MY WEEKEND: Expressing self better in writing than verbally

A weekend ago, I met three 20-something-year-olds at a function I was attending. I was chatting with the host when one of them, a young woman, approached us and asked me, “Excuse me, are you the one that writes that column on Sunday?”

I have been writing this column for a while now, and once in a while, people approach me to inquire whether I am “the one.”

There are also those who are sure that mine is the face on this column, and so they simply inform me that they read. And then there are those that come up to me and wonder where we have met before.

They normally want to know whether we were in high school together, whether I once worked for a certain organisation, or attend a certain church. I of course say no, and suggest that perhaps I resemble someone they know.

That question was therefore not strange and from experience, I knew she would make some polite chit chat, which included telling me what she thought of this column, and then she would excuse herself. Not this woman though.

When I confirmed that I was indeed the one, she beckoned her two friends, who had been standing on the sidelines, looking hopeful. They immediately came over and sensing that this would be a prolonged interaction, my host excused herself and went to chat with someone else.

“Gosh, you’re like, sooo funny!” one of the new arrivals commented, giggling.

“Your life must be so interesting!” she gushed.

I always get a little bit confused when readers tell me that I am funny, because I don’t think I am. I have also never quite figured out how to react to this deduction, so I never know whether to say thank you or smile the comment away.

Clearly, this conversation was not going to take the format it usually did because these three were not done with me yet.

“Tell us about a funny incident that you have never written about,” the third, a young man, prompted, looking at me expectantly.

I have been tongue-tied many times in my life, but never have I been at a loss of what to say for so long like I did then. That was the last question I expected, and now that I think about it, it was one of the most difficult I have ever been asked.

You see, when I write, I don’t set out to be funny, and if I do come across as funny, you can be sure it was unintended. And so I looked at this group of three blankly, all of us growing uneasy by the second.

Eventually, it dawned on them that they were in for major disappointment, and keen to save face, my face, the young woman that had approached me hastily informed me that it was pleasure meeting me, and they all walked away, probably disappointed in me, perhaps thinking that I was a fraud.

I suspected that the next time they read this column, if they would indeed read it again, they would do so with suspicion, wondering whether I was masquerading as someone else.

Those who meet me in person having interacted with me through this column are often always puzzled. I feel that they expect this person who will regale them with interesting tale after interesting tale, only to be confronted by a person who would rather stand in the background and listen to their stories than tell hers. 

Sometime ago, I attended the launch of Philip Ochieng’s biography, The 5th Columnist, written by journalist, Liz Gitonga.

Those not in media circles and had not had the opportunity to meet and interact with Ochien’g in person could hardly wait to hear him speak.

They were disappointed though, because he only offered a seconds-long speech, if you can call it that, and only after some prompting from the organisers. Obviously, a man that did his talking better through his column.

But I digress. Should you meet me one day, please don’t expect me to entertain you because I am not funny, at least not in person. Expect a laid back person who would rather listen than talk. 

[email protected]; Twitter: @cnjerius. The writer is the editor, MyNetwork,