Rebel in a Bubble

When this year began, I had lost everything. I was still recovering from a relationship that had left me broke and brokenhearted. I was a complete mess. If it wasn't for the generosity and kindness of a few friends like Angel, Lilly and Juliette, I would have been in a ditch. I had tried going back home but some of us were not made to live within the confines of our parents' homes. My career had been on halt since the previous year, I was feeling like a failure and I liked very little about myself. My insecurities had doubled and my strengths were dwindling. The core of who I am, as a feminist and nonconformist, had been reduced to little glimmers of anger stiffled within. I was in so much debt and had almost no work. As this year comes to an end, I look back and wonder where it had all started going wrong. But to cut the story short I have found everything I ever wanted, and I'm a bubbling little rebel again, so happy to be myself and completely debt free. I've done ...

It’s not the patriarch that shocks us.  It’s not his yielding subjects, who seem to enjoy being oppressed and never raise a voice. No. That has stopped shocking many of us. But what still eludes me are those who claim to be progressive, but continue to do the bidding of the dictatorial patriarch. Those who say they care, those who call themselves feminists, those who claim to know what is good but keep on doing what is oppressive. In the spirit of criticizing the oppressors who are supposed to be our guardians, of questioning people from home who sell us to the war monger, I want to talk about you, Mary Karooro Okurut. I want to know if I’ve been lied to all along, or if you’re not above the lures of power and domination. As a member of FEMRITE, which you founded, I always prided myself in believing I was part of a progressive organization, of a feminist society rooted in doing away with domination and taking the reins of all good things and fe...

I've been painted and colored as a love. A perfect love. A permanent rainbow as clear as day. Don't paint me on water, like I'm a temporary fairy, that will go up on smoke. I've been built in stone. I've been made a temple, I've been fortified, I've had guards installed by my walls, keeping me safe, like a treasure. I've tasted pure erotic humility I've laid my soul on the floor and dined with a king who makes thrones out of solidarity. and I've let that one go. I've torn him out of my bleeding soul and watched him dance on clouds,  going to the gods. where you offer uncertainty, he offered a sure resolve. where you offer exaggeration,  he gave modesty. Where you stumble to find words, he didn't need words...  where you strive to be impressive,  he reclined into himself. Don't settle for less,  he said. I've been worshiped, with pure, sacred emotion. Not sensation. No. The complete journey of the head and the heart,  t...

Why I Stopped Being Daddy’s Girl. There comes a time in every girl’s life, to reevaluate life choices. To stop hating your mother and put yourself in her shoes. To become a woman. To see things for the first time in clear light. To understand family dynamics and uncover the big lies that protected you as a child. To see your dad for what he really is and not the dream and idol you made him. First of all, let’s talk about pampering. Why did my Daddy pamper me? Why did he ask my mother not to shout at me and ask me to take a walk with him more times than my mother? Why was it always her screaming and him sitting back and me running to him and hiding under his wing and wishing she was gone? Well, as a child, the answer was simple. He was perfect. He understood me. He was my Daddy. But as a woman, it is uglier. The answer though, is still simple. Because she did everything.  And each time we went for a walk, she had to put it all back together and do the t...