Every day before I drift off to sleep, I lay in bed thinking- thinking about what I would like to become in future, wondering what the hell life means, picturing myself in scenarios that will never happen, trying to find inner peace.

There is always that one image that sticks with me just before the subconscious takes over. Call it a hypnagogic hallucination, Wiki defines it as a threshold consciousness, during the onset of sleep. In my recurrent lucid dream, I’m lying prostrate, hidden in a thicket on top of a hill, a sniper rifle scope against my eye- Haha! I know, very juvenile. A few hundred meters away I see what I assume is my target, a black SUV, tinted windows, monster tyres. It’s parked in an alley, dimly lit, smoke escapes from one of the slightly pulled down back windows. I adjust my scope to view the car better as someone rolls down the smoking window. I hear the flick of a lighter, I hear the sound of breaking glass over the low thudding music coming from a nearby night club. Someone is opening the door of the SUV, I can hear the door hissing as it opens, I adjust my scope aiming it at the opening door and    just like that the subconscious takes over- without warning- I’m now at the mercy of my own brain.

Most days when I am Idle I often think back to these moments and wonder why my brain drifts to that particular image. I always wonder why I’m always snatched away before I can pull the trigger. I’m I even supposed to pull the trigger? I always wonder why that particular car? Why that particular alley? Why the monster tyres? Who smokes in the back seat of the SUV? The thudding music always feels so familiar but I can never figure out where the hell I have heard it before.

 I have had this image for as long as I can remember.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s a trick played on me by my mind (I’m one of those crazy people who like to think of their mind and their self-consciousness as two separate entities), because in that moment right then and there I feel like nothing can hurt me, I feel safe, maybe it’s the only way it feels I’ll let myself let go.

I'm also one of those people who like to imagine reincarnation is real- Crazy huh? Well not so much... How do you explain Déjà vu? How do you explain bad luck? I always wonder if the image is a memory from another past, Yeah I like my imagination running wild (hehe borderline madness).

Anyway these are the simple things in life that always puzzle me not corporate structures, not balance sheets and gross profits but reincarnation, Déjà vu and the subconscious 

I read somewhere that an article a day makes a better writer and improves discipline, well, here are my thoughts for the day.

You have never been a morning person, always had trouble waking up in the morning. It takes you two cups of black coffee with lots of sugar to actually feel like doing anything constructive with your life. You just moved to a coastal town, traffic is lighter here, you never have to be up earlier than half past six in the morning. You have never experienced fairer weather in your life, the sun is always out before you are up. Cool winds blow against palm trees in the warm morning sun, it feels like spring. Ravens are already up going about their morning mischief, rattling and cawing. You do not cover up while sleeping, weather is just too damn hot, clean sheets and clean pillow covers are all you need. You never switch off the television at night before you sleep, you always hit the mute button, switch off the lights, turn your back against the T.V and drift off to slumber land.

Before the alarm goes off you’ve already been up for the last thirty minutes watching the local news channels. You never read newspapers, they contain old news, yesterday’s occurrences, so you always prefer to watch the morning news shows and read the online newspapers. The alarm always signals it’s time to hit the shower, you lazily stretch before jumping from the bed, straightening out the sheets, grabbing your towel and jumping in the shower. Unlike Nairobi, there are not a lot of instant showers around, there has never been a need for them since the water is never that cold. You quickly finish your business in the bathroom-shower-dry self-groom (deodorant and lotion) and grab your clothes from the wardrobes.

Look- you are 22, it’s your first job earning decent money, a guaranteed salary so the only thing you’ll be grabbing are some ironed khaki pants, a shirt, some boxer shorts and a clean pair of socks. You never wear a vest because your dad never taught you to wear one (story for another day). You hastily dress, right leg first then the left for the boxer shorts and the pants, then comes the shirt as you quickly button it and tuck it in, next comes the socks as you quickly scan the room for the location of your only belt, you grab it by the laundry bin and tie it around your waist. You stand in front of your dressing mirror (came with the inbuilt wardrobe, cause real men don’t own mirrors), satisfied with yourself, you grab your shoes switch off all the gadgets in the house including the TV where some local leaders are busy discussing current issues giving out brilliant ideas which no one will ever implement- douchebags.

7.00 am, you are out the door of your bedsit, a servant’s quarter you rented from a nice Arab family in a porsche neighbourhood, you never see them much, you have your own small gate away from the main gate which you share with your neighbour- a fellow bachelor who works at DT Dobie, nice chap, always has the best Motor magazines.  He always leaves earlier than you do. You lock up the gate, plug in your earphones and start your daily routine, walking under the huge jacaranda trees, past the huge gates, huge electrified perimeter walls, the houses all look deserted except for the few gate keepers and drivers rushing the Who's Who of Mombasa kids to school, mostly brown Arab and Indian. Yellow buses from Ivy League schools wait at designated bus stops for more kids, there are more road signs around than in the capital business district, talk of privilege. Public Service Vehicles are not allowed on all roads, some – those that lead to the public beach- but not all. European machines zoom past, 10 minutes later you get to the public roads where public service vehicles are allowed and board one to town.

7:15am Traffic is easy, Maina of Classic FM is saying something, you are not paying attention, you lean your head against the glass and stare outside. A siren rings from far, few minutes later an ambulance is racing on the pedestrian sidewalk, the person seated next to you says something, you don’t talk to strangers before your morning cup of coffee so you adjust your earphone are politely smile to acknowledge whatever the hell they just said. By now you’re racing over Nyali Bridge, the water looks calm, a few fishermen throw their net in the water, you stare at them long enough fascinated by the difference in lifestyle. You still think of them long past they’re out of sight. It must be very calming to be in the middle of the sea so early in the morning. Passengers start alighting at different stops, they distract your train of thought. You finally get to your stop, you are one of the few lucky people who get dropped outside their office gate.

7:45am You’re the second person to clock in after your line manager, you drop in his office for a quick prattle-he’s a cool boss. You then walk over to the office kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee and settle on your desk. The coffee warms your well famished stomach and your blood rushes as the caffeine hit the right nerves, you’re finally alive. At this point no task is hard enough for you to handle. You lazily go through your twitter feeds liking and retweeting, trying to be funny or political, everyone has a political stand on twitter. Twitter is the only place you can give the ruling class a piece of your mind, attaching a harsh-tag to it and if your tag is relevant enough it will be retweeted by twenty of your loyal followers. They always retweet and like your tweets but they also expect the same from you.

8.00 am Enough of twitter, you’re done with your cup of coffee, time to get some work done.

For as long as I can remember, I have always had a way with words-written, not spoken. I have always liked  reading. I have always liked the potential that comes with it -you get to picture the characters, picture the scenes , give characters different voices- all from your head, fascinating right? Thing with books is that we can all read the same book but none is able to picture the scenes nor the characters same as the other no matter how good the authors descriptive capabilities are. 
If the author describes a beautiful woman, I will always picture mine with a small mole on her upper lip and she will always show her soul through her smile -to me that's true beauty, to another person they'll look totally different, that's the power of reading, that has always intrigued most.  



The millennial hub is a project, no call it a hobby, a means to an end-to hone my skills as a writer and to improve my view of the world.


Look around, explore, a comment will be appreciated.