Artful Deception.

That morning, I stood rooted to the tiled floor with my hands on the poorly done window grills. I had been examining the structure that we called home. The Sun was lazy, casting weak monotonous rays on the ground. It had sufficiently rained the previous night and the air was still fresh. 

Since my childhood, I had enjoyed the petrichor, it had a way of pumping life into my dead hopes, and couldn't wait for a few droplets of rain to hit the ground. It was a moment I always craved for. Half past seven in the morning, if not for the birds chirping so melodiously I wouldn't have travelled back to reality. "Normal is boring." I said to myself reaching for my phone that was religiously playing my favorite Bob Marley playlist. Nobody can stop reggae.

The tweets that day were not as snappy as I would have wanted. Something was eating me up but still I couldn't figure it out, at least not at a time when Bob was reassuring that things would be alright. Music to me had always been therapeutical, in numerous occasions, I have had the rare opportunity of speaking with the artists, in my head.

I wanted to "make it" really bad without faking. I had longed for the days my feet won't be covered with dust. Longed for sidewalks as clean as a new pin and notices screaming "keep of the grass". I was a young boy with a vision. 

But how was I going to make this vision a reality? Because, it kept coming back and I was cock sure that I was destined for success, the only problem was the path that I walked on. Do people really choose the roads they take? I . Why should destiny be so hard on others? I mean, if we were all God's children why should He take time to answer some of our prayers?

Coming from a Christian background, and mum being steadfast in her faith, I know that is wrong to question the Supreme Deity, but if He is as fair and just as the good book proclaim, why should the distribution of blessings be so unfair that  even the devil would question it?

These questions left more questions than actual answers. At one point I felt like I was questioning God. But what can a man do if he can't find answers for himself? I wanted answers. I needed to realise my dreams. How? By not waking up? That only meant that I would continue dreaming. By waking up and chasing after them? What if dreams are as elusive as the wind and that the more you chase after them the fast they disappear in thin air?

By writing job applications and forwarding to many? I had done that for months now and with the global health pandemic, things have taken a nose dive. "Wacha Corona iishe" is not a phrase new to my ears. Even the supermarket attendant who I generously smiled at , because I thought I could 'gerrit'  now chanting this to me. How tough can it get?

Or maybe I should try writing. I had done it as a freelancer and the results were promising. I just needed to be consistent. What about music? My course mates, some who had ditched their degree program were already getting to the main stages. I remember one told me about being a ghost writer, he assured me that 21 lines would get me good money to start with. Hey! Any musician with an angelic voice in need of a ghost writer? Anybody?