I started making this statement in the first week of training. I said it repeatedly over the next two weeks, and even after the pageant was over. I still say it now when someone asks me how it was running for the position of Miss Daystar, because that was the biggest realization I had from the whole experience.
Thinking about it now, I almost agree with all the people who said, "I didn't think you could do something like that!" or "I never knew you were into that kind of thing." They're half-right. Not because I'm incapable in anyway of being in a beauty pageant. But because it honestly was something out of my comfort zone.
YOLO has quickly become a sort of mantra for me this year. You could call it being hasty, radical or even reckless, but like a close friend said to me recently, its like having an epiphany. One that lasts longer than a moment. And that's what it felt like when I walked into the auditions of Mr and Miss Daystar. I was panicking, asking myself what I was doing there, but at the same time I kept saying to myself, "Why not?"
For some reason, on the day of the audition, harldy anyone was lined up outside the specified room. In fact, I was the first person to audition. I started out feeling extremely nervous, trying to calm myself as I answered the questions thrown at me. Then they asked me to catwalk and I thought to myself smugly, "Hmm...this should be easy."
Before you start getting confused, I should probably explain that I was in a fashion show many years ago. It wasn't a competition. In fact, we were doing it as a favour for my aunty who needed to showcase some outfits. I could not have been older than 11 years.
Sure enough, after our trainer demonstrated how I was meant to walk, I confidently stepped forward and swayed my hips to the beat. In that moment, I forgot I was nervous. I was having so much fun, I couldn't help but smile. And when I looked at the people seated behind the long, narrow table, I saw them smile too. For the first time since I'd walked in, by the way.
I had it!
Walking out of that room was easier than walking in. Although I still worried about whether my body passed all qualifications in its current state, I knew I had caught their attention.
And so the waiting began.
As Kenyans, I think we've all done enough waiting in this year to last us the rest of our lives. So you can imagine how impatient I was. They decided the turnout for the first audition wasn't good enough. So they held another audition, the next week. That meant I had to wait a whole week, and then another couple of days (don't remember the exact number now) to find out if I'd gone through. Luckily, my close friend was part of the organising team. She came with news. It wasn't good news.
"I'm sorry Sheena. You didn't go through," she told me.
"Why?" I asked. I was shocked. I thought I'd wowed them with my walk. Wasn't I beautiful enough? Was I too short? What was my disqualifier?
"They thought...they thought you did not portray confidence," said my friend. She looked like she did not want to be the one giving me the news. I didn't understand. How did they come to that conclusion?
"They said it was the way you were standing. With your arms held behind your back and in front of you," she told me.
Huh? I thought that portrayed humility. Or respect. I mean, I wasn't going to stand with my arms crossed. And it didn't feel right having them hanging by my sides. So I picked the next best thing. Turns out I was awfully wrong.
I was disappointed, sure. I pretended it didn't bother me. But it did. I kept thinking to myself, "Not confident enough? How could they think that?!" After a while though I just brushed it off. "At least I tried," I thought to myself.
A few days later,
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