"Laugh, cries and tears, cheers to the teenage years."
The vicious cycle of procrastination has leeched its’ way
into my lucrative holiday rendering me crippled and in a state of regret as the
care free days of staying up past midnight and spontaneous weekend get-a way’s
with friends will be deduced to memorabilia of useless trinkets and photographs
to be stuffed into boxes and scrap books under our beds. This holiday was supposed
to be more than that; it was supposed to be a journey to self-discovery, which
included estranged nights in numerous towns while commuting from Nairobi to
Mombasa surviving on intuition and interdependence. I had it all planned out in
my mind.
It would start with a fevering drag race in our rickety old Rick-Shaw’s along Uhuru highway with luckily no interference by local authorities. A toe curling rush, from the tremendous amount of freedom handed down to us would fuel our minds to put enough distance between home state and ourselves, away from: inscribed dogma’s substantiated by our better’s, expectations and reality. Ears would ring from the hollering and hooting from back seat drivers, bleary eyed and buzzing from copious amount of liquor consumed in direct proportion to one’s body weight poisoning their veins. Impish grins would plaster our faces, just foolish teenagers about to paint the town red or burn it down.
It would start with a fevering drag race in our rickety old Rick-Shaw’s along Uhuru highway with luckily no interference by local authorities. A toe curling rush, from the tremendous amount of freedom handed down to us would fuel our minds to put enough distance between home state and ourselves, away from: inscribed dogma’s substantiated by our better’s, expectations and reality. Ears would ring from the hollering and hooting from back seat drivers, bleary eyed and buzzing from copious amount of liquor consumed in direct proportion to one’s body weight poisoning their veins. Impish grins would plaster our faces, just foolish teenagers about to paint the town red or burn it down.
We would ride our bicycles across the countryside always
taking the scenic route for we’d have all the time in the world. Then we’d hike
up a mountain where we would lay our heads to rest on mossy stones and open our
palms up stretching them towards the boundless dome in the sky and ride on the
back of a pick-up truck with the cold air nipping at our raw numbing ears and
noses, riding to untold destinations while bundled up in blankets tucked up to
our chins harboring warmth from thoughts of home-coming and a sense of
belonging. Nights of sleeping under the endless sea of stars just so we could
call ourselves children of the universe; meaningful midnight conversations with
feelings of longing, grief and inexplicable joy seeping through our superficial
anterior – that was thought to be impenetrable- and baring our souls to one
another simply because we realized that we’ll never find anyone else like the
people we’ve set out on this voyage with to discover ourselves only to find
each other. A sacred enclosure where we could simply be, with a hundred mile
distance from home we could be anything we wanted but most importantly
ourselves. We would then spend our days indulging in each other’s company:
falling in ‘love’, finding new friends in old friends, slowly but evidently
gravitating towards the beat of our own hearts; entwining ourselves with the
rhythm of mother nature and becoming ourselves by giving our persons the
capacity to grow emotionally and spiritually. Then we would return. Back to our
mundane lives with a profound understanding of serendipity and somber thoughts
of an escape that turned out to be an epiphany forever engraved in our hearts
and minds.
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