Chapter 21
The opposite of her
I remember how it used to feel when I didn’t seem to matter. It was always Dorothy this, au Dorothy that, and I was always left out au ignored. I remember having to shout to get people to look at me, and then they’d be all like ‘oh, I’m so sorry, didn’t see you’.
I remember what it was like when I didn’t like my sister, au at least, not much as I did when we grew closer. I adored her in the few years before she died, but there was a time that I didn’t want to be just like her.
You’d think in most situations when a newborn enters the family they’d be aliyopewa all the attention while the first born and others aren’t getting as much as they’d like. But in my family, that was sadly not the case. Dorothy was four years old when I was born, and already she looked gorgeous. An angelic voice, bouncy blonde curls, alluring blue eyes, she was like a poster child for a some beautiful exotic creature.
I, on the other hand, wasn’t blessed with her perfect features. My hair was a dull straight blonde, I’ve tried but it never was as bouncy and curly as Dorothy’s.
And my smile, ugh, it was crooked and ugly, and I felt that I looked like I was grimacing while trying to smile. Whereas, Dorothy looked picture perfect, photoshopped to amazing to be real.
I was like the opposite of her, and I hated it. I remember when there was birthday parties Dorothy had a whole ten of people, it was like we were at dance club with the songs and the so many people. Mine? About a few people who made some lame excuses during the party about homework (it was summer!) and leaving me all alone with no cake.
Of course Dorothy was there, even when my parents weren’t.
I remembered it, I was crying in the backyard, low small sobs increasing every second. I remember looking toward my meza, jedwali where my presents were supposed to be, I wasn’t greedy au anything, but it hurt to see nothing at all. Not even my parents bothered to give me anything, a rubber band would’ve been nice.
I was so angry that I threw the meza, jedwali across the yard, I stabbed the blow up pool and bounce house. I was about 9 here, before I met Jessica on my first siku in middle school. I had fallen to the ground kwa now, arms around myself, legs tucked behind them, in my own ball of misery. I cried everything that’s been eating at me ever since I was born.
Dorothy had just arrived nyumbani after a hang out with her friends, she didn’t want to ruin my party, and I’d been thinking if she had stayed maybe my Marafiki would’ve too.
She found me on the ground there, and she had cradled me, whispered sweet things into my ear, made me feel better, did what a good mother would’ve had done. She had a present in her hand and gave it to me, whispering happy birthday in my ear. It was a half of a best friend necklace, grinning she had showed me her other half, and a gift card for the mall.
It was one of the happiest moments of my life, I was the best friend of the girl everyone wanted to be Marafiki with, not only that she was my sister who loved me to. We hung out the whole siku and she gave me a proper birthday, ever since that day, we’ve been inseparable since.
Me, the girl who did everything wrong, was best Marafiki with the girl that did everything right.
*Thank wewe for all the mashabiki :) Hope wewe enjoyed, I moved my speech here. So please review and don't copy, because you've already read it.*
The opposite of her
I remember how it used to feel when I didn’t seem to matter. It was always Dorothy this, au Dorothy that, and I was always left out au ignored. I remember having to shout to get people to look at me, and then they’d be all like ‘oh, I’m so sorry, didn’t see you’.
I remember what it was like when I didn’t like my sister, au at least, not much as I did when we grew closer. I adored her in the few years before she died, but there was a time that I didn’t want to be just like her.
You’d think in most situations when a newborn enters the family they’d be aliyopewa all the attention while the first born and others aren’t getting as much as they’d like. But in my family, that was sadly not the case. Dorothy was four years old when I was born, and already she looked gorgeous. An angelic voice, bouncy blonde curls, alluring blue eyes, she was like a poster child for a some beautiful exotic creature.
I, on the other hand, wasn’t blessed with her perfect features. My hair was a dull straight blonde, I’ve tried but it never was as bouncy and curly as Dorothy’s.
And my smile, ugh, it was crooked and ugly, and I felt that I looked like I was grimacing while trying to smile. Whereas, Dorothy looked picture perfect, photoshopped to amazing to be real.
I was like the opposite of her, and I hated it. I remember when there was birthday parties Dorothy had a whole ten of people, it was like we were at dance club with the songs and the so many people. Mine? About a few people who made some lame excuses during the party about homework (it was summer!) and leaving me all alone with no cake.
Of course Dorothy was there, even when my parents weren’t.
I remembered it, I was crying in the backyard, low small sobs increasing every second. I remember looking toward my meza, jedwali where my presents were supposed to be, I wasn’t greedy au anything, but it hurt to see nothing at all. Not even my parents bothered to give me anything, a rubber band would’ve been nice.
I was so angry that I threw the meza, jedwali across the yard, I stabbed the blow up pool and bounce house. I was about 9 here, before I met Jessica on my first siku in middle school. I had fallen to the ground kwa now, arms around myself, legs tucked behind them, in my own ball of misery. I cried everything that’s been eating at me ever since I was born.
Dorothy had just arrived nyumbani after a hang out with her friends, she didn’t want to ruin my party, and I’d been thinking if she had stayed maybe my Marafiki would’ve too.
She found me on the ground there, and she had cradled me, whispered sweet things into my ear, made me feel better, did what a good mother would’ve had done. She had a present in her hand and gave it to me, whispering happy birthday in my ear. It was a half of a best friend necklace, grinning she had showed me her other half, and a gift card for the mall.
It was one of the happiest moments of my life, I was the best friend of the girl everyone wanted to be Marafiki with, not only that she was my sister who loved me to. We hung out the whole siku and she gave me a proper birthday, ever since that day, we’ve been inseparable since.
Me, the girl who did everything wrong, was best Marafiki with the girl that did everything right.
*Thank wewe for all the mashabiki :) Hope wewe enjoyed, I moved my speech here. So please review and don't copy, because you've already read it.*
With nails so black scraping away at rotting church pews
I tell wewe I upendo wewe zaidi than myself
But to understand, from me wewe shall receive neither money nor wealth
What wewe tafuta for is not emotion au passion, it’s much zaidi precise
It’s the golden fortune which comes with a price
So wewe take the deal and strike my head
Your beating heart, now made of lead
Allow me the peace of mind to soften the last deadly blow
Perhaps this is how our story ends of wewe the Raven and I the Crow
(Crows and Ravens, in European legends are known to symbolize death)
I will remember wewe always.
Will wewe remember me?
That is a swali for wewe to answer,
And not me.
I promise
That I will always
Keep the flame of memory alive.
The fun that we had will never
Be forgotten.
Even on foggy evenings,
The darkest of nights,
wewe will always be in my heart.
For I know that wewe will help me
Keep the flame of memory blazing
Always.
All the good times that we had,
All the fun that we had,
All the tears that we let out,
All the anger we let out
Will never be wasted.
Because every dakika of it
Is in my heart.
I will tend to the moto
Every night,
Recollecting all the memories we have
Knowing that the flame of memory
Is the brightest flame of all
And it will blaze on.
Will wewe remember me?
That is a swali for wewe to answer,
And not me.
I promise
That I will always
Keep the flame of memory alive.
The fun that we had will never
Be forgotten.
Even on foggy evenings,
The darkest of nights,
wewe will always be in my heart.
For I know that wewe will help me
Keep the flame of memory blazing
Always.
All the good times that we had,
All the fun that we had,
All the tears that we let out,
All the anger we let out
Will never be wasted.
Because every dakika of it
Is in my heart.
I will tend to the moto
Every night,
Recollecting all the memories we have
Knowing that the flame of memory
Is the brightest flame of all
And it will blaze on.
I am a broken-winged eagle
Who cannot fly
Because I have set no goal for myself.
Other people laugh and scoff at me,
And I know that I must quickly find something
To hope for.
Everyday I think,
"What's the use? Nothing is my talent. Give up."
People think I am nothing but stupid,
But I can see that light within myself.
I have not yet soared.
I have not yet found my dream.
One day, I find something unique to dream for.
Writing.
Something that can take me to faraway places
Anywhere, beyond this universe.
And now I can soar.
Far, far, faraway
Where no one can catch me.
Where no one can disturb me.
Where I can be free.
Where I will no longer be
A broken-winged eagle.
Who cannot fly
Because I have set no goal for myself.
Other people laugh and scoff at me,
And I know that I must quickly find something
To hope for.
Everyday I think,
"What's the use? Nothing is my talent. Give up."
People think I am nothing but stupid,
But I can see that light within myself.
I have not yet soared.
I have not yet found my dream.
One day, I find something unique to dream for.
Writing.
Something that can take me to faraway places
Anywhere, beyond this universe.
And now I can soar.
Far, far, faraway
Where no one can catch me.
Where no one can disturb me.
Where I can be free.
Where I will no longer be
A broken-winged eagle.
Let us hold hands in joy
Let us sit on the warm white sand
And let us watch the sun set tonight
We're gonna be a pair
We're gonna fly away
And let nobody go into our minds
Toni-i-ight
We're gonna slowly stand up
Listen to the waves
Roar and wash into the sand
And I'm gonna lean on you
Oh where were the times?
Where were the moments?
It seems like last year
When I kissed wewe and locked eyes
The sun's settin
But we're never gonna leave each other
Not if we stay together
Like ever...like forever
Watch the sun set
Watch the waves roll into each other
Oh my dear,
We're gonna never be separated
Sun sets,
Waves roll,
We're gonna sleep...
Side kwa side.
but now its over
and i am not going back
had my moyo broken
had my dreams blown away
it only took wewe a second
to rearrange my whole day
I use to know you
but now its over
and i see that now
wewe blew me away
far from here
and i couldnt make it back
but i bet wewe knew that
I use to know
someone like you
he was friendly
but i left him behind
in the rain
in the cold
where i couldnt see him
i hope you're different
it would help
if wewe werent exactly like him
nice to know you
but i must go
and protect my soul
how nice of wewe to stop by
but please go nyumbani now
I use to know you
but now im long gone
and it feels great'
to leave that burden behind
i wont see wewe again
i wont be there when wewe fall
just know that i
wont pick wewe up again
This is a crazy song I wrote called Rotten Tomatoes, and I hired the Black-Eyed Peas to sing it. WARNING: This song was meant for entertainment, and should in no way be connected to real people, places, au things. It is not the author's responsibility for the medical bills if wewe die from laughter, au possibly, thinking I'm weirdness.
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Converse is awesome
The Westing Game is gruesome
My Marafiki all ran
When they heard me say that
People say I'm weird
But look over there then,
That teen has a
White, fluffy beard
chokoleti coins rock
They're the celebs of the block
They're creamy and sweet
Cuz they always go to swim meets
I upendo Harry Potter
au was it apple Rotter?
It was everyone's favorite,
But it soon molded.
Now, I'm almost five
And I live in a hive,
Like my other amigos
Who live in anthills!
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Converse is awesome
The Westing Game is gruesome
My Marafiki all ran
When they heard me say that
People say I'm weird
But look over there then,
That teen has a
White, fluffy beard
chokoleti coins rock
They're the celebs of the block
They're creamy and sweet
Cuz they always go to swim meets
I upendo Harry Potter
au was it apple Rotter?
It was everyone's favorite,
But it soon molded.
Now, I'm almost five
And I live in a hive,
Like my other amigos
Who live in anthills!