Herispeak

Dear Diary Self love never came easy for me and I will be the first to admit that my 20s were basically wilderness years pretty much like the Israelites leaving Egypt. So close to the destination yet so far!  I wish I had known what I know now in my early 20s. And having observed others...I know that there are women in their 20s who have a better understanding of themselves than others. The question I always ask...where did they learn? Was there a specific school they attended that I missed out on? Like say...in between Class Eight and High School? Or right after High School? My mum taught us to be good, disciplined girls...so I won't say that it was from a lack of proper guidance but what I do know is...I never learnt to love, value and accept myself through my 20s. It was not until my early 30s when I was forced to learn the hard way through a excruciating, heart breaking experience, that I became fully self aware and aware of how to deal with others as well....

Dear Diary,  CRAZY|STUPID|LOVE is a movie staring Steve Carell and Ryan Gosling. As I thought about today's title, nothing could be more apt as the title to this story I am about to tell. Especially the stupid part.  After the end of the SHAMBA BOY ERA (See previous post) , I worked for my dad for about a year or so. Like I shared previously, I enjoyed doing the work and I got to learn a lot in the process. Frequently, my dad would leave me in charge and I started learning everything to do with the business including pricing for panel beating, spare parts and the like. It was not a girl's world but I soon learnt to make it my world. I also got to interact with the customers a lot especially when they would come by for short repairs and had to wait for the job to be finished. One of those customers was an elderly, very respectable man from Rironi. We would chat often about many things and during one of our chats, he asked me why I was working for my dad as opposed ...

Dear Diary,  It is me again. I promise to write at least once a week but since you and I are still getting to know each other...this week, I will write twice.  Like I shared previously, I have kissed many frogs to get to my Prince Charming in my journey to marriage in my early 40s.. No...scratch that! I was the Frogress or Ms. Froggie (What is a girl frog called?) other Prince Charmings kissed to get to their Princesses. I mean this kindly to myself as I know the root cause of my issues over the years as I tried to find my way through the dating maze. Sometimes...it was just Frogs kissing (Mr. Frog and myself) and I thank God none of those relationships ever made a match cos that's the recipe divorces are made from.  My 20s were eventful and made up of the kind of stories you would like to share with your grandchild but really couldn't because you would be setting a very bad example and sometimes causing them to blush in embarrassment!   This er...

Welcome to my diary. The diary of a middle-aged bride. Yes...me.  Middle-aged. A bride....of sorts, not in a white, flowing dress but a bride nevertheless. It sounds very strange to refer to myself as “middle-aged”. The picture that comes to mind when I think about that word is a wrinkly, Caucasian woman with red splotches all over her skin and dirty strawberry-blonde hair with a cigarette dangling from her lips! I certainly don’t fit that picture. I am a medium height ( I use this term because I actually don’t know my true height. Most times, I will fill in 5”4 or 5”5 depending on my mood whilst I have no idea whether that is even close to accurate…but I suspect it is) , brownish, plump, introverted, beautiful (I insist :-) ), 41 almost 42 year old woman. Phew!!!   That’s done away with. At my age, I shouldn’t struggle to describe myself but well..I do though am not so sure why.   The bride part; I will insist on for purposes of this diary which I will share ...