Love

My Last Post on WordPress, The New Road, and a New Home

So, dear reader, we have a lot of things to talk about since the last time. But not today.

I wish this were clickbait. It isn’t.


TL: DR Version: 
I’m leaving this blog. Here’s where you can find me from now own.

  1. Subscribe to my Newsletter.
  2. Follow me on Medium.
  3. Follow me on Twitter.
  4. Follow me on Instagram.
  5. Connect with me on Quora

Here’s some of what I’ve written while I was away.

  1. Before I Could Date Anyone, I had to Date Myself
  2. 28 personal truths from 28 years of living
  3. Is this what it takes to become a writer?
  4.  Kiss Me Already 
  5. Why Share Your Crises?

A lot has happened since the last post I wrote on WordPress. ‘A lot’ is an understatement, actually. ‘Too much’ would be more appropriate.

There is no easy way to say this: I’ve outgrown the blog. I’ve outgrown the name. I’ve outgrown the kid who wrote about his heartbreaks, the kid who wrote about his crushes.

“You see, it’s not what’s happening to you now or what has happened in the past that determines who you become. Rather, it’s your decisions about what to focus on, what things mean to you, and what you’re going to do about them, that will determine your ultimate destiny.” -Tony Robbins

I write to you from Yaounde. I’m in my friend’s studio living room. There’s a large bookshelf ahead of me. My laptop is resting on my jean wrapped thighs. The warm air interrupts the mosquitoes’ dance. There is eclectic laughter coming from the room in irregular intervals from two of my poetry troupe mates. Deecey’s new album is blazing on the speakers. It’s minutes to midnight.

I know it’s time to say goodbye.

The Mito Mito Poetry Troupe( minus Mafor Glory)

I started here. My poetry, my writing, everything. As I write this, I feel the weight of this decision. I’m almost tempted to just let it be–to let the page exist and not bother about updating it.

Part of me thinks it doesn’t matter. That I can let the page be here for posterity. That I can simply continue where I have been writing more and more for the past two years.

Part of me doesn’t think that’s fair. You, my reader, deserve better. You deserve to know why.

Updating WordPress and Medium has been a hassle, for one. Watching Medium grow my audience, getting the kind of engagement I wanted and using a platform that I think was built for the kind of writing I want to do, all this, and more, have slowly crystallized my decision to jump ship.

However, at some point, I wanted to do both. I wanted to write on the two platforms, doubling down and doing more. But, the truth is, I don’t want to.

My friend is working on my own site ( which, by the way, will be on WordPress’s CMS), but this blog, the reason why it was created has come to pass.

Kamga no longer has a blog.

Hi. I no longer have a blog. Bye.

It started as a place to hide my thoughts, A place to share my woes as a young twentysomething. It was a journey I have enjoyed.

But that kid, the horny angsty writer, he’s done.

You may realize that my writing is no longer as sarcastic or fluffy as it used to. I can barely recognize myself as I type this. Which, to me, is a good thing.

But when it comes to those, like you, who followed me because of that voice, it’s not fair. You gave me light when I was in the dark of my depression, and it’s time to show you the man you made, in all his newfound superpowers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The New Road

“You can’t change your destination overnight, but you can change your direction overnight.” -Jim Rohn

I now boast over 2000 followers on Medium. As I write this, I am doing the finishing touches on my Newsletter, and I am strongly considering a Vlog. I also just recovered from Malaria, so I have had a lot of time to think. Together with friends, we started a poetry troupe. We had multiple events and were even invited here to Yaounde to perform at a private event.

I’ve had a really great time.

Howard and me just before the event

Because I was indecisive about whether to leave WordPress or not, I used a lot of mental energy justifying my inaction. Not anymore.

At the bottom of this post, you will find links to the main avenues where I intend to keep providing the kind of writing that made you fall in love with me in the first place.

Especially, my Newletter. I am really, really excited about this one.  It’s going to be the kind of content you’d love to consume, share and interact with.

Of course, I will be using these avenues to generate revenue. But, this will not be spammy or click-bait. My poetry collection, for example, and my other books, or products, or services, would be the kinds of material you’d receive occasionally.

Keyword: occasionally.

For the most case, you’d get stuff I found and thought was cool. Articles I read, podcasts I listened to, videos I watched or even videos from me that I think you deserve because you have chosen to give me your time.

The New Road requires growth, value creation and making money in a way that gets everyone, especially you my audience,  to win.

A New Home

“Giving things up isn’t just about sacrifice. It’s also about gain. When you give things up you create an opening in your life for other things. By saying no to everything that’s not aligned with your essential priorities you make space for what it is”.- Srinivas Rao

So, what does this all mean?

For starters, my content will be no longer be on this blog.

Then, if you want to stay in the loop for exclusive material, behind the scenes of my projects, material that may or may not reach the majority of the internet, you should do the following :

  1. Subscribe to my Newsletter.
  2. Follow me on Medium.
  3. Follow me on Twitter.
  4. Follow me on Instagram.

I curated the five pieces I thought you’d enjoy.

  1. Before I Could Date Anyone, I had to Date Myself
  2. 28 personal truths from 28 years of living
  3. Is this what it takes to become a writer?
  4.  Kiss Me Already 
  5. Why Share Your Crises?

You deserve better. And I want to serve you better. Through my Newsletter, I intend to do this at a more personal level.

You’re welcome to join me today. Sign-up.

Thank you for everything.

Always,
Tchassa Kamga.

 

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Broken

Old respite, I bid thee farewell.
I’m gone. To a place I do not know well.

I broke my branch before I flew.
I’m not going back to the place we knew.

My old friend, I bid thee farewell.
Do not think my actions aren’t swell.

Caution :you may not recognize me.
I’m broken. In pain. And I bleed.

A pain I’ll need.

Let it be that I told you my truth.

My liquids and gifts have no meaning for you. You barely touched them today.
I did everything. Tried all tactics. Even used ruse to make you stay.
You smiled at me, but pushed me away.
You held my hand, yet looked away.

Double signals? Doubt? Uncertainty?
Remorse? Regret? Fear?

My smug remarks make you chuckle in that cute way that exposes your neck.
Yet, I know that as much as you enjoy the chat, you want to leave. Your hands beg.
You didn’t stay up to thirty minutes.
Subtly ran, as though I were a human sized pilus.

As I write this, I finish your leftover chocolate.
The one I got for you. A race that had me return your call late.
As I write this, I finish your red wine.
The one I got for you. I strangely feel sad for that wasted grape vine.

I have told you my truth. I have been as honest as I could be.
If my openness is not acceptable by society, let it be.
Let it be that I told my truth. Let it be that I carried my heart on my sleeve.
Let it be that way, because no one knows when I’d have to leave.

I know these are hard times. Given our history.
I know my words lack substance, given my urgency.
To your doubts, and worries. I have one question:
How long does it take for you to realize that the length of a human life is never enough to love fully?

If I can have a single minute of love- a moment of mutual respect and cordial happiness. A relationship based on more than kisses and things done in the dark. Based on friendship, respect and truth.
If I can have one shot at making you smile every day because it is what brings me the most joy.
If I can have one shot at making you see you the way I see you.
If I can look into those brown eyes and articulate the truth in my veins…

One shot.

I’d better take the shot and fail, than live never having tried.
You know that when I say: “I like you”. I really mean “I Love you”.
You also know that there are no other ways of saying it.

Give me my shot, let me show you.
Or tell me no, and let me go.
Either way, you own me.
Royally so.
(Or rather, painfully so)

She’s Beautiful…isn’t she?

She’s beautiful, isn’t she?
“Yeah,” he said, “how do you know her?”
She’s in my department. We used to have a thing once.
“Really?”
Yeah. Then I blew it.
“What happened?”
Bro, it’s complicated

The sharwarma in my bag tickled my nostrils. I pictured my relaxed mind devouring the content as soon as I’d reached home. The streets were filled with the usual Molyko night folk, almost like dark walkers who crawl to Bonga, Twist and Tastie as soon as the sun went down.

Vampires…
“What did you say?”
Nah. I was just thinking man.

I knew what was going on in his mind. Fifteen minutes ago he shook hands with Eva at Malingo junction. She was pretty. Very pretty.

Man, why are we walking so fast? Slow down
“I teh you massa…”

A bevy of University gals hurdled on our side of the pavement. A ballerina sale. Clearly affordable.

“Seriously bro, tell me about that chick”
Massa…what do you want to know…she’s pretty and very interesting.
“Yeah? How so”
Well, she’s really really funny.

He wanted more. But there was nothing more to add. Eva was pretty and funny. A deadly combination for me.

“Is that it?”
Yeah, that’s it. When was the last time you met a chick in Molyko who had both qualities in equal proportions? Gerrat massa. Plus, she has this interesting way of looking at the world.
And she actually listens.
“Dude, you’re really a poet. What does that mean “she listens”? ‘His sarcastic shrug made it the more annoying. I knew he wouldn’t get it. But I was too impressed with who Eva showed me she was not to try
She asks questions that make sense and she follows up. We went out to eat ice cream once and talked for like four hours. Bro, I really didn’t want to go home.

He was silent. Maybe I got to him.

“So, is she, like, your girlfriend?”
Psh! NO! Duuude, she has a boyfriend. And I have girlfriend.
“I see…”

We were at UB junction now. He had to take his cab and I had to continue walking home to Dirty South.

“So, what happened the last time? What do you mean by you blew it?”
That’s for another time bro. Just take this one like that.

A group of students had just finished their 5pm class. Mathematics majors. The argument on quadratics was distinct. Joseph pointed out a boring Ad on the billboard and purported that at least, papers don’t need to be refurbished like electric devices we never use. He motioned to the screen that had been installed by the VC that had never ever been repaired.

“So, what are you guys going to do?”
I don’t know bro. I really didn’t. She clearly likes me, and I …sort of clearly like her
“That’s not good bro”
Tell me about it.

I’ve lost you, and it feels right.

The blaze is gone.
Wet flames, all that is left. Mud ash.
Your touch is foreign.
I can see it in your eyes- I failed you.

We used to chat, on Facebook, for so long.
Stale talk, all that is left. Burnt stash.
Our embrace now means nothing.
You know I see it too. It’s no more “we” but “you”.

I know it’s my fault. I’ve known all along.
You tried, with all you had. Never brash.
I could do better.
They don’t speak. But they sense it too.

This is the longest bond I have forged.
Or did I? What’s left? Pictures and emotional mash.
I don’t deserve you.
They knew this day was coming. I did too.

For a long time, I have been alone.
You showed a page I’d never read.
Pores through which I’d never bled.
With you, for an eternal second, I was at home.

I know what would happen.
Its inevitability is almost hilarious.
It has happened before. I have been here before.
Only, you have too. But not with me.

Hence, we will thread new territory.
One I am all too familiar with.
We had more than our own moments of intimate revelry.
We will bleed. I know I would. I will need stiches.

I wish we could hug over a cup’a coffee and shake hands.
I wish in a few years, we would laugh over the past months.
We would think of how much we grew and how much we out grew each other.
Lies. Falsehood. Sky bound castles.

I have grown. I see this coming and I feel nothing.
No pain. I bleed, without pain. Without strain.
I knew this would happen.
The first time you smiled, I knew this would happen.

So, when I say “It’s my fault, not yours”, I am not being flattering.
It is the truth. I don’t know how to do “this”.
Actually, I do. I just don’t want to.
And the mashed stashed of thoughts I need to scream is because of this.

You are a good person. You have shown me love.
You have shown me care. You have shown me tenderness.
You showed me reason. And I thank you, for showing me one thing:
Family.

I have grown. And I know I am not cut for this.
I have accepted, finally, who I am. And who I want to be.
Who I must be. Who I need to be.
What and who I am ready to sacrifice.

Love is a choice I make every day.
Love is a concept I learn every day.
Love is a feeling you articulated.
Love, is what I saw in you.

What I saw. But, no more.
Goodbye, my pillar. My anchor.
I sail to my lake. One I know all too well.
One in which I built the island on which I thrive.

I hope you feel pain. I hope you miss me.
I want to have meant something to you.
I want to have meant something.
I want to.

I hope you hate me. I hope you forget me.
I hope you ignore my calls. I hope you don’t reply my messages.
I hope you unfriend me. I hope you block me.
I hope you blacklist me.

I won’t forget you. My mind is my curse.
The same mind that doesn’t comprehend love.
The same that would look back at this moment in the future and mock raucously.
The same that needs you to hate me now.

Slap me. Plot against me.
Tell everyone how truly heartless I am.
Tell them the truth.
They don’t deserve to know. But you deserve to tell.

I am not a good person.
I don’t deserve your forgiveness.
So, don’t forgive me.
But, by all means, don’t ever think you could have done anything differently.

Because I knew how this would end.
I knew it all along. For months I fought.
And now, I’ve lost.
And it feels right.

Goodbye, my pillar.

Another Awkward Goodbye

The last time we met…you told me to be strong. You held me for so long, I wondered: ” Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
The last time we met, you sat quiet for a while, didn’t say anything vile, nor kiss me like you used to-wild.
You didn’t look into my eyes.

She whispered, face blank like wild tiles.

Today, I leave you. My heart is gone. My tears beneath you. My fire is dead and my mission is complete. I got you and there is nothing to compete.

I don’t understand. Isn’t that the point of it all?
Isn’t that the value of a bond? The essence of our song? The melody of my memories?
Where is this coming from?

It’s not you, it’s me. I know. And I should have left without you ever noticing. I should have let you bleed alone in the weight of your tears and the hush of your pain.
I should have left…but for one thing….

What one thing? Have you changed your mind? Have you come to your senses? Do we break down the fences and merge our defenses? Like the partners we’ve been for these years months, like the glitter in the eye of the moon. My glitter…my moon, what is this one thing?

I need a …ride?

Stories I never Tell…

A light touch. Her smile, I wish.
A soft voice.Her thoughts. I wonder.
A faint skin rub. A soft touch.

Linger. Longer. Lead.

Adequate, her features. Neither harsh nor feeble.
Adequate her tone. Neither commanding nor demanding.
She waltzes her way into my dreams.
Yet, errs at the rim.

Linger. Longer. Lead.

Her thoughts? I’d pay to own.
Her hand? I’d kill to touch. Soft firm heaven.
A piece of blessed flesh.

How does she look when the lights are out?
What does she whisper when her voice is low?
What do her hands say?
What does her body scream?

Who does she want to be?
Who does she want to be with?
Who can’t she be without?

The thoughts. Questions. Puzzles.
Dreaded answers and ghostly futures.
Answers only she knows. Yet…my mind…

Linger. Longer. Lead.

Her face lingers in my lids.
Her touch feels longer when I’m alone.
Her voice leads my heart.

Linger. Longer. Lead.

Stories you’ll never know.
Stories I never tell.
Stories you shouldn’t know.

A Valentine Chuckle- Scene One

The following scene takes place in less than 5 minutes.

Her chuckle did it for me. Like a snort but with a little whistle from her mouth. The loveliest sound in the milky way.
She was with a dude. Stylish. Well dressed. With those silly looking hairstyles young men wore these days. “Crepe”- they called it. He made her chuckle.
I’d never met them in my life, but I knew the reason I choked on my spit was very different from the hunger that brought my sister and me to ‘Kuchina Restaurant’ that afternoon. What the hell was Sandra asking at this time again?

 

I saw him look in my direction. Our eyes didn’t meet but I knew what had attracted him to our angle. Mama always said I laughed like a pig and Greg here, with the silly Crepe-thingy ,just loved making me laugh so he, in turn, could laugh at me. I loved his style. He was contemporary. But not my type.
“The Onlooker” on the other hand, was dressed simply. White shirt and jeans. Tucked in. A little too old fashioned for his age. He could be about…twenty something. At most 30.
Funny how he choked. I hope he doesn’t think I’m with…oh. No. He does. I need to do something. He’s with a lady but the resemblance is too keen. That must be his sister. Or is she?

 

My brother hardly comes to Buea. When he does, I get the chance to steal some quality time so he can tell me all about his new life. What better place than his favourite restaurant.
Ugh. That girl has a funny laugh. Like a pig. In a restaurant? Ew. That’s just gross. Why is Martin looking at her like that? Does he know her?
“ Do you know that girl?”
He chokes. Martin? Choking. Ok. Something is up. And isn’t about the spices in the air. We need to sit as far away frm that table as possible. Or…wait…no way…he’s actually taking us closer…he means for us to get closer to…them?
That other guy is kinda cute though.

 

Taking a beautiful girl out is the best thing that can happen to you in Buea on the 14th of February. Even if it is not you chick (like Piggy Cynthia here) you can just act as though she is. It’s the points that matter right? Massa…man na fine man… The sad thing is that I have already been friendzone by her massa…and the fact that she’s with me means she doesn’t even have a boyfriend for now.
Wait…her laughter has changed. Ever since that white shirt dude entered, her laugh is louder. It’s as though she’s now laughing on purpose.
Could it be that she is…

Behind Closed Doors

A smile, is what I give you.
My tears you never see.

A kiss is what you feel too.
My lips at night they weep.

I long to connect.
For our souls to resonate.
For our hearts to sing.
And our love to bloom.

I long to detect.
Your moods and caprices.
So that miles away.
I soothe you at bay.

In truth, I cannot.

I wasn’t born this way.
The way you want me.
You want me to not be.
Not be the true me.
The true me is angry.
Angry at the banality of reality.
Reality smashes at a certain age.
The age of maturity or recognition.
Recognition at 15 , 26 or 40.
That life choices have consequences.
That life’s consequences could be a meal -or death.
The death of freedom, the death of choice.
Choices harder to make as time swims by.
Time the relentless ref.

I cannot give you that which you seek.
Your fight with me is lost in advance.
Take me for me or let me be.
Fight me and you will eventually flee.

I am one of them. The tale tellers. The observers.
We relish in the beauty of others’ dreams fulfilled.

Our dream is to narrate their dreams.
Our purpose, to document their purpose.

We are the observers. Our lives are meant as a passage. A mirror to existence.
My sacrifice is to edify. To express beauty and narrate excellence.

I cannot be tamed. I cannot be owned.

You either share me with the world or let me be.
My loneliness has never left me.
She shares my bed and my keyboard.
She shares my fears and deep thoughts.

We are dark roommates, bonded by the past and awake in our present.
She sees what you will never see.
She knows what you will never know.

Do not be jealous of her.
Your pain will only breathe more life to her. She fuels me.
You are my respite. My love, you are my respite.
Until she leaves me, you are my respite.

Would you be the last to leave?