Do you?

Do you ever feel like you’re fighting? Just to feel alive – almost like you are a zombie going through the motions of life but not really living? Maybe its cliché, maybe it’s not.

I am curious – is it cliché, falling in love with a charming prince or a knight in shining armor or a frog or a beast, in the ‘happily ever after’ stories? Or hoping that you’ll meet your ‘The One’ in a book store or coffee shop? Or ‘singing in the rain’?

What makes a cliché a cliché anyway?

Questions, lots of them – that’s what happens when you are fighting to stay alive. To not get lost in the madness, and are not be able to recognize the face you see when you look in the mirror. The questions can kill you, then again they might be the reason you are able to continue living with some semblance of sanity. The questions keep hope alive, and with that there is a chance for more, better or whatever you want to call it.

I don’t know what I was doing Geography classes (probably reading Mills & Boons books), but I didn’t quite expect to pass through Naivasha on my way to Nairobi. It was about 0600/0630hrs and the sun was just rising. I think the weather had been a bit gloomy the day before because I witnessed what might be the most spectacular weather experience.

The sun and clouds seemed to be having a conversation. It looked like the sun was telling the clouds that it was time for them to go back behind the scenes, and that they weren’t needed at that moment. The clouds obviously had their own agenda, and would not go quietly but that didn’t put off the sun. In fact it seemed to fuel its energy from the clouds’ persistence, and found loopholes to shine its light.

In that moment, I felt sorry for Naivasha – so large with so much potential and yet all anyone really cares about Kenya is Nairobi. But there she was, so beautiful if you took the time to really see her.

Most times I wonder, about what keeps people moving/going. I was in Nairobi for a few days, to attend a class. The stories that people told brought tears to my eyes, and people who know me know that I don’t cry. It’s not a thing or anything, I just don’t know how to cry so I don’t. There I was in a room with strangers who had been to hell and back, twice and were still on their feet. They had not given up, in spite of everything that they had been through.

It made me think of hundreds of other people who had also been through their fair share of hell, and had given up. It’s easy to assume that you understand why people give up on life, and merely exist. However if that was the case, it would be as easy to understand what keeps people going when they have been through similar or even worse situations.

I don’t know man, I don’t know.

Then again there’s no formula, that’s why it’s called life.