This is us.

Pc: @jamaica photos

I am actually writing this piece from the comfort of my bed.You can’t really blame me, its July, the coldest month of the year. This is the first time in a long time that July has found me home, I am gonna take this moment as a sign and run with it, write about home, the land of hills and valleys, the land of matoke. My motherland.

I grew up in a place where the soil has always been red and sky has always been gay. A place where July also indicates ‘mapera’ and avocado season apart from low degrees and cold mornings. Heck, everything about me screams my tribe, the way I talk the way I walk even the way I handle things. My school friends need to stop telling me that I am kikuyu till I open my mouth ( I hope you see this)

I have been called angry, rude, loud but defensive is the one I hear often. I find all these new, because one thing about our language is, it doesn’t have courteous words and at home these adjectives would not raise eyebrows. You see, the same word we use to say ‘please’ is the same exact word we will use to express shock ,anger…it’s just the intonation that changes. This word ‘gaki’ has put me in trouble as much as it has gotten me out of trouble. The same agitation we use to express love is the same one we use to express anger. So forgive me if I sound angry while reciting the sonnet 57.

I have heard and read about how kisii women are temperamental and at the same time submissive wives. I don’t know about you but submissive is what I am not, temperamental? Maybe. I have had friends who praise kisii men for their prowess in bed but call them out for their stingy nature. Sounds like a dillema but honey, you have to choose, get the load or get the rod.

The great thing about our men though they always marry home, the few who don’t, you could blame it on diversity. Ask them why and the reason is always the same, its easier to marry home no need to learn a new language or even get accustomed to a new culture and again, the submissive thing about their women carries the day.

Pc: Bosiboriweekly

Kisii has also been called the land of milk and honey ,this is three quater way true.We always have food ,all year round explains my love for it. Rain is in plenty and the air is always fresh, but the thing that excites me the most everytime I board a transline shuttle pale afya centre to come home is the people, the ‘oboamate’ which loosely translates to communism. The feeling that I am among my people, and that I am coming home. The moment I start seeing green matoke leaves, sugarcane being sold at throw away prices on bus windows, avocados rotting on the roadside my heart is at rest. Home at last.

Do we have a downside? you ask. Ofcourse we do. I can’t even begin to recount the number of times I have been asked if I have seen a witch, or to explain the concept of witchcraft some even go to the extent of asking if I am a witch. I laugh it off, mostly because I am clueless when it comes to this and also because I am a cerelac baby ,cut me some slack (cerelac loosely translating to sweetpotatoes and porridge). No I haven’t seen a witch with my naked eyes, yes I have seen people point fingers to certain see..clueless!

Last but not least, we are an easy bunch, keep our stomachs full and please respect the sabbath and we are good to go.We also like everything soya especially our tea and our meat.


Before I forget, do yourself a favour and eat a banana or an avocado today.(rooting for avocado). Lemme go pee now.


Things I will tell my daughter

Pc: google photos

4,000 school girls pregnant in a span of two months. How did we get here? Where did the rain start beating us? I know you have heard all about it, seen the news, the memes and the downright truth. One thing about the truth it eventually comes out. It also gradually shows its colours. From the way I see it, the truth is, parents stopped parenting.

I am not quite elated on the subject involving children. And in this generation no one wants to bring forth a kid to suffer,so we stick to securing the bag first. Getting one’s finances in order before you reproduce a liability. Sounds like a good plan. But really its fear, fear of turning out to be a bad parent. Eventually I would want to become a parent heck I would not want to die alone. These few weeks of lockdown have given me a preview of what retirement would be like and I very much would want to have kids around.This is what I would tell my daughter.

I would tell her that she is a goddess, the source of life so femininity should be her core business. That no one has the right to touch her whether married or dating it doesn’t matter, they all need her consent. If anyone tries to touch her inappropriately, she should hit them, she has my permission. (No I am not promoting violence, it’s called self defence)

I would tell her that she can make mistakes, that pregnancy is not the end of life but sex is sacred. And safe sex is not as bad as it sounds. That there is no shame in waiting for love, no matter what age you are. That good men exist and she will find them. To not trade her body for toxic love.

I will tell her that education is not key but knowledge is power. I will encourage to read books, any genre, to see the whole world in a piece of paper. I will also remind her that its not a man’s world nor is it a female’s world…it is our world…ours…all of us.

I will enlighten her on periods, that as a female she gets to subscribe to the cycle for life. That there is no shame in it nor should anyone make her feel less of a person because she sees red once a month. That the colour red is the associated with fire and blood- energy and primal life forces, that red is the colour of love. That she should also pick red lipstick, no matter what the lady at the counter says about her ‘pigmentation’.

Pc: google photos

I will teach her that her hips were meant to sway, and her boobs were meant to stand, that the friction between her trousers is okay.That her hair is wild like that.That being obese while young is not a sign of ‘maturity’ and no she is not ready to get married. That no matter where she comes from her dreams are valid and that Lupita was never a Princess.

That she can say no, even when everyone is chanting yes, that she can turn left when everyone is going right,to follow her heart. To unyoke herself from the bondage of microscopism. Assure that the world is hers for the taking. That she will stumble and fall but she will rise again.

I will also teach her to pray, that a higher being exists. Remind her that bad people exist too and that whatever is happening around the country concerning rape, poverty, bad parenting, lack of self love all leading to the these outragious numbers is not right. Inform her of the fact that she has the power to change it.

Enlighten your daughter or your son, they say when you educate a girl you educate the whole village because she is a village in herself. You are woke and you are the change we have been waiting for Make a better parent.


You, me, her, him. We can revolutinalise the narrative and no it will not be televised.


His name was David

Pc: google photos

Happy father’s day!!! That was last weekend and I hope you told that to your dad or someone you consider your dad, even if it is your mum. To those clueless friends who send me this text every year to show my dad, this is for you. To my mother who has also been my father, this is for you.

I would be lying if I say I met the whole of him. I would also be lying if I say his memoir would fit in a single article but its worth a shot. He comes up everytime my friends tell me that I have my mum’s personality and not her looks. He comes up during this time of the year. He comes up when people tell me that I never talk about my dad. What better sign of healing than finally gathering the courage to talk about him?

He was tall, quite an introvert, sickly too. He was also a reader, very loving yet strict at the same time. He worked away from home so we could only see him on weekends. He always came back with presents and would make sure to ask us what we would wish to have the next weekend. I always tell my friends if he still were around I would have turned out totally different.

There is something that a father figure does to your character as a daughter in a house, as a family even. He would insist on switching of the television during dinner. I don’t think I turned out bad (don’t get me wrong) but I am pretty sure it would have been different. My sister would have been his favourite kid. My brother his mischievous kid and then me, the one caught in the middle. He was religious too, I would have prolly been a more staunch christian but that is a personal journey.

Pc: google photos

I am a happy soul, always laughing always looking for the sunlight, but truth is I miss him. I miss his presence. The way he would bang the table when angry. His face every morning when I went to ask for bread money. His laugh, his limp-like walk because the diabetes had weighed him down. I would also want to know how life would have turned out if he were here. Funny thing though on the day he died, I did not break down, I did not cry. I was mostly glad that my then friends were there for me. I started grieving maybe two years later. He died when I was eight, too young to comprehend death.

I am always looking for him, in the boys I date, in the male figures I look up to, in the decisions I make wondering if he would be okay with them. This year I would have bought him socks, yes socks! Because he kept loosing his. I have always wanted to find him, forgetting that he has always been here, watching, waiting , listening and every time people compare my looks to his it is a testament of his existence. I am his blood.

I am over it now(the grieving), such is life and yes you can send me Happy father’s day messages every year. I will show them to my mum. I will tell her she has played both roles impeccably. I will also tell her I still have her personality and her voice , tell her that all is not lost. Nothing has been lost. I would probably name my first son David.

Pc: google photos

Long live the clan of the fatherless daughters and sons.Nothing was lost,nothing is lost, you are his blood.


Hi there.


I recently got back on youtube both as a vlogger and a viewer, bottomline is I have been spending a lot of time on the app. It keeps recommending those 30-minute ‘get to know me’ videos, I have also watched weird ones like “how to close a door” at 3:00 A.M in the night but that’s besides the point. I figured I should do the same but in 5 minutes (cool,right?) It is a number of things I hate and some I like in prose form.

I hate thickly cut cabbages,they make me gag and they taste like water. I refuse to be impressed by food that is not well salted or seasoned. I cuss the sun out everytime I am in public and get sweaty and itchy wishing I was somewhere in the Northpole and having to explain why I would never settle at the coast.

I am a night owl, never been an early riser which explains why I detest loud angry voices in the morning, you just woke up where is all this energy coming from?? ( cc: my mum). I cannot sleep without a pillow. I hate the taste of water. I despise afternoon classes. I freaking hate the feeling of finishing a great series or television show. Believe it or not I prefer movies to books.

I am yet to come to terms with the fact that I cannot have my cake and eat it, I really need to have a talk with the baker. That my tummy cannot be bigger than my ass in peace ,does not sit right with me (pun intended) . I am eked by the fact that I can’t be angry and black and a woman all at once without raising an eyebrow. I find the colour blue calming, welcoming and serene.

I hate cold tea, I am not a coffee person nor am I a pet person. I find solace in food and screaming on top of my voice (not in the morning though). I prefer mopping floors to washing dishes. I wear trousers more often because I can then sit in a non-lady like manner and I can run whenever. I am most insecure about my shoulders and my calves. I prefer upper bunk beds. I like my pictures coloured.

I hate having my hair down or in my face. I prefer long to short nails. I am the Khloe of the family while my sister is the Kim. I cannot drink warm milk, it should either be freezing cold or smoking hot. I hate being vulnerable as opposed to being in control. I loathe watermelons. I find kids demanding and attention seekers (they don’t like me either so its cool). I adore friendships,I hate cooking but man, do I love eating.

I am always at crossroads ,indecisive much. I am a visual being explains why I would choose instagram over twitter. Numbers make my head twitch as opposed to letters (read as ‘I hate math’). I find the sound of flowing water irritating. I love a good challenge.

I find reading obligatory and silence mortifying. I dread hospital beds, aisles and visits. I can’t deal with cry babies(suck it up). I find pleasure in being listened to. My face speaks louder than my mouth. I thrive on compliments.

I am a terrible liar, in fact my friends call me a perrenial, pathological liar (smiles).


The battalion.

Pc: google photos

Happy pride month! Before 2020 hits us with another surprise I might as well make the wait worth your while. I want to teach you the ABCs of LGBTQIA, (PS thats the acronym for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, Intersexual and Asexual). I call them the battalion becauseĀ  I feel like they are always at war,with themselves,their parents,the government and even you. I could go on and on about how Bill clinton gave the battalion a go ahead in 1999, and then George Bush called it off in ’02, only to be revived by Obama in 2012 and now is being trumpled on by Trump. I would want to also enlighten you on how the first pride parade was held in 1970 but, we got bigger fish to catch.

I tend to compare pride month (june) to black history month(february). It is a crying shame that a highly educated,woke and revolutionalised society, needs to be constantly reminded to treat human beings with the respect and dignity that they deserve irrespective of their sexuality or origin. Before you claim ignorance or yell ‘we don’t do that here’ I have scribbled some unwritten rules.

No, this is not a disorder, they do not want your sympathy, they prefer you to be a normal human being around them. They do not want special treatment. They do not have to explain themselves so stop questioning. They carry the highest form of energy/vibe, call it what you want.And no, it is not trendy to be gay or bi.

Yes, there are christians among them, yes they do pray. No,they do not want threesomes with your girlfriend nor do they care if you are okay with lesbians but you detest gays. They are bamboozled by the fact that fornication, gossiping, drinking and even murder is okay, but being gay is where you draw the line? come on! Do not tell a member of the community that they should try have ‘normal’ sex and see how it goes. Do not try to ‘change’ them.

Pc: google photos

They don’t want you to pay for their therapy. They do not need you to pray for them to see the light. They are the light, from the likes of Michael Angelo to Alexander Mcqueen to Gianni Versace even to Wentworth Miller (Alias Michael scofield from Prison break) to Ellen DeGeneres from the ellen show. Big names eyy!… Well, they all are part of the Battalion. They literally are the pillars of the creative and entertainment industry.

I am not a parent but, if you are one I got one thing to say to you.You have one job… to love, that’s it!!! No more no less than your other children. They are not a bad example to the kids,you actually are for drawing unnecessary lines. No, you are not a failure for bearing a ‘different’ kid. You should be on the frontline with them for them…Gabriel Union and Dwayne Wade style.

No, it is not a modern problem. It is not actually a problem. It has been there since time immemorial (Your history teacher won’t tell you this in school)… heck! it is captured in the Bible. Please keep your rapture theories to yourself because let’s face it, no one really knows what’s gonna go down. And no one appointed you judge.

They could be your friends ,your relative your schoolmate and anytime you feel like overstepping check yourself! What gives you the audacity or the entitlement to think that you are a better sinner than they are? I am not imploring you to like them either, if you cannot stand them, be about your business . LET THEM BE!!!

Pc: google photos

This article is dedicated to the battalion, you are heard, you are seen, your existence matters and keep doing you boo.


Paper bag test

PC:google photos

Colourism , the act of prejudice and discrimination against individuals of darker skin tones. Not to be confused with its cousin racism. There is a clear line between the two , the former is the cause of the latter. And , yes I have experienced it first hand.

I am of fair complexion which makes me excel in the paperbag test(look it up). More than once I have gotten favours , winks , pats , smiles , go aheads from total strangers. I have been called prettier , sexier compared to my darker skinned companions. I have walked into rooms and caught people’s attention without saying a word. I have been told that my complexion gives me an upperhand in my line of study. I have been told , it is okay to have a flat ass as long as you have the face and the skin tone to compensate with. Incase you are wondering , yes I loved every bit of it. It feels good,but is it right??

I have also had my fair share of  ‘size me up’ looks , and if eyes could speak they could utter my level of stupidity just by studying my skin . I have been labelled a ‘slayqueen’ and this one time in class , I had to go to the lengths of explaining the origin of the portmantaeu and that it has nothing to do with my skin.

I have seen a ‘light skinned’ girl give her opinion and somehow it finds its way back to her skin colour . I have seen people’s hardwork and achievements narrowed down to their skin colour . I have Probably heard the phrase ‘rangi ya thao’ a thousand times over.

Laureen, PC:@danshotphotography

My best friend tells me that men hit on her with the aim of looking trendy and more civilised . ‘It is annoying’ she says. Laureen has been asked, more times than she could recall if she ever wanted to be lighter. She has been told ‘You are pretty for a darkskin’ by darkskinned men birthed by darkskinned women. This one time a woman called her ‘ugly’ to stop her from interacting with her darksinned son. Disgusting!!!

Novet , a close friend and a boss lady sees it every single time she is job hunting. The adverts are customized with lighter skin as a requirement in bold. She has been denied jobs because she is dark , because fair skinned girls make more sales, yet here she is winning. It is clearly just a notion we keep feeding our girls.

Before you think me a biased being , I am including men in the equation. The double standard here is of infinite proportions , it actually is the opposite when it comes to men. I have been frowned upon for dating lighter men. I have seen memes , had talks about how darker skin men are more manly. I am friends with females who fall under this category but will never date a lightskin man. I am sick and tired of lightskin men being considered weak with complete regards to their skin.

So , before you hold that banner saying ‘we are all equal’ or ‘All lives matter’, before you title a song melanin yet all we see is rangi ya thao , make sure you are not enabling white supremacy. Deal with it on the ground before posting about it on twitter. The moment you consider me better than my darker skinned associate , that is where you go wrong. You are chanting to their songs , you are enabling them. You are saying the lighter the shade , the more important the person. By the time we get to the white shade we have already made them gods.

AFFIRMATION: I might be ‘lightskinned’ , I might get sun burns and all , but honey make no mistake. I am not an ounce better or worse than my darker skinned companion. I am black , always have been , always will be.



The first thing you are taught in journalism school is not to take anything at face value, question each and every statement and examine it fully.The unit ‘Logic and critical thinking’ taught by one Mr. Mwangi Ifedha was among one of my favourites up till I met Brayo, and it graduated to my only favourite.

Brayo,which is short for Brian,was one of the guys who made me forget everything I loved to learn.One look at Brayo you would think he snorts coke up his nostrills every evening and takes his capsules with whisky.Brayo,who’s instagram photos got him a chance to live the life he had always wanted behind the screen.Brayo the keyboard warrior.

“Unasotaje na wewe ni dem?” asked Brayo one evening as we walked home from school.As if there is a payroll for being female,I glared at him (keep in mind that I have huge eyes) and I think he got it since he never asked again.Brayo says we are not here for a long time but a good time so yes he mixes drugs with medicine.Brayo who’s mantra is drip is forever but is always getting kicked out of his single room.Brayo who smokes weed but will tell you cigars are bad for your respiratory.Brayo who lives in the moment.

Brayo who would rather stay hungry but talk to his ‘shawty’ all night.Brayo who never calls home since ‘mwanaume ni kujitegemea’ is also his favourite saying.And then you wonder how Brayo survives in this city under the sun.Brayo will sing in church and ‘odi’ pale 1824 ,he will later ‘zima’ and you will still hear the tales of how the party went down and how many mizingas they drunk Monday morning .Well, I think I know Brayo but then I don’t, I hang out with Brayo daily yet I can’t even tell you what his middle name is.Brayo is a familiar stranger.

Brayo who misses school and on calling him twice to know his whereabouts will tell you to your face jiheshimu b*tch!! The most peculiar thing is we will both laugh about it and move regardless.Clearly Brayo is bad company ,but his absence doesn’t go unnoticed.Truth is we all need a Brayo.

We need to feel better when we are at our worst.We need a comparison tool to keep us from succumbing.We need an old good laugh at Brayo’s arrest stories and how he threatened to call his inexistent and ostensibly important dad.We need to lend a helping hand when Brayo gets kicked out.We also need to drip once in a while.Brayo will make that happen for you.When your Logic tells you to reject a Brayo at first sight ,do question it,get to the bottom of the matter,get your facts right.

Go get yourself a Brayo…better still, be a Brayo once in a while .Let your guard down and live a little.


The Third voice

By Bosibori weekly

Pc:google photos

La tercera voz should have been the title of this article, it is spanish for ‘the third voice’ ( yes I resorted to learning spanish).Now that my president in his wisdom extended the curfew by 21 days I might as well be bilingual.I also thought of doing the article in spanish,but chose to do it in the queen’s language.Not that I stood a chance.

The third voice is exactly that ‘The third voice'(read with a different and universal tone).I decided to put this down because sometimes I feel like a fraud.Do I belong in the writing world?,Do I have a shot?,Hell do I deserve to have a shot?.I bombard myself with this queries all the time thanks to the many writing related interviews I have watched.

In the course of this interviews one common question arises, “why did you start writing?” and the answer is almost the same 99% of the time. “I wanted to express myself”, “I wanted to have a voice”, “I wanted to be heard”or something along the lines of “it’s an escape for me”.Well…that would not be my response ,actually it’s far from it.Now you see why my inquisitive self is worried.

My answer would go like this,” I write because I want to,because I can.I write because I’m a journalist and that is what we do,write!” (Crude,entitled and dismissive).I believe I don’t have to have a reason.I don’t write because I want to be heard ( If you’ve met me you know I don’t need to be heard ,I am heard regardless). I don’t write to escape, movies and music do that for me and again what am I escaping from?.Problems? definitely not,they are part of life and are here to stay.Others just happen to have better problems than others ,but still problems.I might as well take a seat and watch a great movie like Bohemian rhapsody ( it is as good as the song too).

The voice that I hear when I ask myself this questions is the subconcious ,I prefer to call it the second voice.We all are in posession of it,we use it to read (like right now) and think and ask ourselves questions.The third voice (which is also a phrase I inculcated myself) is what I hear everyday,on television,on radio,my friends,my lecturer,my mum the list is endless.I fall into a dillema everytime I am faced with the task of discerning which one to give a listening ear to.Don’t be like me.

I have gradually come to learn that taking a stand is as easy as ABC since every voice serves a different purpose.All one needs to know when to take heed,timing is key.Sometimes the subconcious wins,other times the third voice wins.The subconcious voice fully depends on your past experiences and also what your third has been feeding it.Just like the whole garbage in garbage out (GIGO) narrative.At this point,with all the encouraging pats I am getting I take it that my second voice is wrong.I refuse to self sabotage.

I do deserve a shot at this and any other thing in life (anyone does).If I eventually run out of things to write ,then and only then might I consider listening to my second voice and I will surely put up a fight (I only do verbal fights by the way). I would also look back and say I have come a long way to stop now ,and that I should keep going.

I suggest you do too,(whatever it is that you believe in).Put up a fight.Do not throw in the towel just yet and refuse to be a self sabotager.


The last pancakes.

The first will be last and the last,first.

By Bosibori weekly

I am a diarrhoea survivor.I say this because it’s barely 7:00 A.M and 5 times I have counted the blue tiles in the washroom.My tummy cannot take it anymore.My gut tells me it is over, no more visits to the washroom.In my last article,the word ‘raw’ resurfaced so much in the reviews and my association of diarrhoea to pancakes is an attempt to being raw.

Well ,we all know the whole first pancakes always turn out bad notion,but I am here to oppose it.I prefer to call my friends pancakes,they are tender,they make me happy and I see past all the blemishes, you should too.The first friends we ever encounter are the best ,rather should be the best.Valary is one of those friends.

We met when we were 5,we share a birth year, we got late to school together,our mothers were friends(They don’t keep in touch as much anymore) ,we both cherished the English language and to top it all off we look alike. Familiarity breeds contempt. Sooner than later tables turned.Our coherency became incoherent.What used to bring us together now set us apart.Talk about the nitty gritties.

Who has the sharper pencil,who’s uniform is better ironed, who impressed the teacher most and as we hit puberty it graduated to boys.I wasn’t surprised ,we had the same taste. Fair skinned, tall and with a hint of talent.

We eventually attended different schools and only connected when home.And then one day we didn’t.It felt harder to keep in touch,I got too self indulged,I called it ‘change’.I was riding on my high horse, turning from a catterpillar to a butterfly and it was all worth it,or so I thought.

Our friendship went into an ego-induced coma.

We were 17,and just acquaintances.We did miss each other (atleast I did) but too egotistical to take a backseat and do the asslicking . After all, I could always make new ones ( speaking for sanguines) so why not?.I did try, and after a while,I ended up making a new friend,her.

What we all (sanguines,melancholics,cholerics and phlegmatics) fail to notice, is the first pancake on the pan, ends up as the last to be eaten, assuming we all wait till the last is done before we eat. No matter how many connections we make ,how many people we meet.We always come back .Back to the nostalgic tenderness and trust that is not actually broken but bent. Back to the first pancake.

Then it hits me that the first pancake isn’t bad after all, it hits me that the diarrhoea I had was just a normalcy ,I mean friendships go through hardships all the time,and that it eventually passes.It hits me that I should cherish the first pancake and try to make it last. I tell you this for sure because 4 years later Valary and I are still going strong.

That’s how it should be, the first pancake (s) should be the last.We should strive to make them last,control our urge to ‘eat them’, hold on to them to the end.

Check on your first,current and last pancakes.And avoid the washroom at all costs.


Are you gray??


By Bosiboriweekly

You probably read that wrong,you can go back and read it again it is gray not gay.I have been debating whether to use ‘grey’ or ‘gray’ and i finally settled on the latter just because i love American movies and i respect Britain enough to even bring this to your attention.Back to the matter,i am not talking about the colour(which is beautiful btw) but rather the state of things.The state of your mind,your body,your surroundings, i mean i could go on and on.The grayness of a situation is what keeps me going,its more like sitting on the fence ,either way you will still be safe.The fact that come what may it will not affect you in any way atleast not heavily is the adrenaline in it.Let’s take a literal example, covid 19,most of us are really not being clear on what it is we want.Some are even wishing it to stay a little bit longer because they are getting used to not going to work,netflix all day and getting to stay with your spouse,partner,family for a bit longer.Others really want things to go back to normal ,they cannot stand the boredom ,the irritation,the same boring news updates and the financial toll it is having on all of us.But the gray chaps,they are looking for ways to make profits,they are investing in their mental,emotional and physical beings amidst all this,whether it ends or continues this diabolical virus will not affect them.They are developing ‘thick skin’.The lukewarm nature of something can really save you a whole lot of things.I mean in a relationship if you don’t put all your eggs (emotions) in one basket (this relationship) chances are you could still eat dinner despite breaking all your eggs.In an election you could fail to vote (please do vote,its legally required) and if either wins or looses you will be fine,if they fail to be good leaders atleast it wouldn’t be on you. I think you get the point.Grayness shouldn’t be frowned upon ,as it is,most people do.The downside of it though is that you will forever be stagnant,you will not move be it forward or backward since it comes with a consequence.You will never know what happens on the other side.You will never experience the closeness to death or bliss.Really its more like a constant feeling that holds you back.Although they say cowards live longer they fail to remind you that the brave die happy and accomplished. We all agree that media outlets,politicians,succesful people will urge you to despise grayness.They will tell you and always remind you to choose either black or white to proove your loyalty or how badly you want things.To make your decision and stick to it.What they scarcely articulate is the effort,the pain that comes with it,the low chances of survival incase things go south or rather the extraordinary chances of survival if things work out.I am a libra quite famous for my indecisive nature (and yes i just used my horoscope to justify myself) so gray is what i am day in day out. Albeit everyday i try not to,i try to make a decision, i try not to get carried by the wind and make a stand i try to be less of me.What do you do? Are you gray?.

Do you want to be gray? which is really the easy way to go.The cowardly path to choose and the silver lining in it,is that you live for longer. And since we are here for a good time not a long time then i suggest you take a stand.Choose white or black or blue or even fuschia and thank me later.