Ping Pong

I am either, at the very last, becoming all soapy and emotional about stuff that never used to concern me not so long ago, or the girl that my grandmother raised, along time ago, is finally coming to the surface, slow paced, but she still is.

Suddenly, the sun happens to have come out and my garden flowers are in bloom. Everything has some bright colour to it; the boys are cuter and all the girls have bigger hips than I (yes. it’s a very good thing). My boring life seems so filled up with activity and my normally slow mind can do with a break, every once in while now. Without exaggerating this feeling that’s started to overwhelm me, I feel more real, more in touch with my surroundings and myself. I have started to notice the little things in life, to appreciate the people behind a great movie or stage performance, I am now aware of how much I have taken for granted the people who love me. I have started to realise that the idea of growing up, of having fun is not racing through your young life, sampling on this, shoplifting that and spending the following day, going on to whoever cares about how ‘badass’ you were.

Probably, this is what growing up is like. Maybe when people start on their journey into maturity their focus, subconsciously, switches to the things that matter most, the aspects of life that are actually essential to their lives. I have, on a number of occasions now, caught myself with a lump in my throat or teary eyed at a well documented horrific story broadcast on Al Jazzera or actually touched by that poor old woman whose only idea of ‘a better place’ is 6ft. lower into the red earth. It should be little wonder that last Friday I caught myself starting to put my hands together in applause for that story in Monitor that Moses Serugo had written about saxophonist Isaiah Katumwa. And yesterday, I had a lump in my throat while reading a piece of Glenna Gordon’s titled ‘Why I write.’ With these two pieces I certainly realized why I want to write, why I have always wanted to write. It is really magical how so connected to a person – a stranger- you feel, when you read their stories. It is in their choice of words, the voice that runs through, the emphasis on some statements and down play on others; some times you can swear you know these people. And most times you do know them a point more than the people who have lived with them, the people who should know them.

It almost feels wonderful that am getting over my obsession with Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, the entire Hollywood brat pack and can instead focus on how much I miss Whitney Houston. The beautiful, talented, ready-to-fill-up-my soul Whitney Houston.

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5 Comments Add yours

  1. Iwaya says:

    The Phantom says great things about you and I hold him in high regard. Waiting to see if his praise is justified.

  2. Fujitsu says:

    You keep writing because we are reading. Howz poor Jamsie doing? You did say to be continued… I hate watching guys fight. I absolutely abhor it. If I see guys fighting in Kampala, I want to move to Australia, to be anywhere but there.

  3. Hey Phebes,

    Thanks for the kind words about my essay… I feel kinda ashamed of it since I sold it when I was broke to a guy who had a college admission site… anyway… good for you for writing from the heart more. I like this piece, and by the way, your blog looks GREAT. Did you design it yourself???

    SL/GG

  4. mphoebe says:

    Okay guys, this is so good you have no idea.
    It should be funny coz am still kinda keeping my blog
    to myself consindering that i havent learned to work it
    yet (which might take a very long time, God forbid), but when i opened
    it today and saw all these comments (3 comments is alot of feedback
    I have ever gotten for my work, or the attempt of it, I felt like
    okay, so it is not a secret after all. And that feels good.

    Iwaya, I have been a fan. And about what The Phantom says, I hope so too.

    Fujitsu (I call you Fuji, i hope thats okay. thank you for reading. and the “Big Wars Small Fights” continuation is coming.

    Scarllet Lion, you know I love you and you have nothing to be ashamed of. There isnt many writers that can dig that deep; and am sure we all wish
    we could.

  5. innocent says:

    Phoebie,
    you are a good writer and i think you touch so many pple,
    keep it up.I was surprised to see the twins small foto.

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