A TRIP HOME, A CHANCE TO BREATHE

Most writers experience two major struggles. There is the vast majority who never attempt to write anything. 

The ones who have a hunger for expression but lack the words. There’s the other half who experience writer’s block. An amnesia of ideas where your brain does not know how to proceed with writing. I belong in a unique category of writers who write drafts but never post them because they don’t believe it’s good enough to share.

I wrote the following piece back in March, while in Heathrow, waiting for my connecting flight to Nairobi. I didn’t think much about it being a worthy post. In retrospect, I might have been too caught up in nostalgia and excitement which overshadowed my urge to share. However, due to pressure from the public *cough* two of my best friends *cough* I have decided to share it with the world. Enjoy this old one.

“I am flying home to see my family and eat some nice home cooked (read mom cooked) Kenyan meal. With a 10-hour layover I figured meeting up with my friend Judyanne was the best decision I could make having not seen her in a while. We spent the afternoon together wandering across London, giggling over our shared and contrasting realities of living in big cities with her presently in London and I in New York. Catching up with her felt like a sequel. One so good that I ended up missing my flight.

We woke up early and explored London some more. I enjoyed every minute of it. London had an air of familiarity. The “elevators” were “lifts”, the “lines” were “queues” and I could pronounce the “T” in “water” without having to repeat myself or have everyone looking confused. That’s how it felt like to be a Kenyan in London: as if white privilege finally applied to me. *sighs in colonizer’s language*. A lot had changed about us, naturally so. Nonetheless, once we started talking, for me, our connection felt like everything was as it had previously been. She reminded me that proximity doesn’t always equal friendship, or a lack thereof.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I caught the next flight leaving for Nairobi which was 24 hours after the one I had missed. Now at the airport, I was thinking about my mother. I hadn’t seen her for close to two years. I thought about all the things I wanted to tell her, how much I yearned to tell her. That her daughter is now a just few weeks shy of being 22. That I am mildly addicted to sushi and love a good mimosa. That I like boys and find girls insanely attractive. That I wear my emotions on my face and my heart on my sleeve. That I still love being the last one on the dance floor. That I am finding my own lane, beautifully, and at my own pace. That I have failed so many times and let her down. And let me down. That I have loved and lost. That I have learned to enjoy the journey; the high highs and the low lows.

I knew she would take a single look into my eyes and know half of these things because I am her daughter and seeing me become has been in her dreams for as long as I can remember.”

Needless to say, spring break was a blast. It has been a month into school, and I’m too happy I got to revisit this piece.