A toast and a second life

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Today this blog celebrates its third year of life. For a blog, three years is like an infant who has just weaned from her mom’s breasts. Which is a good thing because it’s a sign of growth.

If I were this blog, today I would blow trumpets, go into the streets and spend a day with panhandlers, eat with them and have fun with them. I would let people know that kind people still exist because right now people no longer have sense of humanity in them. They have become individualists who only care about themselves.

Humanity has lost its course. Each day is a day of being baptized with darkness where humanity has no space. I still admire Mother Teresa for her selflessness. People no longer remember her. Heroines like her have been buried deep down because nowadays heroes are people who give publicly, claiming to fight for the rights of others and all that. What we don’t understand is that such people fight for others because they know what is in for them. They know that by doing this, they’ll gain that. So they’ll be calling the shots at the end of the string.

I don’t want this blog to be like politicians, they talk much but do nothing. Politicians give promises they never bother to fulfill. They are liars, looters, and many other things. I want this blog to ooze wisdom that can free your mind, to speak words so meaningful that they break the dykes of ignorance amongst us, to tell of experiences so that all the generations might be able to learn how to live, and to stay up here for many years delivering the same quality content because that is what real friends are supposed to be- loyal at all circumstances.

At the same time, I don’t want this blog to be like a girl. Girls these days have no respect for themselves. They have transformed from the good women we used to know to little girls who do have lost direction but still deny that fact. They think they have grown and that they know the world enough to know what is good for them. They have discovered class and skimpy dresses, and how to walk half naked, and how to cruise with ‘sponsors’, and how to sleep around like they’re earning honor from that, and trying to make it on their own, and friend zoning those they feel don’t matter, and acting all innocent and acting up trying to be witty.

My dream is that this blog be driven by a true course, to remain loyal to its friends, to listen to others so that it can grow, to open its ears to counsel, to be ready to learn always, to project itself with a positive image, to appreciate everyone that gives it attention even if it just for a second and to keep long lasting friendship with others. I don’t want it to think that one day it’ll be so grown that it’ll need nobody to give it direction, no, I want it to be open-minded every time so that it cannot miss a word from the wise.

I do not wish this blog to be like a beggar, so that every day of its existence revolves around small cups in the open streets, tapping and calling out people for help, people who will only throw a few coins and walk away without even knowing how it looks like. My wish for it is to grow both in stature and wisdom, to be able to learn to have its head up and straight. To have freedom of exploring the depths of this world, scouring here and there that it might have enough to run itslef on the blogosphere belt without an eye of remorse or jealousy.

It should not be like a handsome guy whose life is sentenced to flirting and sleeping around to prove his manhood. A guy caged by self-imposed confidence and false innuendos. A guy whose self-esteem is validated by the number of bootie calls he haves. This blog should be like a decent guy, who in his truest sense understands every little bit about himself, confident in his own skin because confidence is sexy. So that it can appreciate its value of being unique. A blog that has freedom but does know its limits. A blog that does not need to prove its innocence by sleeping around with other blogs.

I don’t want this blog to be a drunk libertine. Or like a guy who drinks. Worse still, like a woman who drinks. My wish for it is to stay sober and vigilant. A sot has a loose tongue, lacks balance and sense, and doesn’t differentiate a toilet from a sink. A tippler doesn’t keep secrets, he lays them plans bare to the world. And he loses respect among his peers, his wife prays that he changes. A drunk doesn’t save nor invest. He sells even his own mattresses to go and drink. This blog should be above board, to stay sober and act as an unwavering example to others. To give nuggets of wisdom to others when they can’t find wisdom elsewhere, to be the last resort that accommodates even lechers. To be like a provider who understands the needs of the family, to keep watch and keep all the secrets safe when people confide in it.

In the days to come, I wouldn’t wish this blog to be like a floozy. A floozy sells her services for money and sells to anybody so long as the moolah is right. She risks so many things, big dungus, HIV & AIDS, death and so many things. This blog should consign services to everyone for free. It should not hold any appetite for money. It should stay free because that is the most expensive benefaction it can give to others. The best things are always free. I want it to maintain its integrity and value so that when its readers look up to it, they have a threshold of what direction looks like.

I don’t wanna this blog to be like a middle-class guy in the heart of Nairobi who is trying to look or sound like the cool kids of Beverly Hills. It is not my dream that it tries so much to impress people. My dream would be for it to be seen like it is, to be taken with the level of seriousness it projects, to be taken easily, to be given warm embraces when it deserves and to be criticized when need be.

It should not be like a banker at any instance, because I don’t want it to look sharp, or wear expensive ties, or struggle to look neat and earn meagerly. I don’t want it to be confined in the environment that projects opulence when in real sense poverty ails it. I want it to be what it is, free to hoof it in the streets of the earth, but without roving from the course, to be official one day and another day to be casual, to move with the winds but still maintain its dignity.

I want it to be like an old woman who knows the pain of bearing kids. Old enough to know why wisdom is classic in this world. To look at people from all angles and appreciating their beauty, admiring every inch of their skills and abilities. I want it to grow that old so that it can learn the attributes of a caring heart, open arms, smiles and happiness, and the essence of putting family first even when none of them deserves good loving. So that in the end, its many grandchildren can sit around fires and listen to its stories during still nights, while injecting alacrity among its readers and listeners.

This blog would have gone to the streets today with gifts all over its body. It should have gone to share with the rest, share happiness with others and enjoy a day in a world with people we care little about. But it chose to appreciate its readers first.

Up here is a small community. Sometimes it is hard to know who comes here often because something happened to our comments segment. And it hurts me that people stopped leaving comments. Do you know how much a comment means to a writer? Do you understand the magnitude of joy it instills in his heart? Do you know that he can reread that comment five times because it sounds so nice? Do you know we get motivated by those comments? We thrive on feedback from you guys. We are able to know the kind of stories you want to read, we learn new angles from your comments, and we learn some new vocabulary from you and even more, some wisdom. And that is why you should always leave a comment when you read a good blog post. That is the only way you can appreciate a writer for his work. Although others go to an extent of inviting us for a brunch or coffee, a comment can summarize your intent of appreciating us.

But in this journey, three years has told me who reads this blog. I know a segment of my readers who get mad if Wednesday passes by without something up here. I have known who reads all the stories because many of them inbox me when they feel I am getting lazy. There are those who send crazy emoji in my DM when I’m out of service. And then there are these who tell me how smashing my article was. About those who keep sending like emoji, the ones you never know if they read or not because they never talk, they leave me confused. But there are these who take time to tell me where I could have improved. Even in all this assortment of readers, I always feel great having them.

Without you readers this blog is null and void. It will taste like a broken promise. Without you, I will find no value or motivation for what I do. I’ll just be up here posting and reading my words by myself, alone.  Will I feel okay, yes. But will I feel great and motivated, no. That is why you are so special to this blog. If I had some candies, I would hand each of you one as you read this post.

I treasure all those who keep pressing my ribs with their middle fingers that I write a book. Ouch! Come on, it hurts. I know you don’t know that yet. But I appreciate because you believe in my abilities. Let me say I am thinking about it. As for now, I am gathering the acumen necessary for writing a book. But keep poking those fingers at me, they keep me awake, and on my feet. Never ever give up on me.

There are those who look at this blog and badly start thinking of starting their own. I know them because they tell me. ‘Mzangila, I love your blog. How can I start my own?’

I usually ask them, “first things first, do you write?” Many say, “Not really.” And I probe, “what does not really mean?” Then they are too shy to explain what they mean. But I glean that they meant they are not writers. When they finally say, “I write sometimes, just for fun.” I get real with them, “you don’t need a blog then. A diary would do.”

Running a blog is like a man giving another man some sick blowjob. Something you don’t feel like doing but you have to. Kissing an ass they call it. I don’t think there is a writer who wakes up with grins all over their faces because they are going to write something. Yet to meet one who looks forward to such days. Even if you are employed to write, you only write because you need the money. Your smiles and joy knock on your face on your payday when the HR hands you that fat cheque.

If you ever wanna be a blogger, first you have to be a writer in real life before you move to the internet. Your crib should be full of paper with ink on it. Your dustbin should be full of paper. Paper with writings on it. You should have a library in your house, or at least read a book a week. You have to have the knowledge, and that, is in the books. Then transfer those thoughts to paper.

When you have filled books with ink, and people have suggested that you can write well, start writing often and getting your closest friends to read your work, once they approve your work, then it is time you started blogging. There is nothing as boring as a blog with shitty writings on it. It will never grow.

Pro tip- blogging has no money. It is just an opportunity for you to sell your art to the world. It is through selling your art that real opportunities knock on your door, you get a real job and real money. But blogging is not going to give you money.

A shout out to- Ireen Birgen, Karen Blixen, Dismus Onderi, Winnie from Multimedia, Edson Monda from Nanyuki, Winnie Porsch Achieng, Elizabeth Okullow, Andanje Sarowiwa, Party Animal, Edward Wandera, Waiyaki Hinga, Jackline Wairimu, Tabitha Ezra, Jael, Niko, Ann, Biwwott Sammy, Chemoz, Kennedy Andati, Frank Muthui, Felisters Abiero, Fidelis (Keep up with the GiftAPad projo), Lenson, Charity, Monique, Osofina, Shaboo and many others. From this side we love you all. You are so many that I cannot mention each of you, but understand that you are part of this family, and we appreciate a lot for your input.

Hope no one noticed what I did up there, acting like a Luhya sending salaamz. A toast to y’all for enabling us to finally meet with our third year face on.

Finally, I adopted a new title. Writer Mzangila.

By Wr. Mzangila Snr.

This post is powered by of GiftAPad project.

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Till another time, thank you.

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About Mzangila

Mentor, media consultant, photographer, editor, poet, writer, and counselor.

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