Thursday, February 21, 2013

Its to the slammer with you!

3 seconds. That's the amount of time it takes the average internet user to read the content of a page and flip to the next. No. I'm not talking about pages of real books because heaven knows that noone here reads any more, unless of course it is themed around escapist content. 50 shades of grey comes to mind. Yeah. I see you looking at me Alma, sit down.
3 seconds is such a short time to make an impression on someone let alone impress them. (Yeah. That seems about right) It sets minimum threshold of interestingness pretty high plus it doesn't help that people are hopelessly incapable of prepossessing. But hey, a Guy has got to try.
I have learnt through personal experience that misery does indeed love company and that people love to see other people unhappy. So this is my story of wretchedness that I hope will fuel all your little malevolent hearts into a darker place than you already are. (I'm going through a phase)
So back in freshman year when I was young and virgin to the ways of varsity, I cheated on an exam. All you self righteous oafs can put your hands down. Thing with campus is, its all fun and games up until the last 3 weeks of the semester -which are really the ones that matter- the exam week. At my school for example, this is the only time when photocopiers go on overhaul almost every single day because of the bulk of the work. The woman that works the photocopier at school even knows the handwriting to the sharpest girl in my class. Car Parks are full, stationary stock is depleted and don't even get me started on the queues in the cafeteria, unending. Picture election day, at a polling station, in Kibera. Bingo. School becomes, well, school.
Its actually alot of pressure to pass exams. Especially in law school. Not that many people make the cut eventually. I remember my class had an admission of well over 200 students back in freshman. Now, we're less than 50. Yeah. Its okay. I get scared too; and to think we still have a whole year of studying to do. Gives me the hibby gibbies.
Law of contract II. This is me, a stunningly gorgeous freshman bloke, about to sit this paper amid all this pressure. The lecturer was (is) a piece of work. In his first class, he chases two people from class for whispering senseless whatnots to each other. Nothing says don't fuck with me clearer than that.
He still does chase people away from his class. But this is Campus you say, where is the freedom? Where is the humanity? Well in Bosire's class all of you are a bunch of natives who have been funded by your villages to come to campus to study and stand as the (only) tangible achievement of your homesteads. (sic) But he is a good chap he is. His overbearing ego grows on you.
I had read for that exam. I swear on Zeus' beard I had studied. But when in that moment of doubt, you look around the whole class and (almost) everyone has a small piece of paper tucked in in (almost) all their orifices, you question your preparedness. So that second of doubt leads me to my bag where I had my study notes writen out on a long ass paper. See I can't study without writing (visual learning my sister calls it) so I grab my written notes from yesternight and hide them in my coat. This would otherwise have been a very normal story if I wasn't caught. Like a deer in the headlights. It happened oh so quickly. How I even finished that paper only heaven knows.
The months succeeding that event were probably the longest and most uncertain I have gone through in all my existence. I mean how do you tell your folks? I know people have been through worse experiences but its that moment, that precise moment when you break it to them that never leaves your mind. My dad once called me an eye sore. Lol. You just wait. I'll show him some day. (By the way, he has never known, good old mum)
Disciplinary panels are worse than court rooms. First, because you have to argue out your case on your own. No advocate shall be provided for you by the court. No sir...its just you, your borrowed tie and your new haircut in a room filled with old people staring down at you with their contemptuous spectacle aided eyes with faces void of expression. *cue shivers. Secondly, more often than not, judgement on you has already been passed. All you go there to do is bargain your sentence.
Long story short, I'm still in school with a year left to go. I still have nightmares about that day though. Gets me all fidgety when I think about it. I was supposed to go for counseling from the Dean of students as part of my sentence, since I claimed temporary insanity as part of my defense. Guess I won my first case :)
But look at me, do I look like I need counseling?

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

I have no title for this post

I'm thinking of a good metaphor to equate this feeling to but none presently comes to mind. Phoenix rising from the ashes comes close but doesn't quite nail it on the head.
I am a negligent blogger a repetitive confession I must add. Last blog I posted was a little under 2 months ago; but in my defense, I haven't had a platform to write and post on.
I 'borrowed' mummy's modem (and had her believing that her workmates are little theifing ferrets) which I guess a neighbour of mine later stole as well. Karma. Such a lady. My little old phone was stolen from me in the most stupid of ways -a story that would make for good humour this, but I still feel stupid about it. So for the last 2 months I have had my thoughts bundled up in my tiny little head with no escape. Though I think they deserve credit for this goatee it has grown out really fast. But females dig men with goatees right?! *strokes goatee
I have been going over some other blogs though. I doubt you understand how an internet connection makes for good entertainment on what would otherwise have been a boring day in the office. That, solitare, spider solitare, sudoku and the daily crossword. Yes. I am resourceful.
My twitter timeline has lately been awash with countless links of shared blogs from all over. Whereas there are some really bad blogs out there yes even worse than this one. With people who say 'pals' *shivers There are some good ones. REALLY GOOD. One particular blog by Biko Zulu comes to mind. I have a little confession. The first time I read one of his posts, I had a dictionary at hand. Not that I don't know my grammar or vocabulary, but just to confirm if his words were correctly used and in context. Spot on everytime. You'd actually replace the word with its defination from the dictionary and it would make perfect sense. Easily my most favourite blog... ever. He's the baba yao of bloggers in my book. His posts tell a story even when they don't. And there is no denying that he takes his work VERY seriously. Writer by profession. He writes for the love of writing and you can see it in how he lets us in to his life and most private and emotional moments of his life like here. I find myself pointing up to that pseudonym and whispering... I want to be like that guy. I am in love with that blog. He calls it high school. I want high school's number.
Based on this... I've thought of a rebirth of sorts. I had a classmate back in high school. Heathen. Dines with Lucifer himself and lays in his chambers with his wife. Okay. Maybe not so bad but he wasn't so good either. I can't remember why I held such resentment towards the little fellow -this old age- but the point of the story is that every Sunday when there was an alter call he'd be first in line to get saved, then Monday he would be back to his evil ways. Sometimes it would take 2 weeks for recidivism to kick in but it always did. So we wondered... how many times really could one get born-again again? Similar script different setting; I've come back to this blog oh so many times in answer to my own alter call. Fresh and bursting with energy hoping to write some kick ass posts but hardly do I ever deliver (I feel like a politician!). But hey. I'm here now. And I shall make the best of it. Don't compare my work to Biko's though. It would be unfair. I'm always rusty after a little time off. Plus he's older.

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