Men! We’re fucked!
No really, you have to listen to me! I’m seated at the back bench of a matatu along Langata road; far right seat. The space is so squeezed, my lean 5"6 body is spilling out the window [okay maybe just a direct drop...I thought ‘spilling out’ would sound appealing to the self induced belief that I’m bigger than what my size dictates…don’t judge me]
A cute lady just alighted at the Madaraka stage and couldn’t help to think of how we’re failing as a male specie, while at the same time staring at the logo badge on the left back pocket of her jeans [did you actually believe that? You naive being! I was staring at her ‘descendant of earth’s first civilization-Nubian muscle-hunters and gatherers-buttock]. We’re failing because there goes another beautiful woman […‘on the outside so far but I’m sure she’d be the same way on the inside once I get to know her’ type of beautiful (oh no…no…no…not ‘on the inside’ like that)I’ve made a mess of this now]. Anyway, she’s gone and I remain posted on the ‘stay thirsty, my friends’ side of life.
I immediately think, I ought to have at least said something. Compliment her perfume, or her attractive fingers, or say something nice about the tiny twinkles, twinkling from the lip gloss smeared craftily but not flooding on her plump lips [maybe not that much, because it becomes creepy going all out on the first day. Also, save some material for later use when you’re both deep into it and are living together, and she occasionally gets mad at your clumsiness every time you pour coffee on her white blouse just as she’s about to leave for work in the morning (oh God! I’ve painted my future image as a stay at home husband..although, I do see myself as a ‘hardworking artist’ who’s covered in Cheetos dust, raking in millions of dollars while my wife grinds her way up the ‘serve humanity’ ladder by honoring her position as United Nations’ secretary general. Oh wait that sounds like Ex Mr. And Mrs. Pitt and other American references. I like Brad Pitt…also, Cheetos are rare to find here) I’m knee deep into American (pop) culture rather than my own. I’m so ashamed of myself. Also this is the longest thought parenthesis ever. It’s like a movie based on a flashback. It keeps going. Never ending…].
It’s a shame that women nowadays have to put up with men who are not as confident in direct, face to face approach, but who would rather take a sneaky-spy-photo, post it on Facebook and wait for face recognition to detect the lady’s face and spill all her details to you that will allow sliding in her DM/Inbox, where you can comfortably mold into the character that she might desire. The irony of ‘better said than done’ comes well into play here where there is a lot of ‘done-ing’ happening, but not a lot of ‘said-ing’; know what I’m sayin’?
It may be a level of self pity that I’m experiencing in this situation. I used to hunt for love [or lust] like a hungry leopard hidden in tall savanna grass, preying on innocent antelopes [hurrah! an African reference, finally!], and feel like I’ve actively partaken in forming a strategy on how I’m to win the favor of a woman. Now, I feel uninspired, demotivated, lacking drive to go past “Hey, how are you” part of the conversation. I suppose I’m becoming too selfish to even share my thoughts with others, especially women. I’ve bought into the fear mongering that is all over the news and gossip columns that someday in your fairy tale, things will turn sour and the woman will use your vulnerability against you. Men are being deceived by top charting songs from artists [rappers mostly] who’ve had troublesome upbringing and who spit bile-filled lyrics all over their songs, objectifying women and encouraging hardening the heart towards others. There’s also the faintest possibility that I’m seeking women who are going to challenge my weirdness and teach me how to be tender again, after muscling my way from a childhood of heartbreaks [Yes. We’re all sensitive people…oh what? I should speak for myself? Well okay]. Young champs prefer to spend a fortune to avoid charming the ladies with intellectual, or simply, smart conversations, to placing their appeal on desirable items. Men, we are working hard to get a fade and chisel our bodies to resemble the statues of Greek ‘gods’ in effort to getting noticed by our lovely counterparts but have nothing else to offer after that.
I spend many of my hours while awake online and try extra hard to balance it with offline conversations. That’s already a problem…trying hard to hold an offline conversation.
What I’ve observed is disheartening. The ladies know more about discovering life than men, it seems. On my social media feed, women are always out and about trying out new dishes, getting involved in socially responsible activities, volunteering work, building their brands, creating new paths for themselves aside from chasing tenders and knowing bouncers so that they’re not subjected to the embarrassment of being frozen from entry, into a dimly lit cubicle with smoke machines and loud speakers by a bar stand [I don’t like clubs]. We’ve lost it. We’re still boys and look to go after young girls because older women are exceptionally smart in the current environment. [There’s this lady who gave me a book recently and her presentation of it was not taken lightly. She took her time to accompany the novel with a box of donuts as well as leaving a streak of words under the lid and the third page of the book that made me laugh, further inking her intention and dedication to making it an actual gift. That to me seemed like an entire ceremony as she had put effort into the simple act of handing over a book to read]
Is it the effort or the quality that is appreciated more? [This is an actual question that needs to be answered]
Last week I got into an elevator with a beautiful lady that I had been chatting with online for the longest time. We talked and joked about random things and it got weird after she started making fun of my small eyes, but in a cute complimentary way. She didn’t shy away from issuing that compliment and I felt good about myself. Thing is, I didn’t respond in the same manner. I felt as if I may offend her if I told her I was growing fond of the scar beneath the left corner of her bottom lip. Or her lovely scent. Or her ‘pearly teeth’ smile. I thought I’d sound like an overly excited pedophile, despite being in the same age bracket. It’s the fear mongering again. Maybe men don’t say much to ladies because of how their words are going to be received and perceived. [If I did compliment her lips, would it have insinuated that I yearned to lunge in for a kiss? (I did, but I wouldn’t have)]. We went our separate ways — but ended up in a thirty minute long elevator ride, up and down the office building while deliberately taunting other ‘elevatees’ with our prompted conversations about the best porn websites — after we both went back to our desks and challenged each other on who was weirder than the other, thence deciding to go back to the elevators once more. That’s an experience I won’t forget anytime soon.
By this time, the matatu had gotten to High Rise. I got off the Ngumo route one and jumped into another one heading to town via Ngong road. Guess who I find, yet another lovely lady who gave me the side eye as soon as I sat down, still at back bench, but now on the far left by the window. I knew she wanted me to talk to her because she changed her sitting position to face me, but I was already sinking in the loud music blasting through the earphones. Again I think to myself, where has my confidence gone? Is it because of ‘the boy child’ being constantly attacked or being disregarded? No, it can’t be. I’m just a ball-less man, with no courage to spark a conversation with a lady, in the street, but has all the bravery to cry out for change and generalize personal issues on an online platform.
I’m blowing things out of proportion again; like how I exited from a family Whatsapp group because of them not being able to attend my weekend shows…and now that I’m sober enough to use my brain, I see that that was the most irrational thing to do and now have to formulate a plan with the cousins I still chat with, to get me back into the group. [FUCK]. I laugh at myself sometimes.
There’s no particular point to this article. It’s just a way of mentioning my occasional immaturity masked by a ‘pretense-social commentary’.
Also, Ngatia asked me to be vulnerable and to write whatever comes to mind. This is me being that and stupid at the same time.
I also did it because I watched Reggie Watts yesterday. Here, you’ll understand the randomness after watching this…
So the moral of the story is, let’s go back to being men and practice more face to face conversations with the ladies.