Is it consumerism or what could it be really ? ....Well,,, could be peer pressure ...

Girl, you are a student nurse in your clinical rotations . During my clinical rotations in Campus, you could see someone with long stilleto nails ...And not just one or two ...several people ....You need to wear those gloves and handle the patient!!! You can't keep on escaping a role just because you " Made your nails " .....Why did you even make stilletos when you know very well the task you have as a Nurse ?? .....You could have just applied gel if you really really needed to make your nails ...At least it is much more convenient .

And how do I tell you all that Female food content creators are actually doing the WRONG thing ?? ...As a person who studied food microbiology and Parasitology in Campus , I'm assuming those creators are forcefully making us to be consumers of E. Coli Bacteria. In fact , according to KEBS, and the policies governing food handling , food handlers should NOT and NEVER be having nails , or any form of make up while handling food .....Every time I see them kneading dough with looong nails , and making lamb chops , and cinnamon rolls , all my eyes can do is wonder ......Do we all know something called food poisoning and contamination ?? .......And Don't get me with the " But you aren't sure if they cleaned their hands " ...Girl , Nooooo!!!! We are not quaranteed! ......

And interestingly, we as Kenyans and Africans follow that food content creator with the longest stilleto nails because it is more aesthetic and fun ....Well , nothing is aesthetic about that!! ...

You are a mother ....I'd get really really mad if my mum scrubbed my face as an infant with nails once in a while and hurt me .....You see a mother struggle to shower her baby and even dress the baby and we think It's just " cute " ....Liiiiiike ??? ...I am not saying mothers should not have nails , but as a toddler mother , why are you even having such long nails in the first place ?? ......Make them short...Apply clear gel to your natural nails ...If they really need to be Aesthetic .....

We will be handling a project and for some reason there are those girls who cannot do the manual tasks because they have " nails '" ...Like giiiiirl!! You knew we have a project at hand that needs a lot of manual work and yet you chose an inconvenience?? ...Can we be like for real ?? .....Msupa Kwani rada ?? .....

Listen , I have no issue with nails .....But I have a feeling we have a Nails Pandemic .....And It's just consumerism culture ....

Plus , just the way we say , Dress for the Occassion , please have nails for the Occassion....You can't be wearing gloves in the ward with long nails or claiming you are a farmer with them...

It is okey to have your nude nails . It is actually cute that way .....

I know this may not be well written and deeply dived into but yeah .....Those are just my 4a.m thoughts .

XOXO! 💙

Well,,, a few days ago , I had a chat with her. And I told her of how I Don't want kids and marriage . Then she pulled the " What does The Bible say " phrase . She said that The Bible says we go procreate and multiply . That it is what God expects us to do .....And she said that those who do not obey that from The Bible will be punished by God . I went ahead and asked her ...My dearest mother , then what about barren women ?? ....Do they also get punished for not giving birth and procreating ? ...She was silent....I went ahead to ask ....Isn't the God of Barren women also The God of Fertile women ?? ......Well.....Welll....Welll.......

Then in another call with my mum , we were discussing careers . And I told her that people who took Education as a Course in Campus are actually at a greater advantage because wao kutarmack is a bit not sooo much ( Well, they do tarmack but Teachers are needed almost everywhere) ....She is a teacher, so she agreed .

Here is where the conversation went South : She said " You know if someone's daughter get's employed as a teacher, it will be very favourable for her ...She will get money , get a husband , buy a land , and get her three kids ! ( I laughed at that point where she said " get her three kids 😭😂😂...She was soo specific 😭😂 ) .......Well, again , I told her that it is not a MUST for her to follow that path of Life........She changed the conversation...She doesn't want to hear that .....

And every time i win over her in an argument , she pulls up with the " Vile inaonekana, wewe utakuwa a Catholic Nun " ( I'm Catholic) ....Dearest Mother , I do not need to conform to what society expects of women to be a perfect woman!!! If I Don't wanna become a mother, then Don't give me another misogynistic option!!! I will become who and what i want to be !! Thank you !

And now this takes me to what i was to say :

Our Mothers were conditioned by Society to follow a specific criteria: Finish School , get a husband , get married , give birth to children , survive through life as a family , go through thick and thin, and so on and so forth ...

My mother has never been to her favourite places . My mother has no dream world Destination. My mother, for the longest time has been watching documentaries and people on TV and just admired them . She has never thought that even SHE can be there ! And if you ask her if she wants to be there , she will tell you , " But I Don't have enough for all that ...I have you, my children to fend for " ...My Mother has never been to a concert on her own . My mother has never just for a moment had a time for herself to relax , chill with the girls , and do everything a free woman can do ......I really hope i take my MOTHER to a vacation some day !! Let me chase that bag ( I love my mum 🎀🌸) ...

And so, I Don't want to live a life like the one my MOTHER has lived . I do not want to just finish school , and all over a sudden I am supposed to start submitting to my husband , I should start running family errands , handle toddlers and start worrying about diaper bills ....Allow me to live ....

I WILL MARRY WHEN AND IF I WANT!!

First of all , I want to travel to my dream world Destinations, I want to go to Maldives, Switzerland, Egypt , Singapore , Indonesia, I want to first see The Great Wall of China...All the 7 wonders of the world ! ....I want to go for concerts without having to worry about responsibilities to my family....I want to attend all live Mic Cheque Hangouts , I want to see Charisma, Bien , Nviiri The Storyteller perform....Yes !! I want to just do all that .....i want to attend Research Conferences , I just want a life for myself !!

And choosing myself over family life is not selfish of me. If anything , society is selfish for not letting me just live ......

I am not less of a woman for choosing not to have Children and for choosing not to be married .

( I love Family life soo much . I adore family life . I want to get married some day . I want to fall in love, make love and just everything in between. But I want society to understand that I am also a priority as a person! )

A week ago , i was at my work place and then there is a kasmall Church nearby . I think they have Wednesday Evening Devotions and also Sunday Services .

I haven't been to Church in quite a while ( Former Stauch Christian here 😌 ) ....I still go to Church . I am deconstructing a couple of stuff but I'll be back there once my head is clear . The Church is actually an amazing place to be and depending on how well you relate with people , you ca find a really good community . The Church grounds people .

So , on this particular Wednesday, when i was almost wrapping up my work , this pastor passed by. The Church is literally just next to my workplace . I work at a new location and so he stood to ask me about the services we offer , Yadayada! I explained to him the services and the payment rates ....He had come out to get a breather or so I guessed and there was some worship music inside the Church ( I was not moved by them 😭....I think the Church gave me some trauma so I really didn't feel moved. It was just noise to me . Honestly. Back then I would have been moved and felt sorrowful and cried but this time no ! I didn't feel a single thing )

This pastor stands by me and even before knowing my name , he started asking me if I was " Born again " ...And he was ready to give me a lecture on being " Born again " ....He had started pulling those Highschool Pastors and Motivational speaker moves . I was genuinely sooo sooo pissed off but I held it together .

I just composed myself and told him , whatever he is trying to tell me , i already know it . I told him I know The Bible. I told him I know how to Pray. I told him I will go to Church every Sunday and attend every devotion there is . I told him I can actually preach . I can sing .I listen to Don Moen, Maverick City Music , Cityalight, Joel Osteen . It is not like I have never done that before.

Because the problem with Christians and all these people in the religious space is that they will see you just living life and all over a sudden , they see a broken vessel , they see wretchedness...They see an opportunity to become " life savers " . Well , dearest pastor , I do not need you to make me feel like I am not worthy. I am worthy in every aspect . I have love within me . I love my neighbour as I love myself . I do not judge anyone . I give Grace to people equally . Even those undeserving of that Grace from me , i still give them .

I told him I do not need to be told I am " Born again " for me to be a good person . From what i know, all the " Born again " people I know are all a bunch of hypocrites . Someone will tell you they are " Born again " and proceed to steal from you .

A pastor will say he is " Born again " and go ahead to preach against abortion while forcing his daughter to have an abortion . He will preach against corruption when he is out here asking for money from poor people for him to Pray for them .....

I have seen Catholic Priests Prey on girls . I have seen coronated Priests have kids with 20 year olds . I have seen it all . They are also " Born again " ....It is the very same 60 year old Priest Condemning Pedophilia . And Yes, he is " Born again "

I no longer cry listening to worship songs . I used to .But I no longer do. I do not want to be doing normal stuff and feel quilty every other time . I do not want to feel like I am not a good human being for getting revenge for something awful that was done to me . I do not want to make people stop being accountable for their mistakes just because i am " Born again " ....I do not want to tolerate bullshit in the name of " I am saved " ...No , I don't want that ....

I do not want to bow to slavery . Because that , to me , is slavery of the heart and mind.

So dearest Pastor , I will go to Church when I want . I respect you and whatever you say , but I am a person full of love and I am just okey.

I love my neighbour as I love myself . And what i do believe is that God is not anything else but love .

God is love .

XOXO ! 💙

I'm Definately not a " Girl's Girl "

Are you actually a “ Girl's Girl “ or did social media tell you to be? …

( Well , someone on here once wrote an Article on this. And I just thought i should also add my thoughts on it . Whoever it is ..I really loved it )

Th " Girl's Girl " Phrase is very much misused nowadays that eventually it makes some people entitled and others lacking accountability for some of the things that they should be holding themselves accountable for " . Girl , you are in charge of your own life . We have not been given that mandate !!

If you ask me if I am a Girl's Girl , I will give you two answers. A yes and a No .

Listen hun, I love girls , I love women , I just love everything womanhood! I really really love my Gender . I compliment a girl when I see she is pretty , whether I know her or I don't , I will always pull the " Uko mremboooooo " phrase . I will tell you your outfit looks gorgeous . I will tell you I love your dress , you have nice earrings, you smell nice . Yes, I will do that because i am a girl and I like seeing girls happy.

I will offer you a pad in case you have an emergency and you need it . I will help you fix that zipper if I find you struggling in the bathroom mirror . I will offer you my gloss .

But hear me out on this :

If you are having a birthday and you have decided that everybody should contribute KSh 2,000 because “girls have to support girls,” I might contribute. Or I might not. I might genuinely have the money. I might genuinely like you. Or I might have 400 bob in my account and be trying to figure out what I am eating tomorrow. Either way, I am not a bad woman because I did not send the money.

If you start a business, I will support you where I can. But I am not buying twenty-seven body scrubs because we are both women. I don't even use body scrubs like that. You cannot guilt-trip me into becoming a customer. If I like what you sell, I will buy it. If I don't, I will clap for you from a safe financial distance. I will also refer clients and friends to you. And I will post and repost your content on your business page .

If you have an event, I will come if I want to come. I will not suddenly become a bad friend because I chose to stay home. Sometimes I am tired. Sometimes I have other plans. Sometimes I simply don't want to come. And no, “But girl, it is a good event!” is not going to make my legs move. If you tell me utaboeka ukienda solo and I genuinely don't feel like going , aki Mimi will not go .

If you need money, I will help you if I can. But “girl, I know you have it” is not a financial obligation. I have things too. My money is not automatically community property because I am a woman. You are not entitled to my money and help just because.......Worse still, you assume it is a must i help and if I don't then I am bad for that .....Please I love you but for today , I am not in a Position to ...And you need to understand that .

If you need a job and I know somebody hiring, I will send you the opportunity and even recommend you . But I am not putting my reputation on the line for you if I know you are not qualified. And I am definitely not going to recommend you simply because i know you ......You gotta get your gears up when it comes to professionalism and work ethic ...I am not recommending you if I know very well you are good at causing chaos .

If you are my friend and another girl doesn't like you, I am not automatically going to dislike her too.

What happened between you two? ...“I don't like her.”

Okay.

And? You need to give me a little more than that. I am not changing my friendships because you have decided somebody is your enemy. I am not in primary school. You don't get to point at a girl and tell me, “Don't talk to her.” I will talk to whoever I want.

And if you cheated on your boyfriend and now his new girlfriend is angry with you, please do not call me at midnight asking me to help you fight her. Girl. You cheated.I love you, but I was not there.

If your boyfriend calls asking where you are, I am not lying and saying you are sleeping at my house while you are somewhere in Kileleshwa with another man. Please find another alibi. I have enough problems without becoming a supporting character in your relationship drama.

If you send me a picture of another woman and say, “Tell me honestly, is she prettier than me?” I will not participate in that either.

Girl, why are we doing this ? She is pretty.You are pretty. Can we eat?

If your work is bad, I am not going to tell you it is amazing just because you are a woman. You can do better .

I am also not giving up an opportunity because another woman wants it more. If we both applied for the same job and I got it, I am not apologising for getting it. I will congratulate you if you get it. I will encourage you if you don't. But I am not going to shrink myself because another woman is standing beside me.

And I certainly don't believe that women should have to constantly rescue each other from the consequences of their own choices.You chose him. You chose that job.You chose to spend that money.You chose to leave school. You chose to send that message. You chose to go back to him for the sixth time.

Girl, I can sit beside you while you cry. I can bring you food. I can listen to the entire story. But I cannot make the consequences disappear. That is not what being a woman is for.

Sometimes the phrase feels less like “I care about women” and more like “I am available to every woman.”

And I am not.I am available to people I love.I am available when I genuinely can help.I am available when I choose to be.

I love women.

I just don't believe loving women means belonging to every woman.

Maybe I am not a Girl's Girl after all.Maybe I am just a girl who likes girls.

That should be enough. Honestly.

XOXO ! 💙

I met some three girls this evening . One was walking with her partner ( Not so sure ) ….I don't like her . I know her, we were mutuals but not very close mutuals back then. I don't like her . She has a lot of mean girl energy . People think she is cool but I find some thing very off about her. The remaining two are friends . I met them as well . I also find their energy soo off . They said hi . I warmly greeted them back . I once walked on them asking my closest hb who was holding my bag waiting for me to come out of the washroom “ Unamshikia bag na kungoja Kwani yeye hana miguu na mikono? “ …..One loudly apologized to me …I just went quiet . I also don't like them . They are fake ..

HOUSE HUNTING IS CRAZY

My two closest friends need houses and it's craazy. Rent prices have hiked , the demand for houses is more than the supply and it's quite the sad problem. My Dad also wants me to find a house for my cousin joining Campus ……I can't find them Maahn! ……I hope some luck locates me tomorrow ! I'm also very picky with the houses . Not just “ bora nyumba “ …I want the best for my people .

MSEE WA NDUTHI

I lied to msee wa Nduthi that naingia tu kwa room kuchukua sweater….Well, I ended up washing my face , doing a full lip combo and wearing my earrings😭😂…..Hizo earrings nilivalia kwa nduthi…My friends called to tell me to leave the house 😭😂…..I was from work…I just couldn't hang out with them with dry lips and a face that is not moisturized…Hata wao waelewe tu😂.

FACEBOOK

I've recently found Facebook fun …Maybe ni uzee…I am actually really getting old ….I go on there to stalk people, once in a while like and comment on friend's posts , add a few friends….Who knows, maybe I will need the app someday ! ….Ni fun actually 🧡.

CHAPATI

Ukinunua Chapo kwa kibandaski, nunua tu za 20. Wachana na za 15bob….Hazislaap sana…..My Theory ! I said this loudly on the road while with my friend and some random guys agreed . I hope chapo zitarudi kuwa 10 bob aki…..I took Chapo, fried eggs and fresh milk for supper 😂…Wolefa meehn…Bora nimekula😂

GOODNIGHT

My Partner just texted me to say Goodnight. Let me share those Goodnight Wishes with all of you . Sharing is Caring.

XOXO ! 💙

" When I grow up , i want to be a Doctor , God Help me , in my Education " .....Is a song we used to rhyme to in Kindergarten. And every time visitors came to our homes our parents would proudly call us to tell them what we wanted to be when we grew up . And we would enthusiastically tell them we wanted to be Neurosurgeons, Doctors, Lawyers, Engineers ..You name them ....We would yap with classmates about the careers we wanted to take . We were soo bold and ambitious and for some reason , we all believed we would all become what we wanted to be . And that it would be a linear process .

Well, 18 years down the line . Njeri went to High School and got expelled for sneaking in drugs . Her life has never been the same again . Cherop got pregnant in form 1 , went back to School, got pregnant again after form 4 . She did not join Campus . She got married to an alcoholic who later abandoned her. Her kids are now 3 . She is currently living with the parents . She is unemployed . She wanted to become a Doctor . Well,,, ...Si ni life .

Mwangi joined Campus. The whole village believed in him . He is now an alcoholic . He dropped out in 2nd year . He was taking Medicine and Surgery . Face imebeat. You won't even believe if he told you he went to Alliance.

Karanjaa finished school. But unemployment my people ! Unemployment ! He has a degree in Actuarial Science . Ako na baze yake ya Smocha hapo tao.

Chepchirchir alirudia form 4 because her Grade did not qualify to be a Campus grade . She is not graduating with her classmates this year . She will graduate next year.

Shiko hakuenda Campus . But she is studying Cosmetology in College . Wambo ni waitress kwa Hoteli fulani hapo tao. She has one kid and a husband . They live in a Bedsitter and her life is not bad .

Kimani is doing well in Campus . He is even a Student leader . Mukami is doing Great . She is the founder of a Platform for youth. Nyakio is still bold and intelligent .

Kipruto is almost finishing 6th year of Med School . Same thing with Kwamboka.

Hussein went to study outside Country . Biwott got a Scholarship and is currently pursuing his Masters in The UK .

Wazazi wa Chepkemei sold land and took her to Australia . She has built them a big house and bought them a car . She is 21 , just like all of us .

Brian Muthoni ni Makanga wa Metro ya Thika Road . Utampata hapo Roysa asubuhi kwa stage ya Metro akishout Thika Juja , Thika Juja. He is still loud but an amazing soul .

Derrick alipelekwa rehab . He is now doing okey.

Wangare's parents relocated to the US . They are living in Washington DC.

Someone lost their parents along the way and she had to leave school to fend for Her Siblings.

Cherotich got married last week in a white wedding . It was amazing .

Njagi anaendesha nduthi yake . Ako na bibi na familia .

Patt's parents divorced and their lives changed .

We lost some along the way . May Their Souls Rest in Eternal Peace 💙.

We did not all become Neurosurgeons. But we all are definately living a human life in a human world.

Let's give each other Grace .

( This is a work of Fiction. Heavily inspired by a Conversation I had Yesterday with Our Primary School Head Girl ) .

XOXO! 💙

We all pictured university as Paradise . The University that we all had in our minds , I'm assuming, is a university life where there is no struggle . A life of research, conferences, big spaces and all . We all envisioned a University life to be classy! Walking in Pavements....You know , a life like the one we see in Movies and read in Novels .

Well, I do not know if that has always been every Kenyan Child's dream. But from what I know, at least for a larger percentage of the Kenyan Children, that was their dream .

Well, I am not writing from a point of less priviledge .Neither am I writing from a point of much priviledge as per say . I am writing as a typical Kenyan Comrade who just finished Campus . A typical Comrade who did not live in the posh apartments around school but kinda managed to afford a good room outside school . A comrade who has once in a while asked friends " Niokolee soo " and " Nitumie za kabej " ....A comrade who has always just dressed typically, a jeans , T.Shirt and Converse and we are good to go . A comrade who wore braids , laid edges till the very last bit of laying them na zikichapa sana unasota inabidi umeweka twist at least ukae poa. And styling myself in that thrifted trench coat once in a while to look good ...Basically, not looking like my problems.....Na kuweka Royco cubes kwa sukuma....And surviving on Ugali Mayai ....Literally , a Typical Comrade!!!

And you can now imagine we have people in Campus who cannot afford that . Even for us who afford the basics , life is still hard .

HELB is there , but it is not enough . Who is going to tell our Kenyan Parents that HELB sio hata pesa ya kumaliza wiki ? ....That money , you cannot even describe how it quickly vanishes into thin air . Inakaa tu imerogwa! Mzazi anaskia umepata HELB 16k anasema usiwahi mpigia simu for the rest of the semester juu hiyo 16k is enough ..Nisiwahi kupigia simu ajeeee??? ....Hiyo pesa nikinunua tu food inaisha!!! Hata Mimi mwenyewe sijajispoil!

And then kuna those parents who ask for HELB money from their kids!! Sooo weird!! Parents should never be entitled to HELB money!! And our Kenyan Parents need to be told this !

Well, Mimi I just finished Campus and currently doing a side hustle . Waiting for Graduation. I don't feel soo okey really ! I genuinely feel like I am meant to be somewhere else...Outsideeee! I looove looove my job ! And I have the best employer if you ask me ( He might read this because he is on here and I just want him to know that he is the most amazing human I have ever met ) ......I consider myself priviledged but still I feel soo bitter....I feel like I am not meant to be striving this hard ! I am just a girl ! Maybe I should have gone home and rested ...But No ! We need to get a better life ! I need to buy new curtains for my house , buy a good couch , Get a new set of utensils, ...You know ...Some good girl life !! ....I need a home of my own ! .....You ask yourself if you came to Campus to still struggle but then you remember that this is life .

Comparison is the thief of joy .Ngl, some of my friends are employed , others have provider boyfriends , others come from the richest of the homes , and others are just chilling seeing how life will unfold . We are all tryna live and be alive .

For someone like me , i am enrolling for My Masters in a month's time ( Well, where i study, you can enroll even before Graduation) ...In my mind and heart, I know that is where my future lies ....Probably do something more , and well, maybe life and luck will meet me there.

For others , they've ventured into business, and just a lot of stuff....And that's just it about life.......

Yote tisa kumi, I will quote Kodongclan by saying this " Past the Darkest nights the sun will rise again. Things will get better in the end ! Osiepa keep moving " !!

XOXO 💙 .

Well,, Well,, Well,, ....I never thought i would ever bring myself to writing this. It is one of those things that have stuck in my heart and mind for soo long and I hope you will allow me to pour them out into writing today .

And Yes . I am very much of a Church Person. Born and raised in a Catholic home . I was not very much into Church activities but you know , I was always that Child who went to Church and followed the ten commandments to the bit . And Yes, those virtues I've held them till adulthood. Kindness , treating people with respect, empathy...You mention them . Safe to say, I have always been the " innocent " person in almost every space that I am in . Even in Adulthood . Some things have changed a little bit but typically, I am still the same girl brought up in The Church .

But one thing I failed to understand is that not everyone in The Church was like me . Yes , not everyone is polite , kind , understanding . I thought The Church is a place where we love one another. We are all brothers and Sisters in Christ. My baaaad....That was not the case , APPARENTLY!

In my 3rd Year of Studies in Campus , I got elected as a Secretary for our Chaplaincy! A very big role if you ask me . One of the biggest roles that I have ever handled in my life by the way! And a role that even The School Recognised! Yes ....You can imagine being a Secretary for one of The Largest Christian Student Organizations in Campus. It put me in soo much biig spaces and for that I am super grateful !

I handled that position with soo much Grace and rigor . And being the alpha female that I am , I would stand in front of close to 1500 students EVERY SUNDAY to address them . It felt soo surreal and I felt like i was carrying the weight of handling all of them . One thing leadership does to you is that it automatically makes you a role model ( Well, I know myself as a very ambitious outspoken woman so I understand when someone tells me that i am their role model ) . Being called a role model was not Something I was prepared for but with time i learnt to take it in . Plus , one thing about Sophie is that she is very all rounded...I was in AIESEC, Rotaract and just many other clubs...While still leading in Church. And I was thriving in all those spaces .....Literally, a rigorous Alpha...I was also a student leader...So you can imagine......

Well, I thrived....And it is something i am super proud of....I made a lot of friends in Church...We laughed, we appreciated one another , I loved the kindness and generosity we had among each other...I loved the Prayer group meetings...I loved the private DMs by people I do not even know telling me how amazing of a leader I am .....I really really loved every bit of my leadership journey !! It is honestly one of those experiences that will stick with me for life.....And I thank God every single day for that opportunity to serve His People!

That being said , do you all think people loved seeing a girl like me thrive in such a space ?? .....Well, the answer is NO!

First of all , I remember I wanted to resign on the first week of being Chosen. I remember hearing rumours that I was taking soo much time making announcements, I remember seeing a screenshot of someone saying that " Kama hajui vile atamalizia matangazo awache kusema " thank you " mara mingi " ....And it hurt me to the core .

I remember being told that kila saa nikisimama hapo mbele kuna watu wenye wanasema " Sasa huyo anajaribu kuchekesha nani " .

I remember this one time when I was going to the front and some girls within the choir started clicking ( Mind you I never knew them and never interacted with them) .......Literally haujakosea mtu but they just hate you for no reason.

I remember not getting along with some girls . If you ask me why , I cannot really put it into words but they were the hardest people to work with. First of all they were mean . Secondly they were soo immature and childish. Thirdly , they were soo good at side eyeing people....And the worst character they had was jealousy!!!! Woooooooii! Wivu walikuwa nayo tena kwa wingi. In my whole life no one has ever rudely spoken to me . The first time someone spoke rudely to me was that time .And it is sad that it had to be a girl from Church . I cried .

And just so you know how weirdly deep the behaviour of those girls was , they were soo much into my business . As a Catholic, there is always that part where we get to receive The Holy Communion. I always received it . They rarely did that. So a time came when I did not receive Communion for quite a while. I remember them coming to me to ask me why I was not receiving The Holy Communion ( I assumed they did that just to confirm that I was also into worldly stuff and that we are equal ) .....Well,, that was sooo sooo weird if you ask me ...I still find it weird till date...Yaani they took it upon themselves to ask me .....I wonder if they wanted me to openly declare that I am a fornicator ....

Every time I think or those moments , I feel like they shifted my whole perspective about life . I developed a thick skin towards a couple of issues in life. I learnt to handle people as they come. I learnt that we are not all the same.

I almost quit Church after handing over but then I realized that my relationship with God is personal and it should never be defined by people! ...It is me and my God .

I haven't been to Church in a while now but I'm thinking of remoulding my religious life .

I love God . I love The Church . And I love how The Church Shapes people.

Maybe I should get back to Reading my Bible . And saying a word of Prayer Everyday. And planning my Sunday Outfits on Saturday Evenings. And having Sunday Pilau Cookouts with my friends . And Bible Study sessions.

We all need God in Our Lives.

XOXO! 💙

Now let's just do a background check . That relationship part aside :

Growing up , as a first born daughter , it shaped me in soo many ways . I learnt responsibility soo early . And I grew up in a very Partriarchal society. So from a very young age , I knew that I can do things on my own , I am capable of soo much, and I need to work hard to get a better life . I knew from a young age that my life has no room for mistakes and every move I make in life has to be carefully calculated . I knew from a very young age that I am not going to repeat the mistakes that the women who came before me made and also not settle for the lives they settled for .

One interesting thing about me is that I have always been the smartest girl around . And so it threatened a lot of young boys and girls . In Kindergarten and Primary School , I was always the focused child. I remember one time some kids from a nearby school heard that I was transferring to their School. On one Particular Sunday in Church , this one girl told me that the reason why they never wanted me is because i would be a competition to the top students. Mind you I was just an 8yr old .

I never quite had friends in School . And for some reason , for the entire of my primary school life , i was always the top student and the top girl . So literally , even the girls never liked that . So you would find that I was never really included in a couple of games and stuff. Literally, it's like I became the black sheep .

Was I the problem really ? ....Every time i try to convince myself that maybe I was just not the best person around , my heart reminds me that i was not bad and have never been . Because it is not a crime to know what you want....

The boys in class even never dared to write love notes and shii to me . Well, they did all that to other girls but doing that to me is where they drew the line . For some reason, they viewed me as some lioness or sth....And every time i passed by them , you could sense some thing.....just something....

I remember after completing our K.C.P.E , people were exchanging contacts and all .....And some girl shouted " Na mbona hamtaki ya Sophie " ....Another one in the corner said " Aiiii, ziiii...That one ako under strict supervision and I don't think she would even buy the idea " ( Truth be heard, I was not very close to most of the girls in class ) .....Well, I was the top Girl in my region that year in our K.C.P.E ( Not to brag 🖤 ) .

At home , the girls from our village really drew some lane when it came to interacting with me . Even the boys knew I was some untouchable territory . And their parents have always known as well . Even in Church at home , you could just tell that there is something....Kuna penye wamekuweka......And for some reason I feel like it saved me from a lot of Bullshit .

Fast forward to Campus , I also had a really hard time making friends. Actually, all my Campus people are just acquaintances. Everyone who knows me understands that I am the most sociable person around. However , I do not joke when it comes to lectures and exams and assignments. And I do not tolerate a couple of stuff ...Plus just be straightforward with whatever you are saying and doing . And whatever you do , give it your best .

I took up a lot of leadership roles in Campus and well, all my roles were soo well performed ! And for some reason also , the guys and the girls would meet me nyuma ya tent and tell me how good of a leader I am ( Well , leadership is tough and getting people tell you that you are doing it well really psyches you up ) .

This one time a girl told me that at first she thought i was abnormal 😭😂...And that I do not have girl experiences kama za wasichana wengine . And that most girls have always been afraid to make friends with me because they fear me . She opened up about this after I told her about my failed Situationships and sex life and shii...And for some reason she was soo relieved to see that I actually have the same life and experiences just like every other ordinary girl .

Well , there is soo much into this and If i wish to write , I can write a whole novel on this . Even in Social spaces and clubs in Campus , I have never really " fit" in because being in the same spaces as your peers requires some level of " fitting in " ...And it's been hard ....

And when that guy told me that i am alpha , it made me think….I've never been approached by a guy akinirushia mistari…You'll think I'm joking but Mimi sijawahi Katiwa…If anything, it's just fwbs….

And so the big question is , am I actually " Too Alpha " ?? .......And is it wrong to be an alpha female ?? ...And why is it that being an alpha female threatens a lot of people? ...

Well, maybe I actually am an Alpha Female .

But i know myself as the sweetest girl around .And very sociable. And very much of a lover girl .

Well,,,, ..... I also have a hard time understanding my Personality.

Let's just say, I'm alpha ......

Well, jokes on her . It happened on a random Wednesday in August at around 3p.m .

She thought it would happen in a luxurious bed, in a hotel somewhere, with flowers and a kiss and wide smiles, and cool music playing in the background . Well , it happened in her small Bedsitter , with utensils unwashed in the kitchen sink and the bed even not perfectly made .

She thought she would receive cuddles after , and kissed and pecked , and perfectly cuddled to sleep and wake up to breakfast in bed ; Well , woe to her , it happened at 3p.m and by 5p.m he was out on his other errands . She was left to do aftercare to herself. She bled but who was she supposed to tell ?? ...A small naive girl , not even exposed to the worldly stuff . Well, she was left to clean her bedsheets, worry about whether she should take Postnitor 2 or not .She did not know.

She texted to tell him she bled . He casually said " It always happens when the hymen is broken " . Yes , that's what he said .

She thought he would be her first and probably her forever . Well , turned out her first and her forever trauma. She thought he would eventually accept her . He never did that . He just stuck around and told her to " go with the flow " .

She thought he loved her . She thought she loved him ( Well , maybe she actually did ) ....But no he did not . He just let her harbour soo much love for him in her heart that eventually that love had nowhere to go but turn into hatred . Yes , total hatred .

She thought she would one day openly tell her experience to the girlies . But no, her experience was really embarassing, especially for a first experience like hers . No, she cannot ruin her name just that way ...So she decided to take it to the grave with her .

She thought people reciprocate love and love hard like her . Oh ! Poor girl . She was left questioning her worth. Whether she is pretty enough , girl enough .....She was traumatized.

She thought she would never love again , and that she would never cuddle a man again because she respects herself much . Well, she's just a girl and she found love , even if it was for a short while .

She thought she would enjoy, she never did .

She thought .

Then come the struggles no one demonstrates properly. The pad won’t sit right, the wings fold in rebellion, the adhesive sticks everywhere except where it should. You walk carefully, sit stiffly, constantly adjusting, convinced everyone can tell.

Halafu kuna hako kaharufu; that metallic scent that makes you paranoid. You sniff subtly, panic internally, and assume the whole room knows. You hold your breath in public spaces, praying your body isn’t announcing itself.

Cramps arrive violently and without warning. Your stomach joins the chaos ; diarrhoea, vomiting, gas with absolutely no respect for timing or dignity. Your body becomes loud, uncomfortable, and impossible to ignore.

Your emotions refuse to cooperate. You cry because mlango ya nyumba imekataa kufungika . Mood swings take over. Cravings follow ; Maembe mbichi all the way 😂..; and in the middle of it all is an unexpected desire to be loved, held, reassured ; 😂 Lakini nyota yako ya mapenzi ilizimwa!

Pads or snacks? Tampons or transport? You promise to plan better next time while holding crisps and hoping one pad lasts longer than it should. Sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes you stain yourself in public or wake up to ruined bedsheets, angry at the ceiling like it did it !

Periods also have terrible timing. They arrive during weddings, trips, birthdays, dates ; completely unimpressed by your calendar !

At some point, fear leaves quietly. The sound of a pad opening in a public bathroom stops terrifying you. You stop hiding. Your body becomes familiar instead of embarrassing. Unafungua hiyo pad as louldly as you can kuambia watu hakuna mimba uko nayo 😭😂....

Menstruation is the body keeping time ( Ever thought of it that way ? 🌸 ) Because how does it know that it is on 28th every month ? or 21st ? ...

This kingdom breathes in the chants of the makanga, the slow steps of the disabled vendor, and the calm strength of a hijabi or Wakorino walking unshaken. Each one tells a story of resilience, sacrifice, and dignity. Whether in noise or silence, their presence matters ; even when the world moves too fast to notice.

By the roadside, under umbrellas and smoke, the banana seller, mutura guy, maize lady, butcher, and mtumba vendor turn survival into an art. Their humour, sharp wit, and unmatched work ethic bring colour and life to our days. They don’t just sell ; they serve lessons, laughter, and warmth. They're businesspeople, chefs, stylists, and counsellors ; even without titles.

There’s also Mama Mboga, her fingers stained with stories and spinach, serving vegetables with a side of street wisdom and motherly care. And the shoe cobbler, hunched over torn soles, quietly restoring what others toss aside ; his hands mending more than just leather.

Guards trade sleep for others’ safety, and elders hold on to memories with trembling hands. They all carry worlds within them. Their stories may not trend, but they matter. Their strength doesn’t shout ; it shows.

This kingdom of unseen kings and queens moves through life unnoticed , their crowns hidden beneath worn caps and humble smiles . They seek no applause or spotlight ; their worth is woven into quiet acts of endurance and love that keep the world turning .

If you pause long enough , if you open your eyes wider than sight , you will feel their pulse , a rhythm unshakable , a truth undeniable . Behind every face dismissed as ordinary lies a story ready to rewrite the world's understanding of who truly matters . Everybody is somebody .

( Wrote this piece a year ago and it was featured in The Rotaractor Magazine. Rotaract District 9212 🧡. I felt soo humbled )

Money buys room.

The room to make a mistake. To be unemployed for a while. To leave a terrible job. To replace something that breaks. To take a taxi when you are exhausted. To see a doctor before a small problem becomes an expensive one. To buy clothes for an interview without wondering what you will sacrifice to afford them.

People with money are often described as having confidence, discipline, taste or poise. We rarely talk about how much of these things are made easier by security.

There is some ease in someone who has never had to calculate whether they can afford to be somewhere.

You see it in the way they dress, sometimes, but not because wealth makes people inherently more beautiful. It is because appearance also requires resources. Good hair costs money. Good skin often costs money. Clothes that fit properly cost money. Perfume costs money. Rest costs money. Even the seemingly effortless aesthetic life displayed everywhere online requires an infrastructure of disposable income behind it.

For someone who is struggling, beauty can become another calculation.You can want to look good and still have other things to pay for.

And poverty has a way of showing up in the face—not as ugliness, but as exhaustion. Exhaustion produced worrying about rent, skipping meals, working too much, sleeping badly, constantly postponing things that need replacing. There are faces that even look older than their years because life has required too much from them too early.

There is also the humiliating choreography of asking for help.You learn to smile at people who might help you. You become careful about how you ask. You send the message and stare at your phone. You ask whether they know of an opening somewhere. You ask for a small loan. You ask whether you can pay later. You ask for a recommendation, an introduction, a favour.

You become fluent in gratitude. Sometimes, you are grateful. Sometimes, you are simply relieved.There is a difference.

Other times , the person giving you the opportunity is a relative. You work in their shop, their office, their business, their home. They tell you they are helping you, and maybe they are. But because you needed the opportunity, they begin to believe they are entitled to more than your labour.Your salary can become a favour.Your boundaries can become disrespect.Their lateness in paying you becomes something you are expected to understand because you are family.

And you tolerate things you would never tolerate from an ordinary employer because walking away means losing not only a job but sometimes the only person willing to give you one.

It is difficult to demand dignity from someone who knows you need them.

This is one of the consequences of poverty ; it reduces your bargaining power in almost every relationship.At work. In friendships. In family. Sometimes even in love.

The ability to leave is a form of power.A person with savings can leave an exploitative workplace. A person without savings may have to endure it until the next salary. Someone with a supportive family can survive unemployment. Someone without one may have to accept whatever comes first. Someone with connections can hear about an opportunity before everyone else. Someone without them sends applications into silence.

That's why the language of “just work hard” is so incomplete.Hard work matters. But so do starting points.

Some people begin adulthood with financial cushions, useful surnames, professional networks, good schools and parents who can rescue them when things go wrong. Others begin with a phone, a CV and the instruction to “try your luck.”

Luck is a particularly cruel word when you are poor.Because poverty does not only limit what you can buy. It limits the number of mistakes you can survive.

For someone living close to the edge, a small inconvenience can become a catastrophe.

Eventually, this precariousness begins to alter your ambitions. You stop asking, “What do I want?” . You ask, “What can I manage?”You stop looking for the best opportunity.You look for the available one.You stop asking whether you deserve better. You become grateful that there is something.

This is probably the deepest humiliation of poverty: it can make deprivation feel like a personality trait.You begin to call yourself low-maintenance when, in reality, you have simply learned to live without things you wanted. You call yourself humble when you have become accustomed to going without.You call yourself adaptable because you have had no choice.You call yourself grateful because admitting that you are tired of struggling feels dangerously close to admitting that you want more.

But wanting more is not ingratitude.Wanting a beautiful home, decent clothes, good food, financial breathing room, opportunities, leisure, security and the ability to say no without calculating the consequences is not greed.It is a desire for a life with some softness in it.

In most cases , Poverty is discussed as if the goal is to teach people how to survive it.The more important question is why so many people have been asked to become exceptionally resilient simply because they were denied the ordinary conditions under which resilience would not have been necessary in the first place.

There is dignity in surviving. But nobody should have to build an identity around survival.

If you opened my wardrobe today, you probably wouldn't call it a girl's wardrobe.

There are no floral dresses swaying quietly from wooden hangers. No tiny crop tops folded into neat little piles. No satin robes waiting for slow Sunday mornings. You won't find shelves overflowing with heels I have nowhere to wear, or drawers filled with makeup palettes, lip glosses, lashes and perfumes collected over the years. My bathroom is almost painfully simple. A toothbrush. Soap. Lotion. The things I need. A few towels. Nothing that would make a stranger think, a woman lives here.

My wardrobe is not flowery.

It never has been.

Even as a little girl, I was that way.

While other girls seemed to know how to become themselves so effortlessly, I always felt as though someone had handed me a script I couldn't quite memorize. They looked beautiful without trying. They braided each other's hair. They loved cute things. They dreamed about dresses, matching handbags, decorating bedrooms, learning recipes from Pinterest, crocheting blankets, collecting perfumes whose names sounded like poetry.

I admired them.Sometimes I even envied them. Because they made femininity look so natural.

Meanwhile, I was somewhere else entirely.

I wanted to read. I wanted to ask questions. I wanted to be the smartest girl in the classroom. I cared more about ideas than eyeshadow, more about books than beauty routines. I could spend hours thinking about the world without once wondering whether my outfit looked soft enough.

For years, I thought that meant something was wrong with me. I thought I had somehow missed the lesson every other girl had attended.

No one ever says it out loud, but girls are quietly taught that femininity is something people should be able to recognize before you've even spoken. It should be hanging in your wardrobe. Sitting on your bathroom shelf. Woven into your hair. Painted onto your nails. Sprayed onto your wrists. Visible. Obvious. Effortless.

And if it isn't...

Questions begin.

"Why don't you dress up more?"

"You'd look prettier if..."

"You should try being more feminine."

Funny how complete strangers can decide you've abandoned womanhood simply because your wardrobe didn't bloom the way they expected it to.

So I tried.

I wore the braids.

I experimented with versions of myself that felt beautiful on everyone else but strangely unfamiliar on me. I stood in mirrors hoping that if I looked enough like the women I admired, I would finally feel like one too.

But I never quite did.

Then recently, I cut my locs short.

And for reasons I still struggle to explain, I felt lighter.Not prettier. Not trendier.Just... alive. If you check my Instagram page , after I cut my locs short, i started feeling very comfortable even to post myself because that's just meee!

As though I had finally stopped negotiating with my own reflection. As though I had come home.

It made me realize how exhausting it is to spend years auditioning for a role that was never written for you.

The truth is, my wardrobe is not flowery because I was never trying to become a flower.

I have cried in oversized hoodies.

I have celebrated victories wearing sneakers.

I have comforted friends in plain T-shirts.

I have loved deeply without perfume lingering behind me.

None of those moments became less meaningful because my clothes were ordinary.

A woman is not measured by how many dresses she owns.

She is measured by the courage it takes to become herself in a world constantly suggesting improved versions of her.

Today, I no longer feel embarrassed when people notice how simple my wardrobe is.

I no longer apologize because my bathroom looks practical instead of aesthetic.

I no longer wish I collected handbags or knew how to contour my face or owned twenty perfumes lined neatly on a shelf.

Those things are beautiful.They simply aren't me.And that is the most peaceful sentence I have learned to say.

There are women whose femininity blooms in flowers.

There are women whose femininity blooms in motherhood.

There are women whose femininity blooms in fashion, in baking, in dancing barefoot around the kitchen, in carefully folding linen towels and lighting scented candles after long days.

Mine blooms somewhere else. It blooms in curiosity.

In long conversations .In books with folded pages.In classrooms where I lose track of time because learning feels like breathing. In compassion that asks people questions before it judges them.

In convictions I refuse to trade for acceptance.

For the longest time, I thought I wasn't enough because I didn't resemble the women magazines, movies and social media kept celebrating.

Now I understand that comparison was never asking me to become a better woman.

It was asking me to become somebody else. And there is no lonelier way to live than succeeding at being someone you were never meant to be.

So no, my wardrobe is not flowery.

It never really was.

But neither is a night sky.

Neither is the ocean.

Neither are mountains.

And no one has ever questioned their beauty.

There was always that student who was not necessarily the brightest in class .Sometimes their grades were comfortably average. Yet somehow, everybody loved them. Teachers loved them. Students loved them. Even the deputy principal who looked permanently irritated seemed to have a soft spot for them. They walked through school with a kind of ease that made every space seem familiar, as though they had been there before. They were trusted before they had earned trust, admired before they had achieved anything remarkable, and listened to before they had said anything particularly profound.

When positions opened up, their names somehow floated to the surface almost effortlessly. Prefect. Debate captain. Mistress of Ceremony during Prize Giving Day. The student welcoming visitors. The one chosen to escort the Chief Guest around the school. The one representing the school in debates, symposiums, exchange programmes or scholarship interviews. Nobody ever sat down and conspired to make it happen. It simply... happened. They looked like the kind of children who represented a school well.

Teachers smiled a little wider when they answered questions. If they forgot an assignment, it was an unfortunate oversight. If another student forgot theirs, it somehow became a question of discipline. If they arrived late after visiting the dispensary, everyone hoped they were feeling better. If another student arrived late, the first concern was why they hadn't planned their time properly. It was never written anywhere in the school rules, yet everyone could somehow tell that mistakes were not distributed equally. Some students were corrected with affection. Others were corrected with consequences.

Even the way people spoke to them felt different. Teachers rarely embarrassed them in front of the class. Seniors rarely shouted at them. Their classmates listened when they spoke. During group discussions, their ideas seemed to carry an invisible stamp of approval before anyone had even examined them. If they made a joke, everyone laughed. Sometimes the joke wasn't even funny, but confidence has always had an extraordinary sense of humour.

Then there were their parents.

It almost felt as though the school knew them personally. During visiting days, teachers greeted them by name before they even introduced themselves. Conversations flowed easily, laughter came naturally, and somehow everyone seemed to know what they did for a living. Before long, one parent was the class representative. Another was serving on the Parents' Association. Someone else's father had become the Chairperson of the Board of Management. Their families gradually became part of the school's identity. New students might not know the Principal's full name, but somehow everyone knew Sharon's dad.

If that student fell sick, word travelled through the school really fast . The class teacher came to check on them. The matron checked again. The deputy principal passed by. Friends were allowed to escort them to the sick bay . Somebody called home almost immediately. By evening, half the staff seemed invested in their recovery.

Another student could disappear for three days because of malaria, return quietly on Monday morning carrying a hospital card in one hand and a geometry set in the other, only for the first question to be, "Where is your Chemistry assignment?" There was no cruelty in it. Just familiarity working in one direction more than the other.

Then there was another kind of student.

Just as intelligent. Sometimes even more intelligent than everyone else in the room. The kind who solved Mathematics problems before the teacher reached the last step, who understood novels no one else understood, who carried entire paragraphs of answers in their head during examinations.

Yet they lived almost invisibly.

You saw it in the smallest moments. They knew the answer but waited, hoping someone else would say it first. They wanted to join debate but quietly convinced themselves that debate was for "those kinds of students." They imagined becoming school captain but never picked up the nomination form. During discussions, they naturally surrendered the conversation to louder voices, even when they understood the topic better than everyone else.

Every opportunity first had to wrestle with self-doubt. Before answering a question, they wondered whether their English sounded polished enough. Before walking into the staffroom, they rehearsed what they were going to say. Before introducing themselves to visitors, they questioned whether someone else looked more presentable.

Priviledge arrives disguised as confidence. As ease. As the effortless belief that your voice deserves to be heard. It teaches one child to walk into a room assuming they belong there, while another walks into the very same room wondering whether they are taking up too much space.

Exposure ni kitu ya maana !

I hope every child in the lower bracket who went to a Kenyan National School gets the brightest of the lives they have ever dreamt of .

( I have a theory . Kenyan Schools are very Classist. Msinikujie lakini ) .

"I think that's clean enough," I said.

You looked down at the plate, then back at me.

"I wasn't washing the plate."

Your smile was almost imperceptible. Neither was mine.

You took the towel from my hands and set it on the counter, your fingers brushing mine just long enough for my pulse to betray me. Such an insignificant touch. Such a catastrophic one. It was a contact that should have meant nothing but somehow meant everything ; it lit a slow, dangerous heat under my skin and made it impossible to think of anything else.

For a moment, you simply looked at me. It was a silence that belongs only to two people who have stopped wondering whether they want each other and started wondering who will surrender first.

You stepped closer. Not enough to trap me. Just enough that leaving would have required a decision.

I hated how aware I became of everything ; the warmth of the kitchen, the quiet music, the slow rise and fall of your breathing, the way your eyes refused to leave mine, the faint scent of soap and something unmistakably yours that made my thoughts go soft at the edges. You had that infuriating way of standing there as if you knew exactly what you were doing to me and had no intention of stopping. It made my blood feel too hot for my own body.

"You keep doing that," I whispered.

"What?"

"Looking at me like that..."

A faint smile found your mouth.

"I know."

It should have embarrassed me. Instead, it felt strangely dangerous to discover how much I wanted you to keep looking, to keep stripping me bare with nothing but your eyes until I had nowhere left to hide.

Your hand settled lightly at my waist. Not possessive. Certain. As though it had always known that was where it belonged. Your thumb moved once, a slow, absent stroke that sent a shiver through me and made me wonder whether you could feel the way my body answered you. The touch was so careful it was almost cruel, because it promised restraint while making restraint impossible.

The space between us disappeared so slowly that I never noticed who closed it. My forehead found yours. Our noses brushed. Your breath caught, just slightly, and the sound of it went straight through me.

You laughed quietly.

"So serious," you murmured.

"I've been trying very hard not to kiss you."

Your eyes softened with something that looked suspiciously like victory.

"I noticed."

Your fingers slid from my waist to the back of my neck, gentle but certain, and when your hand tilted my face up, I stopped pretending I had any intention of resisting you. The anticipation was almost worse than the touch itself ; the unbearable sweetness of being this close, of feeling your mouth hover just a breath away from mine, of knowing that one more second would ruin whatever fragile control I had left.

When you finally kissed me, it wasn't timid. It wasn't careful. It made the air leave my lungs and my thoughts scatter in every direction at once. Soft at first, yes, but only long enough to make the hunger sharper when it deepened. Your mouth moved against mine with a slow, deliberate certainty that made my entire body ache with it, and when I answered you, it was with the kind of desperation that should have been embarrassing and instead felt inevitable.

My hand found your shirt, not to pull you closer exactly, but because I needed something to hold onto while the rest of me unraveled. You kissed me like you had been waiting for this, like you had been starving politely and had finally decided manners were overrated. Every breath, every small sound, every shift of your hand at my neck made the heat in me climb higher until it was almost unbearable. It made my world narrow to nothing but your mouth, your hands, the pulse hammering in my throat, and the terrible, exquisite knowledge that I wanted more.

And then you kissed me deeper, slower, as if you meant to ruin me properly.

My love,

I hope you die in your sleep.

Not tonight.

Not tomorrow.

Not for many years.

I hope it happens when your hair has surrendered to silver, when your hands have learned every line of my face by memory alone, and when loving each other has become as effortless as breathing.

I hope it finds you after an ordinary day.

After you've complained that I stole too much of the blanket again. After we've argued over something neither of us will remember by breakfast. After you've kissed my forehead on your way to turn off the last lamp in the house, believing I was already asleep.

I hope you slip into dreams carrying nothing heavier than the sound of my laughter.

I hope the years have been impossibly kind to us. I hope our home still smells of coffee in the mornings and old books in the evenings. I hope your favorite sweater still hangs on the chair because you insist you'll wear it tomorrow, even though tomorrow has become a word we've spoken to each other for decades.

I hope your life has been so full of love that death arrives as nothing more than another quiet guest, removing its shoes before entering.

I hope, in those final moments before sleep gathers you into itself, your heart remembers an ordinary night much like this one.

The weight of my head resting against your shoulder.

Your hand searching for mine beneath the blankets without either of us needing to look.

The familiar rhythm of two people who have spent a lifetime teaching each other that forever was never built from grand gestures. It was built from evenings no one else would have thought to remember.

And if there is one last dream waiting for you, I hope it is of us when we were young.

I hope you find me laughing in the kitchen.

I hope you hear me calling your name from another room.

I hope you feel my fingers slip between yours with the confidence of someone who has done it ten thousand times before.

I hope you wake inside that dream believing, just for a moment, that nothing beautiful ever ends.

Then, if the morning belongs only to me, I will sit beside you for a while.

I will thank every quiet miracle that ever conspired to place your life beside mine.

I will kiss your forehead the way I did on countless ordinary nights.

And I will smile through my tears, because there was never a kinder way for love to leave this world than in the gentle company of sleep.

Until then...

Sleep peacefully, my love.

I have far too many mornings left to fall in love with you all over again.

( This was inspired by my First Read of The Year , “ Beautiful Ugly “ by Alice Feeney . Abby and her Partner used the phrase “ I hope you die in your sleep “ to express their love for each other ) . 🌸.

Last night, you fell asleep before I did.

I don't think you know what that does to me.

The world only ever meets the version of you that is awake , composed and carrying responsibilities. But sleep... sleep steals all of that away. It returns you to yourself. I get to witness the man no one else is invited to know. The furrow between your brows softens. Your breathing settles into a rhythm so peaceful that even the room seems reluctant to disturb it.

I turned onto my side just to look at you.

There was moonlight resting across your face, gentle enough to make me wonder whether it had fallen in love with you before I did. I traced every familiar feature with my eyes, slowly, carefully, the way one reads a favorite poem after years of knowing it by heart. It amazed me that the face I had kissed goodnight could still feel so new only hours later.

My hand found yours beneath the blankets.

You didn't wake.

Your fingers simply curled around mine as though they had been searching for me even in your dreams.

I smiled.

There are victories the world will never celebrate. The way your hand still chooses mine without asking permission from your consciousness. The way your body already knows where it is safest to rest. The way love quietly becomes instinct before either heart notices it has happened.

I moved closer until my forehead rested against your shoulder.

Your warmth surrounded me so completely that I couldn't remember what loneliness had ever felt like. I stayed there, listening to your heartbeat, wondering how something so ordinary could sound so much like forever. Every beat felt like another promise that morning would find us together again.

There are moments when I become overwhelmed by the simple fact that you exist.

That somewhere in the vastness of this impossible world, there is a man whose sleepy voice still makes my heart forget itself. A man whose half-asleep smile is enough to convince me that heaven occasionally borrows pieces of earth. A man who reaches for me without opening his eyes, as though some hidden part of him would recognize me in every lifetime.

You shifted in your sleep.

Your arm found my waist with that quiet certainty I've come to treasure, and for a fleeting moment I thought, if time has any mercy at all, let it slow down here.

I could have remained there until sunrise, tucked into the peaceful rhythm of your breathing, collecting these small, invisible miracles that no photograph could ever hold.

When morning finally arrived, you opened your eyes and smiled at me as though nothing extraordinary had happened.

You will probably never know that while you slept, I fell in love with you all over again.

Lunch time si mchezo. Githeri, rice, beans; hizi chakula hazicheki. Na hapa hakuna buffet ya kulamba vidole. If you don’t have your spoon, bro, you’re finished.

And then the real villain arc begins: spoons disappear. Like legit vanish into thin air. You check your pocket ; nothing. Check your desk ; nothing. Boom! Someone’s already eating with your spoon. Welcome to the black market.

Na ukiona mtu anakula na mikono kwa githeri yenye imewaka moto kama lava, just know the spoon stealing crisis is active. Bare hands become Plan B. But let’s be honest ; unachomeka, unachelewa, and by the time you’re done, the teacher on duty is already sharpening punishments. Uchomeke + uchelewe = maumivu.

Now picture this ; umechelewa class kidogo, lunch bell imelia, and you’re running like Usain Bolt down the corridor. Halafu KLIIING ! ( Don't know kama hiyo ni the actual sound 😂 ) ; your spoon falls. The sound? Embarrassing. People turn. One person laughs. You? You pretend it wasn’t you and keep moving like a ghost.

And in those classes where teachers overteach? We drop spoons like protest placards. One by one. Kliing. Kliiing. Kliiiiing . Even teachers know what that means ; “Acha tujitafutie chakula, tafadhali.”

Then comes the great spoon loan. Someone asks, “Nisaidie kijiko yako tu leo.” You pause. You look at them with that side-eye. Deep down you’re thinking, “Utarudisha kweli?” Because chances are, ukikopesha, you’ll never see it again. n

Even teachers borrow spoons. Even prefects. Even the lunch lady! At this point, it’s not just a utensil ; it’s a whole economy.

Moral of the story? If you survived high school in Kenya without ever losing your spoon, you deserve national recognition. And if you’ve never eaten githeri with your bare hands while burning your fingers and racing the bell ; did you even go to school?

Spoons. Wenye wanajua, wanajua.

#boardingschool

I hope i ruin ordinary affection for you . I hope after me " almost " never feels enough again . I want to be the standard every almost-love is unfairly measured against .

I'd hate to become unforgettable ...but i'd hate even more to be forgettable . Fall for me slowly , i want every part of you to think it was your own idea .

If i ever kiss you , i hope it explains every glance i've ever failed to . You don't have to choose me , i'll simply become increasingly difficult to replace .

I hope one day you realize you've been searching for me in people who were never meant to resemble me . I want your heart to be soo familiar with mine that it grows restless anywhere else .

I don't want to compete for your attention , i want to become the reason everything else struggles to keep it .

If we're going to ruin each other,

let it be gently.

Let it happen in lingering glances, in fingertips that hesitate before they touch, in conversations that last until morning, and in the terrifying realization that neither of us remembers who we were before this.

Don't rush into loving me , i want every piece of your heart to arrive one by one , until leaving me feels like abandoning parts of yourself .

The dangerous thing about us isn't that we'd fall in love . It's that we'd never learn how to fall out of it .

If i ever belong anywhere, i hope it's in the quiet place your mind wanders when the world becomes too heavy .

May every beautiful sunset become slightly disappointing unless i'm standind beside you to witness it .

If you lose me , i don't want guilt to follow you . I want comparison . I want every almost - love to quietly remind you that once someone loved you in a language that no one else has ever spoken .

Don't promise you'll love me forever . Promise that if the world ever gives you everything except me , something will still feel missing .

I don't want to be your addiction . I want to be your definition of home , so that every place without me feels beautifully....Unfinished .

If you ever loved me , i'd make sure your memory never recovered .