What Are We?
Ghosted, Blocked, but Definitely Not Forgotten!
This story is just one juicy part of a bigger picture. Read the intro here to get all the tea!
After three long years of “kukua kwa soko” without even a wink from a man, my moment finally arrived. Form Ilijipa. And gosh, he was gorgeous, downright awesome, with all the traits a woman could ever dream of in a man.
Tall? Check. Dark? Not that much, but still check. Handsome? Check. That should have been enough reason why I saved him “mpoa,” but no, the list goes on, topped off with the icing on the cake: he was a man from the Lake. A true man of nyadhi. I tell you, you’re still unloved until you’ve been loved by a Luo man. Not only do they know how to fish fish, but they also know how to fish women. And this is how I got hooked (did you catch that?):
“Hello Pat, I’ve been a fan of your blog for a while now... I would have given you a pat on the shoulder for your latest piece but you have gone silent. Dark Heart Emoji Creatives is now nothing but a ghost town. Hebu changamka and give us something.” Three laughing emojis.
That’s how it all began- in my IG inbox. He had replied to an Instagram story of mine, and I loved his little word play. It made me laugh. What made me laugh even more was that he replied to an irrelevant story: I had jokingly written, ‘no money, no honey.’
Yes, I don’t deny that I have been inconsistent with my blog, but this guy was on a mission... and it worked. I checked his bio, and it read, ‘Communication Expert/Mental Health Advocate/ Lifestyle Enthusiast.’ I wasn’t exactly sure what all that meant, but from the look of his profile pic, this was my type. I knew for sure, Hapa hatuwezi kosana.
We shifted our conversations from IG to WhatsApp. The first coffee date turned into a second, the second led to lunch, and lunch led to dinner dates. And, as they say, the rest is history.
It was beautiful, perfect – some might say too good to be true. From consistent texts all day to check-in phone calls every evening. When OFA MOTO YA MTAA, got a little expensive, we swished to Airtel Tubonge. Story itambe! He always started every call by calling me ‘Jaberr.’ And thanks to him, I’m now a huge listener of Okello Max and Prince Indah music. Love is wonderful guys. I still laugh when I remember our endless debates about who would hang up first:
‘Hang up.’
‘No, you hang up...’
‘No, I said first...You hang up’
You know that honeymoon phase of a ‘relationship’ where red flags are invisible, and this person seems like they can do no wrong? That’s exactly where we were. It felt like something out of a storybook. Dates twice a week, random walks just because, little forehead kisses, and cute flowers tucked into my hair had me swooning – falling recklessly, without abandon. In my mind, child, I had met my soulmate. The one. My Mr. Right.
‘Hello, beautiful...’
That was his signature opening line in every message he sent me. His texts arrived like sunrise- constant, warm, and full of light.
Five weeks in – poetry flying back and forth, music playlists curated with so much thought and care, and endless texts from sender to recipient. Everything was going smoothly, almost too perfectly, until one day. I sent him a piece of poetry that I had written with so much thought and love, pouring my heart out and expressing my undying affection for him.
His reply came a day later. I had been hoping for a warm response, something that showed he’d taken his time to read and feel the words. Maybe a sweet ‘Baby, this is so beautiful.’ But no. Instead, it came as a single, cold ‘ok.’ I stared at the screen, the emptiness of that reply louder than any silence I had never known.
An ‘ok’ to a piece of poetry? At least he could have typed out ‘okay.’ Oh, such an atrocity! Mbona wewooo? Phone calls went unanswered, texts piled in the conversation, only to be met with a thumbs-up emoji ( ). The once vibrant thoughtful responses had turned dry.
Just like the once vibrant and energetic figure, Kiharu MP Ndindi Nyoro, he slowly faded from my life. What had happened to my man? My Mr. Right had left(hehe), leaving me not only just high and dry but also utterly desperate.
Remember how he first shot his shot by saying my blog was a ‘ghost town’? Well, now that’s what our WhatsApp looked like. From the occasional “view once” messages to endless grey ticks. What was happening? His communication dwindled to almost nothing.
I even had to double-check his IG bio if he was still a ‘Communication Expert,’ because this was definitely not giving expert vibes. Like SHA, new university funding model, and affordable housing, this wasn’t working at all.
As usual, being, the typical over-worrier(not a warrior) with my castles built in the air, I couldn’t help but try to figure out what the issue was. Did I do something wrong? Was he going through something? Could his lack of response be a cry for help?
My people from Murima say, “Milima pekee ndio hazipatani, lakini binadamu hupatana.” And true to those wise words, a month later, I bumped into him randomly by the roadside.
This son of the Ramogi hills looked as immaculate as ever, and well, upon enquiring what had happened the man boldly said, “Nilidhani Ilikuwa jokes. I wasn’t sure what we were because we never agreed that we were dating. Also, I felt like you were playing too hard to get.”
Me? ...Playing hard to get the way nilikuwa nimejituma? I thought to myself in disbelief. You mean this guy had been blind to all my signals? Aki men!
“Do I look like a joke to you?” I asked, my voice sharp with frustration.
“Si hivyo Pat. Cheki... Tulia...” he stammered, trying to calm me down.
“Nitulie nini?” I shot back, throwing my hands in the air before walking away.
Kumbavu zangu! The embarrassment I felt was unmatched. First, this idiot made me forget my name was Pat and turned me into Jaberr- because that’s what he used to call me. But now, jaberr sounds more like Jaba in my head. Was I too desperate for love?
The walk home felt longer than usual, my legs dragging under the weight of words left unsaid. How I wish I’d asked that one crucial question from the start: “What are we?” Maybe then, I’d have respected myself enough to not waste my time on someone who had clearly lost interest- just like we did with kamisi. When I got home, I unfollowed him and blocked him from all of my socials. Ukiachwa achika.
Sometimes, however, when I’m in a mall, I catch a trail of ‘Tom Ford,’ and it always reminds me of him. But now, it doesn’t hit me the same way. I remember how he would hug me tight and his fragrance clinging to me, leaving me aroused.
Any way, don’t be quick to think it is love – unless it is boldly highlighted on a neon sign lest you might just find yourself clowning. Always ask: “What are we?”
Let me blast that Bien track and let the smooth vocals work their magic. Sometimes, music is the only therapy that makes sense. Inauma, inauma lakini nitazoea!
About the Author:Wanjeri Karanja is a Chemist, a writer, a poet and an avid reader. She thinks she's funny too. She is passionate about life, happiness and self-development. She runs a versatile blog called Darkheartemoji Creatives, where she writes about a variety of things from life lessons, life experiences and navigating life in general as fresh adults. She brings in a mix of personal experiences and weaves tales that not only entertain but also teach and help you pick a thing or two about this life. Of course, she's still a toddler adult on training wheels, so check her out and evolve, learn and unlearn alongside her.
Engage with them on all socials: X: @darkheartemoji, IG: _darkheartemoji_ , FB: Patricia Karanja (Darkheartemoji Creatives)
Hold up! The next story is Oh, Boy Child!—things are about to get interesting!
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Pat, this is such a good read.😂 I was just smiling while reading it.
Next time we meet I'll call you jaber.🤣😂
I love such blogs 😍
This is good stuff