U-HAUL HER!!!

A budding romance is nothing short of exciting. You meet her at Pink Viewing: Open Mic 2 or one of those new LGBTIQ meccas in Nairobi, the likes of Out-In-Kenya Film Festival. Dude the queer scene has evolved. I saw Facebook posts of the Mardi Gras festival complete with a parade and stands and a bunch of queer and queer friendly people.

You exchange a few flirtatious glances…and proceed to eye bang each other all over the room as whatsherface spirals into yet another one of her overbearing neurotic rants. By the end of the night, you have her digits or she has yours. Barely a week into it and you are lagging around bags, a delectable shade of purple under your eyes; from those late night to early morning incessant chats that sync your periods before you even meet!! Who cares? You are happy! Waves of warmth, starting from a tickle in your lady bits building into a visceral feeling of euphoria and delight, are coursing through your body!

Finally the weekend is here! Famed first sleep over…Yaaaazzzzz!!!! You cook for her, she slow dances for you in her purple lacy panty and your oversized smoking hoodie. Purple is your favourite colour, so you fuck 6 ways from Sunday! Or until you are unable to pry away from each other! As you sit there, lost in each other’s gaze, over half eaten pilau Njeri and takeout chicken. Too fattened on endorphins for any realistic or logical reasoning; you both make the decision to join in holy tenancy!

If you have reached this point, don’t feel bad. The odds were against you from the word go. Biology was rooting against you! Both of you were producing an insane amount of oxytocin! A hormone produced when women are breastfeeding, having sex or are in love; a biological encouragement to attach and nest. That coupled with the seemingly bottomless pit that comes with growing up in a society that not only devalues women, it is also homophobic. The urge to merge overpowers even the sanest of women.

Barely a month into it and you have morphed into this “we-beast” with a joint emotional bank account. Your single friends don’t want to be around your nauseating clingy brand of love so they stop inviting you to PAWA 254 events. You don’t even notice because you are having the best sex of your life!  She feels nurtured and you feel safe. All this is stemming from the false sense of security that living together certainly means you are in a stable relationship. This is the haters (real or imagined) bashing and bae-status updates stage.

Give it a couple of more weeks and the love goggles begin to crack. You are emotionally burnt out. It is not cute that she is messy. It is not all Kumbayah that your random exes cum best friends are always popping over without warning and sleeping over whether she is around or not.  No more unicorns and rainbow farts, in its place an overwhelming urge to purge! It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what comes next. No, I am not going to tell you to take it slow, pace yourselves or you only live once so carpe diem!! I know people will still do whatever they think their souls need. It’s only my opinion and I am not Beyoncé, ruler of Venus and all women. There is really no point of this post. 

Bye Felicia!