My flatmates are not nice people. They are not bad people either, but it is more important for me to note that they are not nice people. I am so sad and angry and disappointed all in one because the way they behave is frustrating and I feel powerless against it.

They are all the same; they want the same things from life and lead the same kind of lifestyle. I am trying to fit in, and I feel I have made perhaps more compromises than they have in order to make the relationship work. I tolerate the excessive drinking, I say nothing about the sexual escapades, even they completely contradict the moral stance I have chosen for myself. I overlook the way they leave the living/kitchen area in a mess until Sunday when they are sober, and I even take out the rubbish from regularly because I do not think it is right for three garbage bags to sit in a kitchen. Particularly when they are sitting right outside the door of my cabinet, which is a whole other set of issues.

But in return all I get is the Treatment. Thy exclude me from conversations, even when I am in the room. Sometimes I feel like part of the furniture, and extension of the walls. They talk around me when I am in the room, and even when their friends try to include me they talk me out of the conversation. They never include me in any of their plans, I even have to buy my food separately while they order theirs collectively. They are all going away for the weekend soon and I did not know about it until yesterday.

I wish they knew how difficult it is for me to be away from everything that I know and everything that I am. I have not heard my mother's voice in weeks and I am so worried about my family in Nairobi. I am scared that I am making the wrong decisions for my future and I am confused about so many things. I wish they would ask me about my country, because every time I talk about it, I feel so much better, and the burden seems lighter. I always ask about where their from and about their families but they just don't seem to want to talk to me. Because I don't get drunk and I don't have sex. Because I don't go to clubs and I want more for myself than just "good enough".

Home is supposed to be a place of comfort and rest. But this place...this place is cold and uninviting. I find that most of the time I am hiding out in my room, or staying on campus longer than necessary to avoid talking to them. There are six people in my flat; I am the only international student, and I remain fully aware of the fact because of the way that I have been alienated.

I am glad that I have my faith, and I can only imagine how difficult it must be for those who go through this without some form of rudder, helping them navigate through the murky waters. I am glad that I have friends back home who care about me and never let me forget it. I am glad for the new friends that I have made, who let me talk on and on about Nairobi as if it was the best place in the world. And I am glad for language and for writing. Because I can put it out there and get it off my chest.

I may bend but I will not break.

This place is finally beginning to feel familiar. After the struggle and strain of the first few weeks I think I can finally call my uni accommodation a home, a place that I can just kick back. I took some of the sage advice that was offered to me and got a part time job in a coffee shop to help me with my expenses. True to form, it really is killing two birds with one massive stone (sorry for the morbid analogy, but I did not make it up!). One the one hand I get paid and on the other ,I get free sandwiches at the end of the day, so I literally only buy cereal and rice with veggies to eat for the weekend.

Unfortunately, and apparently many other students experience this, one of my bosses has a bit of a superiority complex. I guess the fact that this is only a transient thing for me, while this is the rest of her life bothers her, I don't know. Anyway, she skulks around the shop whenever I'm in, talks around me to the other employees and makes sarcastic comments at me in the store. She's just really bitter, and I'm trying not to let her bitterness get to me because bile can really poison your soul.

It really makes it easier to know that I am not doing this alone. Calling home from time to time gives me a sense of peace and confidence to go through the rest of the week. I love getting emails (and comments on my blog! ;-)) from my friends because it makes me feel like I'm a)not totally alone and b) not making a complete hash of this whole thing.

Back to my job, I should mention that even though it is like the classic cliche job, working in a coffee shop, it is not nearly half as glamorous as people make it out to be. For sure, I have met many fantastic and really interesting people, and had some really off the bat deep and meaningful conversations (what's the point of non-alcoholic beer/wine or decaffeinated coffee? Aren't those the most ludicrous paradoxes?). And I get to drink as much coffee as I want, and I do love the Old Beans. But I also have to pick up after the customers and some of them do really gross things.

Like what does it say about a person who orders a cheese and onion sandwich, and then picks out all the onions and leaves them on the table? (P.S. we do sell a cheese only variety, both wholemeal and white). Or this really sick game that British (and Japanese) students like to play with coffee shop staff called Find the Rubbish? It's not really a game but it helps me deal with the stupidity of the situation by referring to it as such. Basically the point is to leave empty cups and sugar sachets, used serviettes, half eaten candy etc in the most hard to reach places in the cafe, so that I can then spend fifteen minutes of my life ( that I will never regain) picking things out from, say, behind promotional posters, under FIXED tables and chairs or grotty corners.

Yeah. This is now the story of my life. Me, the star of my high school musical, and one of the most ambitious people I know. Sigh. But then again, I am learning a lot about humility and respect. Some of my coworkers do equally grotty work and one is a masters student. And even if she wasn't, it would still be really cool of her, you know?

I have learnt a lot through my job. I have a greater respect for the people who serve me at various places, because I have learnt a lot of interesting things from some of those people. Secondly, I am developing a sense of humility, which I have realised is very necessary for a great team to function. Thirdly, I have a greater sense of purpose and direction- this situation is not forever. This is not it for me, but I must work my way up, you know.

And finally, I look good in black.

I went shopping with a friend of mine this weekend, and a simple search for affordable food turned into an analysis of the idiosyncrasies of the English language. We wound up in a health food store, and found some very interesting things. Take mung beans for instance. Believe it or not , until Saturday I had no idea that such a word even existed. In my country they were dengus, they had always been dengus, in English or Kiswahili or whatever. But in England, they are mung beans.

The word just sticks onto your tongue. Mung, mung, mung, mung. It’s so heavy and...yech! Even though the actual dengu…mung beans can be quite delicious. Only in English would such great food have such an ugly name. Because I had had a philosophy class earlier in the week, I got to thinking, what if mung actually meant something else? I mean if you think about it, the words do or go really have no meaning other than what we give to them. It is human interpretation and convention that makes do and go action words, verbs, and gives them that meaning. (Mung, mung, mung mung...)

So supposing I went ahead and made mung a verb. It would conjugate as follows;

To mung; I mung, you mung, he/she mungs, we mung, you mung, they mung, I munged, I have munged, I will mung etc. (Mung, mung, mung, mung…) To mung or not to mung, that is the question

What would mung mean? It sounds pretty dirty to me, like a swear word. "You mung! Mung this!" (Like dung with an m!) I personally try not to swear so I think it would make a pleasant alternative to what we already have. But then again, even though we say mung, we would all be thinking about the other swear word and then wouldn’t it all just be the same thing? (Mung, mung, mung, mung…) Better yet, we could make it some form of greeting; "may the mung be with you!" Or maybe I could make it a noun for the most pleasurable experience one can possibly have, like “Wow, that chocolate was pretty mung!” or “my marriage to Rob has been pretty mung” "what a delightfully mung boy your son is!"(Mung, mung, mung, mung...)

I just can’t get over it! I’ve been saying the word over and over since Saturday and everyone thinks I’m nuts or idle. Maybe I am a bit of both, who knows? All I know is that they taste good and they will always be dengu to me.

If you think about it, situations, like mung beans, are what we interpret them to be. The glass is either half empty of half full.

Bet you didn't think I could slip a lesson in there, huh?

May the rest of your week be mung.(mung,mung, mung...)

Wow, quite a hiatus I had there, eh? I'm really sorry about that but I have had quite the cold and the glare from the computer screen was not helping the hysteria that comes with the fever. I chose to ride out the cold with only paracetamol for the fever and hot water as my feeble resistance against the vicious streptococci that had invaded my throat. It was really difficult at times but I'm glad I did it, it was kind of like trial by fire, an official welcome to the UK.

Other than the cold it has been a difficult few days, but thanks to some sage advice, I think I managed it pretty well. I got a job in a restaurant and so I have cut down my food expensed to close to nothing. I only spend on Sunday brunch, usually a slice of cheese toast, and cereal for the mornings. At least I feel I'm doing something to cut down the costs, and the feeling of guilt that I felt each time I walked into a store is reducing considerably. Also my supervisor at work is a local so she helps me with tips on great places for cheap food.

Even so, I still find myself stressing over money from time to time, so on Friday I had to actively remind myself why I was here. I am a student, I am supposed to do student things and worrying about money was just making me distressed and shifting my focus. So on Friday, I joined some societies and really had a good time. And you know what? I feel so much better and more focused now. When you think about it, if I save all the money in the world, but end up missing out on what are supposed to be the best years of my life, what have I really gained? What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul in its place?

So I guess if there had to be a lesson to pick from this week, it’s prioritise. One of the greatest books I have ever read (and I have read quite a few, so trust me on this one) is the Alchemist by Paolo Coelho. In it there is an analogy of a boy who visits the greatest and wisest king in the world, who he asks about the secret to happiness. The king gives the boy a teaspoon with two drops of oil and tells him to walk around through the whole palace with out losing the drops of oil.

The boy does so and returns to the King, oil intact. The King asks; "Did you go through the whole palace?"

"Yes." replies the boy and the King asks him if he noticed his magnificent Persian rugs of wonderful fountains, and the boy admits he did not. So the King instructs him to return to the palace and see all these wonderful things. The boy does so faithfully, and returns to the king, praising the splendour of his palace. The Kings asks him; "But where are the two drops of oil I gave you?" And the boy looks down at his spoon and realises that he has lost the oil.

The King tells him, the secret of true happiness is the ability to walk through the palace without losing the two drops of oil.

Think about it.