Probably more your cup of tea … ??? :D:D
Music is timeless. I can’t tell you how I came across this music but when I heard it I wondered where it had been all my life. It’s called Doo Wop. Delectable.
Old is gold. These youngins have no clue what real music sounds like
Not bad. But that tongue! Huu ndio uchawi:D
Not bad. But that tongue! Huu ndio uchawi:D
True, music transcends many boundaries, like time, age, language, space and race. They say it’s the language of the soul, and as love, it’s sometimes hard to pinpoint what touches the heart in a certain piece. Maybe an inflection in the voice; maybe an instrumental note, maybe a mood evoked by a drum beat; maybe a pause, even…maybe–magic!
So the love of music and the love of a person can be perplexing, just like magic.
Its called trauma bonding and Stockholm syndrome. I can’t imagine raising a child of a man who can beat me. Let alone black and blue. I fear physical violence more than anything else. Abuse of any kind can not give you a feeling of safety. I had a bf who would tell me that women love bad boys and I would always tell him, why don’t you become one we see if I will love you more? He had a bad side but he knew I was not the type to show that side. He kept it to himself bcz he did not want to lose me. He knew I would leave and in the end I left bcz he kept doing things I didn’t like and buying me flowers and gifts to appease me. I grew up seeing a crazy neighbour beating his wife in public, at night after a drinking spree, it made me very sensitive to violent behavior. I am also hard headed so if you think that you are going to bully me, you are in for a rude shock bcz I become more defiant.
It’s hard to appreciate people who are violent. The story of your neighbour has brought up a memory from what appears like an eternity ago in childhood. I don’t know how old I was, maybe 4yrs or so, when I woke up early one morning to find a head full of very black curly hair sleeping next to me–for some reason her curly hair stuck to memory. I couldn’t see her face, it was hidden in the blanket, but it wasn’t my mother.
I don’t remember–I probably got up and went to see if other people in the house were up, and find out who was in my bed. I learned years later it was a neighbour whose husband had chased her away from home at night. I didn’t hear the commotion, or feel the frightened woman creeping in next to the sleeping child. Somehow my mum found a way of not explaining why the neighbour had come to sleep at our place, and I don’t remember seeing her around our house again, or even seeing her leave. You know parents of our time had a way of not saying much, and you were expected not to probe, hehe.
That woman left home the same day, and the next time she appeared must have been many months later. I grew up alongside her two sons, playing, schooling, fighting and getting into scrapes, as boys do. The sisters were much older, and they were like the mothers to their brothers. The old man would do kibaruas and drink, and beat them, but somehow they grew up. Not a good life at all. I recall one time the older of the boys fell off a tree at the stream nearby, hit his head on a rock, and we ran away screaming, thinking he had died. By some miracle he lived; he now has big children of his own.
The mother only returned home when the daughters were already married, she’s quite an old lady now. The man is dead. I don’t know what to make of that life.
Never liked Elvis, I’m a Frank Sinatra typa gurl.
Here is a snippet of the story. That guy Lali looks like the devil, if my daughter told me that he was the bf, I would lock her in a cellar and throw away the key.
The lady I’m talking about eventually divorced the man, she changed the children’s surname to her father’s name. The kids were brilliant. That was the only divorce that I knew of back then. She did right by her kids and it paid off. They would probably not have concentrated in school if she stayed with the guy. They made a lovely family without him.
Oh, tell her, Contortionist (@rexxsimba ): it’s just the beard, and the ropey hair!
Combine that with a swift gaze and a devilish smile, then seat him in a boat during a drizzle, with an oar and a fishing net in his hands, and you get quite a wild man of the sea, straight out of fable. Remember those tales of pirates, hardy men from remote islands who dived off boats and swam out to ships by moonlight, gleaming daggers clamped between their teeth? That’s the image he strikes, a face that could give screaming nightmares to children–like our bespectacled, maxi-clad convent girl here, who confuses a mighty blast of lust with witchcraft.
Obviously, the women in his life aren’t frightened by the look, maybe the very opposite. They love bad boys, and the tempestuous adventures promised. Where’s @Finest wine ? She knows these things.
This guy reminds me of those shags guys who don’t take a bath. Not a wild man of the sea. I will have you know that I lived next to a retired sailor. He was always offering to take me to Robinson Island. Child. I didn’t even say No, just looked at him like are you crazy?
Sasa huo ni uchawi
No Lie …
Good Girls just Love Bad Boys … :D:D:D
Hahaha. Not me. My exe once told me this and I dared him that if he really believed it, he should become a bad boy himself, to see if I would love him. He didn’t. We still broke up bcz though he wasn’t a bad boy in the conventional way, as in openly cheating, he had other issues which I was unable to withstand.
My tolerance for BS is too low. The women who love bad boys are the ones with a messiah complex. If you have your own issues, you will not have this kind of energy to put up with BS in the name of love.
Either way I do not judge any woman who loves bad boys bcz they are the best for character development and they do a good job of knocking some sense into the heads of brain washed women. The ones who believe in changing a frog into a Prince.
Of course I am not perfect so I don’t expect men to be perfect either but if you give me a hard time and I ask you to change bcz your actions are making me unhappy and you don’t, I will leave you no matter how much you think I love you or how long we have been together.
Men always start out thinking that I am a very soft and submissive woman but once they fall short of my expectations they soon realize that I am as tough as nails. I will only be tolerant to a certain extent, beyond that threshold, I am out the door. Regardless of how much I love them.
Life is hard enough just taming yourself, where is the energy to tame bad boys?