean the weather was mild and humid, as it is it’s custom in this equatorial land-locked country. Back to the anecdote though.
Yes, lovely afternoon. Birds were singing. Taxis were swerving madly through double lanes, boda-boda’s following behind in suit. Nothing out of the ordinary. So my sister and I were on a shopping spree downtown, and got hungry. Now of course, our first choice was to go to the new KFC that had just opened across town. Keyword – Across town.
So we decided to go with Plan B, and stop at the ‘decent’ ‘reputable’ establishment known as Nandos & co. I say Nandos & co, because I don’t really know the real name of the building. Lets go along with ‘The Place Formerly Known As Nandos’. Pedantic much, I know.
I love fast food as much as the next unhealthy teenager, especially in a fast-food-restaurant starved country like Uganda. To me, this restaurant looked promising enough. At least they had those 20th century light-up menus overhead, and not poorly made laminated paper menus anymore.
Moving on – I happy order a combo chicken meal at Nandos. I can’t live without dessert, so I stroll around looking for a dessert place. And there I saw it. Right in my periphery. Sqoop – Uganda’s acclaimed first and best ice-cream shop. I walk up to the counter, and browse through the overhead menu that advertises its products with all the pomp a 1st world country diner would use. I pleasantly observe they have a wide variety of selection, ranging from Banana splits to ‘Choco-Nut’ sundaes. Now before I decide to order, I ask the lady firsthand if they have all that they advertise. She gives me a nod, and a blank yes. I go on a limb and decide to take her word for it, though not completely – I have yet to see a restaurant in Kampala that can make a killer Banana split, so I decide to go for the Choco-Nut sundae. Again I ask her if she is sure she has all the ingredients. She gives me another blank yes. I presume we’re working on a system of trust here, and decide to take her word for it.
I pay her a full 3 dollars and a few cents (roughly calculated) and she processes my receipt and hands it to me. She walks away from the register and moves to the back of the store (which is in clear view), picks up a medium sized thin plastic cup, lazily squeezes Heinz chocolate syrup into it, moves to the icecream machine, fills the cup with a flurry of strawberry and vanilla icecream, squeezes some more chocolate syrup on top for good measure, and hands it to me calmly.
All this while I had been watching this spectacle in disbelief. This was hardly a sundae. This was an abomination of a sundae. BLASPHEMY of a sundae. I was so shocked I didn’t even know how to react. All I can manage is
“…Where are the nuts?”
My sister appears to view this rip-off sundae, after seeing my pained look from afar. She frowns, and immediately starts telling the register/apparently-only-employee-in-the-whole-store what she needed to hear
“This isn’t a Choco-Nut sundae. To begin with, there are no nuts. Secondly, the ice cream is strawberry and freaking vanilla. Thirdly, it is in a cheap plastic cup, and way too small of a portion to be considered a sundae. Fourthly…(ranting continues)”
The lady is starting to look peeved, and she crisply replies
“This is how we make our Choc-Nat (Reader: Please note how she pronounces ‘Choco-Nut’) sundae. Other people may make it different but for us this is how we make it”
I shit you not, those are the exact words she used.
By now, my sister and I are plain irritated, and we decide to ask for a refund. And what does our dear Choc-Nat lady say?
“We can’t refund you, if the receipt is already printed we can’t take it back”
My sister is thumping. “Yes, you can! It’s a functioning computer, it can delete and edit and replace receipts if you know how to use it” she tells her exasperatedly. The lady refuses to admit defeat (i.e confess to being technologically illiterate) and says something about her computer being different from other restaurant computers. My sister gives up, and asks to speak to the manager. The lady replies, with an air of arrogance, that she is the manager. Perfect.
My sister storms off, I take the ice-cream cup, still seething, and follow her outside.
En conclusion: The ice-cream sucked donkey balls, and I’m not just being mean. I could make better ice-cream at home with yoghurt and a teaspoon of lemon. At least I’ve learned my lesson with local food chains.
Also, to Innscor Uganda that started this sorry excuse of an ice-cream shop?
NB: Replace your computer systems with newer technology too, please? Even my 58-year old father has a decent laptop, and not Compaq 1994s.
I’m tired of being a closet Christian.
Why should I be embarrassed about my faith? And why should I be in denial about being embarrased, saying ‘Oh, I just don’t want to be that kind of christian’ – What kind of christian? The one that isn’t ashamed to say he/she’s a christian? The one that isn’t a casual christian that goes to church only on Sundays’ to satisfy his/her conscience and believe they’ve done their good deed for the day, then go on living their weekly life like..like..an atheist?
I’d rather be the prude who actually believes and follows God, than that Christian to whom people are like ‘Oh, I didn’t know you were even Christian’ or ‘You’re a cool christian, all the others are weird extremists’, because I’ve come to the conclusion that living in seclusion – no, not only living in seclusion but ‘living life’ and going all Y.O.L.O just defeats the purpose of being saved. I was called out of the world, what business do I have pleasuring myself in it anymore? Can I actually meet this God at the end of my life, and say I’ve been a good and faithful servant after doing what I wanted for myself in life?
I’m tired of other teen Christians like myself judging me for actually practicing my faith, and I foolishly going along with their ideology of what a 21st century christian is supposed to be – If God said he never changes, why should Christianity?
Apparently to them, talking/sharing knowledge of your faith with others is as bad as forcing someone to convert. I have never, and will never force anyone to be a christian, nor force my beliefs on anyone. But if Muslim women openly respect their faith by wearing hijabs, and Buddhists show their faith in non-violence, and even LGBT individuals are slowly being appreciated for being brave in who they are, why is it frowned upon when I also try to stand up and be who I am?
I want to be like Daniel, who when they told him he couldn’t pray to God anymore or he would be killed, quietly went back to his house, opened his window, knelt down facing the direction Jerusalem was in and prayed the only way he knew his God should be prayed to.
I want to be like my mother, who doesn’t care if she doesn’t don herself in jewelry and high-fashion clothes or dye her hair to look her rank in her office, but ties her greying hair in a simple ponytail, wears her long skirts and plain shirts with a plain makeup-less face, but still has the radiant glow of the glory of God to show that she is, indeed, favored in Christ.
From today, I’m content in what I am. I owe my life to no one but Him who loved me before anyone else did.
(I don’t know why I’m so obsessed with Sokka quotes these days)
Hello again, non-existent reader. Allow me to indulge in my narcissism again, and (try to) prove (not) myself to you, the (invisible) audience.
Not confused yet? I’ve failed at my job already 😦
Prejudices. We all hate them. And just like Sokka, I’m always eager to make people see different.
Except in my case, its not really preconceived prejudice. its usually someone meeting me and thinking I’m something, me screwing up a few times in my relationship with them and them thinking I’m the definition of ‘prick’. Annnnd I can’t defend myself without sounding like a prick-in-denial, but people can’t blame me for not being the perfect being they thought I was, and not fitting into their perfect fantasy of what they pictured I’d be with them. I’m a human being. I regularly make mistakes and more than often regret them. I’m more than borderline selfish and more than often think of myself over others, especially when it comes to thinks like affection and ‘love’. (Forgive me as I go off on a tangent here -_-)
‘Love’. Where you give your whole emotional being in the ‘care’ of another person and trust they won’t mess it up. Why. Just why.
My idea of ‘love’ (note the hyphens, because I’m speaking of Eros love in this case) is based on hypocrisy. I saw a sad case of heartbreak when I was younger and became a non-believer in it. You’d think I’d stay away from trying out this ‘love’ myself, but meh. So I end up converting a boy into a non-believer in love, and the chain goes on, and we’re stuck in an endless cycle of madness.
One plus one equals two which really equals one if you add Him (God) – Janette-ikz
Its late and I’m tired.
So yeah, welcome to my Domain. My Kingdom. My REALM! -insert maniacal laughter- Where I spew as much verbal vomit as I want and not have to worry about anyone’s opinion on it.
So brace yourself dear non-existent reader. Because I’ll be ranting about nonsense more than The-Girl-You-Wish-You-Hadnt-Started-A-Conversation-With-At-A-Party
And what do I gain from this skitzophrenia inducing charade, you ask? Well, Im not quite sure either. Perhaps I just want to go along with the ‘Amg! I have my own blog, I’m so unique and quirky lolol’ craze that is so trending these days (I do suffer from acute F.O.M.O, which is Fear Of Missing Out). Or perhaps I want to delve into the inner reaches of my psyche and note down the madness that is, my thoughts. But then again, I’m just flattering myself :]
…Or am I?
Right, too many images.
Though it’s probably the latter. I’m quite narcissistical, and think of myself as ‘Avant-garde’. Which, now that I think about it, is not quite true. It’s more of ignorance. As Jasnah Kholin in ‘The Way of the Kings’ said:
“Ignorance is hardly unusual, Miss Davar. The longer I live, the more I come to realize that it is
the natural state of the human mind. There are many who will strive to defend its sanctity and then
expect you to be impressed with their efforts.”
Beee impressed….beeee impressed..!
My screen is so big that it’s making it hard to read all I’ve written without feeling like I’ve written nothing. It looks like I’ve just typed 5 freaking lines. FIVE. Freaking First World Problems.
So, as I conclude this not-so-lengthy first post…
…ehm..how should I conclude it? With a bang, or with a whimper?
Or another image. Yes, another image helps.
(I can’t help it, I’m an image hoarder and I’m ashamed -whimper-)