Dear Diary, 


It is past 11 am. The brood is snoring away in the next room thanks to sleeping at 3 in the morning. As usual. The environment is wide awake after a night of restricted movements. Yes. Madam Rona is doing her third round on this edge of the black soil. Men are felling like the trees they have continually preyed on. The rich might have overtaken the health sector but the grim reaper seems unimpressed so he's taking enough of them too. 

A slice of chapati dangles from my left hand as my right index delivers this to you. Chapatis are our form of wheat addiction. Every community has one, this is ours. 

I am readjusting to sanity after an encounter left my ego badly bruised this morning. Either that or some spaces in discord are as toxic as hell. *Who said we are all whales with an expanded knowledge on the chain and everything in between?* 

My mind can easily cook up unworthy stanzas. It can create reflective pieces. I can even come up with a moving story from any form of art if I want. And with art I mean anything from a painting to a piece of music. Artists tend to that. What I can't do is talk tech unless I read excessively on a subject. Now imagine asking a bunch of strangers about something you are looking to learn only to have yourself dissected in a number of humiliating or humorous ways (considering which side you are on). 

![PSX_20210402_112001.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/tezmel/23w2B3WxjagbpvswMKU26joPhzBJTyouQnJSxDsKgp6KLWJxtAFCB275QsaefySARqakc.jpg)


Because I get my place, I  quietly left the whales to their space. I have first-hand experience on how one can be dragged from the steemchat and I have learnt to protect my energy from brutes. You can keep your discord but with that sort of attitude, on boarding an equally interested crowd will be heard. But what do I know?

The skeletons of my life lay here. The truth you could hold against me threatens to spill with every I page fill. But where do I go? When night chases the light away and we must return to living behind closed doors, emotional warfare grabs such opportunities to drag my worst to the surface. 

Emotional spirits are to be questioned. And I remain an emotional being. 


![FB_IMG_1610430877878.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/tezmel/AJkV3yP1Gkhtb3pNhp5DsvR2rgaKRtebQPDM9ywJ1dY6g9D3cqy9oTTiskZk23v.jpg)

<center><sub>**wambuku w.**<sub></center>