Allow me another laugh.
Hahahaha. I am not going to be offended by this statement. It’s ridiculous even in its notion that young men are immature. I’ve not heard it once, not twice but so many times for it to register as an irritation every time a young girl utters it. Then again, I take no offense. I do though take offense in the person who’s spread such propaganda. A 22 year old can’t date a 22 year old because apparently, he is more likely to be immature. Granted, the status quo hasn’t changed much to support the 22 year old dude’s arguement.
I am honestly perplexed at this notion, that girls go seeking older men because guys of their age group are immature. I need to know, what makes us immature? Girls have come up with a rather bizarre notion that the right type of guy -the mature guy, will be settled, have a home and be ready to start a family. Take her home for Christmas to his parents and have very deep conversations, which apparently you can’t get from a 22 year old. It is so bad that these young girls literally lose interest immediately they find out how old you are. It is so bad that they even have their maturity age gap and brackets. He has to be 35, have a steady job and have an acceptable bank balance because that makes him look mature, be mature.
Are you kidding me? It is bamboozling to hear such come from girls who’ve barely made it out in the world. Girls who’ve barely traveled and seen the world. Girls whose version of a romance is in the twilight books they read. Girls whose understanding of culture barely exceeds that of what their roommate next door screams out loud during their throngs of passion. Girls whose basic knowledge of starting a family is getting a man whose already settled. Girls whose idea of maturity is so misconstrued they believe themselves mature because they carry around a pair of breasts.
I’d rather you say he’s too young, unsettled, and lacks ambition than call someone undateble and immature. Girls need to throw away these delusions of grandeur they keep feeding themselves. Illusions, created by your inability to rather comprehend that carrying such thoughts around makes you more or less immature and the young lad you called out immature, mature.
I once believed this nonsense because society made me believe that girls grow up faster and are more mature than boys their age. Fact of the matter is that there are so many precedents to support and also equally nullify this argument.
Anyway, all I am saying is that for Pete’s sake, stop using the bloody word. Look it up in the dictionary. Immature relates to things regarding to growth, and until you know that, grow those ideas and ideals lest we think your mental capabilities immature.
And for the guys who’ve been called immature, well, keep proving them right. It’s the least they deserve, right?
So I randomly checked my wordpress today only to find that it is my 7th year anniversary since I opened this blog. I am beyond ecstatic that I have managed to come this far. And we all know what 7 implies, only good things are yet to happen or are in the process of happening.
That above post is my final project. It’s been close to 2 years since I presented that and after 2 failed jobs, I decided to rather employ myself. Obliviously this has been met with angst and frustration, which is acceptable from my old folk. They’ve worked all their lives and see no reason as to why I should employ myself yet I can be employed all in the name of having a stable job.
And I intend to prove them wrong. I set out this year like a man ready to jump on the first spaceship to the moon and even with frustration daily, I am barely hanging in there. My first job taught me that I should never underestimate my worth and when I got my second job, I realised that there’s more to work, and that’s ambition. I decided to go for it. I knew what it was that I wanted but hadn’t defined it. I run myself broke pushing a restaurant in Mukono (oh the mathematics of running a restaurant) and now, I am here. Back to my roots. Back to my architecture.
At the beginning of the year, I told myself that this was my year. I felt it in the bone. I am just hoping I don’t prove myself wrong. At least one thing’s for sure, I am done writing bad/incoherent posts. I want to one day just print out all these posts and hope that they are able to define what I believe and stand for, but also share with you my experiences, hopefully making your day in the process.
So, here’s a toast to 7 years of blogging, and to more years, but most especially, to my year of awesomeness.
PS; I am not going to promise you much, but I will endeavour to post as much. My only challenge is I sometimes digress to what I love, architecture, and I am afraid that I might bore the living lights out of you. But please, bare with me.
To 7 years of blogging.
Hey, I am not complaining here. Take a chill pill. Kick back, relax a little, and let me fucking explain. Excuse my french, but I need to demystify.
About two months or so ago, as I was hanging around the bar, I started a conversation with my ex or not ex girlfriend. We never really got to the dating part so I am not sure I can call her that. It pretty much ended before it even started. Whilst I am talking to her, she implies that she’s dating an older man, and I then proceed to ‘analyse’ the situation for her and why she’s not exactly happy.
Older men never really sympathise with young ladies/women mostly because they see no reason as to why they should do it. They can find another and so these ladies are put in a rather complicated situation where they almost have no say in the relationship because he’s bossy and has not time to waste and thus…blah blah blah. This is not supposed to be what I am talking about.
Anyway, amidst the conversation, we go to the whole why we never really dated and she said that I was young. And puzzled, I wondered how young she thought I was. She said 24! Hahahahahahahahahahahaha. I most definitely burst out laughing. 24? That’s ions of years ago. I was 24 not so long ago but a long time ago. And amused, she wonders how old I am, and I do tell her my age. Perplexed, she also bursts out laughing with the subliminal notion that she would have paid more attention. She muses at how she thought I was the same age as my young brother. We have a good laugh and go our separate ways.
Not so long ago, in a whatsapp conversation I was having, a friend asks how old I am. I decline with the notion that she should guess, and she says 24. Hey, I know its 2014 but hahahahahaha, I also burst out laughing in text. Really? 24, again? I muse and tell her I am definitely much older than that.
Again, not so long ago, at friends, birthday, I WAS CALLED 24!
Hey, I AM NOT 24. I once was, don’t wish I am now, as I have grown and rather added some knowledge and prosperity but unlike most ladies, I don’t like to be called young.
Was 24 significant? I am not sure! I hope it may be.
But hey, I was 24 almost 3 years ago.
Stop it now. I said stop it. Don’t. Don’t do it!
When Ugandans decided to blog, there was simply two feelings, alright, and fuck me!
The alright was mostly on the fact that people had decided to start writing. Who wouldn’t want to see progression in their society in terms of writing and putting to paper, a moment in time, something we would later refer to as either being revolutionary or plain dumb stupid. But I was glad.
The fuck me was the sceptic in me. I mean, Ugandan bloggers writing. Someone who can barely compose 140 characters is/was being tasked to make at least 200 words of consecutive and coherent sentences! How? I mean, I’ve already answered the why bit. So, why the fuck me?
1. We love to give reasons why we are writing. Don’t we? Read any blog, and for some unbeknownst of reasons, we always have blogcks and are giving reasons why we are finally back! Oh, I was here. I was busy! I was travelling. Life sucks. I mean, someone spends three whole paragraphs trying to explain why they are not writing. Just do us a favour, shut down the computer.
2. Shitty titles. I think the key to any blog post is in the title. Sometimes people get it write, pun intended. Other times, well, don’t bother reading.
3. Personal. Yes, blogs are personal but they should at least have a semblance of objectiveness or persona in them. Not everything should be about how or what you spent your day doing.
4. Editing. For fucks sake, edit the fucking blog.
5. As I was taught by my predecessors, the magic is in the first 500 words, and beyond that, you are fucking kidding me.
6. Images! Not every blog post needs to have images. Most times they are not even coherent. Shit I just used coherent twice. But yes, most times the images are baseless, pointless and space filling. You don’t need images, you need imagery, if you get what I mean.
7. The thematic. Oh the fucking thematic. Like your writing, your blog can’t afford to be ugly. Pick a nice theme or at least, let it be good enough we can skip the badly written posts.
8. Mystery. There was a time when we didn’t know who was blogging or writing, but we met them in their posts, in their images, on their fucking blog. And it was fucking amazing.
9. Proof reading. Please do that, again for fucks sake.
10. Fuck you. But thank you for reading none the less.
11. Have I forgotten something? Uhm!
I recently came across the Student’s Companion, a book I had last seen ages ago. It did draw back memories but alas, I now own a copy. Did you know, that a guy who writes/compiles dictionaries is called a Lexicographer?
I have nothing intelligent to write so, if you were looking for something awe inspiring then you might want to stop here and close the tab. But I guess you wont! Why? It’s in the English. It’s in the way these sentences are construed. It’s in the way the satire is being given to you. Simple, eloquent, like Arab satin. Moving along. . .
I’ve got the Monday blues. I don’t really know what this statement means but I know I have to write something with 500 words in it before I click send. Usually, it’s emotion that drives the content on this blog but today, I fail, you, me, and everyone who clicked on this link.
So, I am just going to write, better still, scribble what’s on my mind!
200 million shillings for a burial is something! Basically, like 50 cent would say, Get Rich or Die Trying. Someone just did that.
Twitter is boring. . .you know. There’s nothing exciting on there. I am just too tired to try and care.
You know what! I have hit 200 words, that’s it, I am out of here.
Well, Happy New Year.
You need to at least be happy for its a new year irrespective of how or what the old year ended like.
Its time to make those acrimonious Resolutions. So, for 2013, here are a few, maybe just 13.
1. How’s about I blog more often. And blog more sense in this case.
2. Lose weight. If you get as much spam in your email as I do about losing weight, then its time you picked up on the hint.
3. Social Media is taking over the world by storm. I too need my storm. If I were a programmer with a dingy garage and lots of cables, I’d be on my way to starting a social media site.
4. Get officially employed. I’ve been what they call self employed, living on meagre allowances. Maybe its time I joined the stereotypical corporate world.
5. Read the fourth installation of the Eragon books. I got the book around last year and I have barely made it to the first page. And this is why, it took long to come out. But I need to either way.
6. Think about the future more.
7. Seven is my lucky number of sorts. 3 too. But yes, GO TO CHURCH MORE OFTEN.
8. Have the best project this final semester. I know, Architecture has mistreated me like the cruel mistress it is but yes.
9. Try to become famous. Who wouldn’t in this century. 15 minutes of fame done turned into hours. Its time I capitalised on this too.
10. Be more appreciative. I am a pain. Its time I became more appreciative.
11. Ensure I keep or try and meet said above resolutions.
12. Love. Love. Love. Love like I’ve never loved before.
Happy NEW Year.