Why is it that when you have a room of five or more experts, one question can take half an hour to understand?
Tag: questions
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The only reason I remembered this play was because it had a mad person in it, and everything I had ever read about mad people stuck in my mind, while everything else flew out.
Whenever I pick a book to read, I know that two things are bound to happen: I am bound to connect with it or drift between a deep connection and misunderstanding of the events in the story.
It’s not perfection or being a snob; but whenever I read a book, I find myself going through emotions that I choose to embrace or discard.
I almost always discard the emotions when am bored. I daresay there’s only one book that bored me stiff, and I have never dared to turn its pages since 2011. It is in my storage container gathering dust as I write this.
I did not know what to expect when I picked “The Bell Jar” off the library shelves this past Saturday. It was a dull looking book, showing feminine feet and that was it…plus I did not understand why the cover designer could not have just had a picture of a bell jar- it would have been easier to deal with.
So, when I started reading the book I found myself going downhill with Esther. The story is told from her point of view but it is not so much so the fact that she is mentally ill, but her descent is what intrigued me. Growing up, I used to love spending time with my aunt, Lillian, and would always take her yarn and hide just so she could pout and cry. I always thought it was funny that for an adult she laughed all the time, and played with yarn.
My parents often scolded me and told me to respect her.
One time, she came home in a blue checkered uniform and I asked where she was going to. I was told she was going to school. I asked if I could go to her school, and I was told that she was going to a special school.
I never asked another question because my parents had the power to silence me with one look.
My aunt Lillian now resides at home, and she suffers seizures from time to time, but there’s nothing much that my grandparents can do except to always watch out for these seizures. She still laughs and knits. She cannot cook now because they fear she might get burned. She cannot sleep alone in her room because she might have an seizure and fall off her bed, and when she goes to use the bathroom, someone has to be close by in case she needs help.
And there’s a part where Esther’s mom tells her, “I know my baby wasn’t like that?”, and Esther asks “like what?”
Her mom then says,
“Like those awful people. Those awful dead people at the hospital. I knew you’d decide to be alright again.”
What her mom didn’t know was that mental illness was not a switch that Esther could switch on or off as she pleased, and by reading this book and thinking of my aunt, and the society I live in, I cannot help but wonder if I have also been doing the same?
In most parts of Kenya, if you are mentally ill people assume that you are a victim of witchcraft or your parents committed some crime that the gods are paying them for through you. In some cases, children who are mentally ill are locked up or hidden so much so that you never see or hear them.
Like what?
Well, that’s the question? Must we have a reference point for mental illness?
And this point, does it make us see the mentally ill as objects that need seclusion from us or as human beings who are struggling to find themselves while we are busy struggling to make them who we want them to be?
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I would tell you a lot about my friend, but nothing seems to set us apart more than our music preferences.
I listen to quite a range of genres except Reggae.
She listens to Reggae more than she can utter a well structured sentence. She asked me today,
Why would you listen to that song?
The song being It feels like tonight by Daughtry.
We argued about it by staring at each other until she blinked and asked me:
So, what is your book, Fire, all about?
Hello reader, if you are reading this, please know that Writers are always asked that question, sometimes we feel as though you have nothing to ask save for what you want to hear. What’s the book about? Well, how about you read it and then tell me what you think it’s about?
And at this point you will say that you do not want to waste time reading something only to hate it, aha! That’s exactly what you should do- at least that way you will know what you hate and what you love, so…how about asking, what the book is NOT about?
My English teacher would have struck my fingers at that, but what the book is not about is always an afterthought.
I thought about her question and I realized that’s what blurbs are for. I was getting angry at her while I had already hinted at what the book’s about by lying through my teeth with well written words. I checked out what I had written on Goodreads and found this:
A boy is born in the land of Leo. As the sound of the cattle horn is heard, everyone in the Kingdom celebrates the birth of not only a boy, but the Crown Prince. His name is Ustawi.
The hands that hold him foretell a prosperous future, but just like every dream has it’s valleys, so has Ustawi’s birth. One man has seen the evil that’s to befall the kingdom under the boy’s reign, his name is Ukweli. He is the Seer.
Fire begins the story of the Prince’s life and as you read through a story rich in culture and customs you can only ask yourself, can the Seer fight the gods? Can he avert the impending doom that’s to come?
I wrote the same thing on Amazon too, and it got me asking, “really Dora? Really?” The truth is ugly and just as beautiful as its purpose and what I really wanted to say was:
Fire is about a boy whose birth is celebrated and his reign dreaded.
I thought about it and that’s what came to mind, and even though it seems as though the first piece of work needs more time and revision, it does feel good to get mixed reviews.
I am still waiting for the ugly and ugliest reviews because in a way…if one person loathes the book, then it would reinforce the feeling that there’s a lot more to be done, and right now as I still listen to Daughtry, that’s what I feel like. Sometimes all it takes is just a simple question that seems silly and meaningless to get us thinking and admitting our flaws and strengths.
nilichoandika 