Fake Writer

Hey guys.

I have been thinking about whether to share this the entire day. I am still not decided but here I am punching this keyboard away. I feel torn. Somehow inadequate.

I'll explain.

I work in the Media and Comms department for an organisation called Clean Start Kenya. It is something I gladly regard as an honour considering my history with the Criminal Justice System of this corrupt nation of ours.

We are expanding by the day and as we are so are we discovering the loopholes and the gaps that won't allow the pride of Africa to thrive. The whole thing is diseased with questionable characters that makes one sick with an injustice aftertaste.

I carry my work around in my mind most the time. The young lives withering away behind bars mostly over matters that could be settled outside the courts. It's heartbreaking and sometimes overwhelming. And I can't help but get angry at times over feeling helpless.

I use that energy to get better at advocacy and spreading awareness. The trying to amplify the voices calling out for behind high fences and tight security. Those the society with thieves and murderers running the entire show won't even give a second chance. The stigmatisation in our communities towards formerly incarcerated is something I can't exactly explain. It's beyond hate.

The problem is... I am struggling too much with writing and I am expected to be doing it more often because everyone assumes I am good at it. I am not. And no. This is not me looking for attention, this is me being extremely honest.

Writing is fucking hard and the responsibility to capture someone's story and share it with a million people is something I find very difficult. Poetry is easier for me not moving paragraphs with powerful quotes. I am not good at such. Mention to me poetry or prose and we are in business.

My boss, the most challenging woman I have met in the recent years, demands me of five stories this weekend. They should range about 350 words and be moving and all that kinda stuff. And I seated here wondering... How do you gift someone the weight of doing someone else's most traumatizing journeys ever? I currently like I hate my job just a little bit.

I didn't sign up for these kinda challenges, you know? Sigh.

I know after reading all this you are there thinking... What is she going on about? She's written all this. I know. But I am promise this is different. This is like a small voice in my head talking to other small voices in my head and you are somewhat the unseen guest. I wish it was as easy as putting down unexplainable emotions on paper or screens for this matter. I am looking for strength. I am hoping I will do this and get it done with.

See how long I can rant? Damn. Thanks for coming to my monologue.

                        **Cross Posted**

BQ.