Chapter 10 of 12 (No Grand Lessons Learned)

September has been wholesome.

No grand lessons learned.

I just truly immersed myself in experiencing my tiny cute life.

September ♥️

It was genuinely beautiful.

Stepping into it, I was worried about how I was going to handle myself emotionally. You know, it’s the month we lost my darling sister, Chela. The 11th was heavy, and I honoured it.

A lot of family time. My old man was pretty much around. I always say I’ll remember to take pictures, then I end up forgetting. I bet that’s why I always write these reminders. It’s weird how the older I get, the fewer pictures I take… and I love taking pictures. Not of myself though. Of others. Of things.

Speaking of pictures, my dad shared an old picture that I took with him probably some eight years back, when we didn’t know how to hold selfie cams appropriately. You know, or maybe we were just still in an era where authenticity was solid, so if it was about taking a picture, it was basically just taking a picture, innocently. To keep the memories and not for some Instagram highlight.

I don’t know.

I’m glad he kept the picture. I’m grateful I have it now.

Everyone I haven’t seen in a very long time seems to be looking younger than I last saw them. Even my dad. What’s happening?

My sister Doreen being intentionally home for some good quality time was my other highlight. (I should honestly go back to taking pictures.)

One morning, while having breakfast outside on the veranda, I looked at her and said, “Na umezidi kukua mrembo. I mean, unakuanga mrembo but this time umezidi.”

She blushed.

But truly, this peng is becoming prettier.

The 5th of September, Rouzie and I went for one of our tiny cute girl dates. She looked stunning. I love it when she wears her natural hair. She has such beautiful, healthy hair.

Like always, a time was had.

After that, we went down to Naivas. I wanted a drink to bring home, and Rouzie wanted wine.

Will I ever be a wine person? I doubt.

I don’t like the taste, and I totally do not like the aftertaste. But that’s only based on the few wines I have tasted and misused. As adventurous as I am, I doubt I’ll ever want to be explorative with wines.

But I sure know I want to explore.

One of these fine days, I’d love to make a quick trip to the Rift Valley, find my way to Morendat Farm, walk around the vineyards in a cute, flowy, flowery dress, and be extremely whimsical while at it. And for a few minutes, I’ll care for wine.

I don’t think I’ll pay attention to the winery.

Wait, do they allow people in there? I have no idea.

Anyway, I won’t care for the winery. I’m more curious about the vineyard.

I digressed.

I spent most of my time at home.

Towards the end of September, I met up with a friend I haven’t seen in ten years. And one I never thought I’d ever meet again in my remaining life, but life is crazy like that.

And in as much as I kept insisting that we just interact like normal humans, you know, a lot of philosophy was exchanged.

On the 29th, while running errands at Immigration, I met a girl who actually talks.

Yani, she was very pretty. Very tiny. In a cute tiny black dress. With a cute lovely baby.

A whole stranger.

I promise, within five minutes I knew about her career, her life story, and even about her husband and how dramatic she can get when the need arises.

Then somehow I needed to get something on the other end and I lost her. I briefly saw her baby; she was with the nanny. I got the temptation to head over to the nanny and ask where my stranger friend was so that I could tell her I was leaving, but I held the thought back.

I sat outside for a few minutes checking on work while low-key hoping she’d show up.

She didn’t.

I know she was not done telling me her life stories and how daring she is. I enjoyed listening to her. I especially loved how she knows she deserves to be here on earth unapologetically.

She studied economics. She told me about how, ten years back, she really wanted to move to the US and go study nursing.

She laughed and said, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

I told her, “Almost every girl I know who goes to the US goes there with the same idea.”

She said she just wants to travel.

Occasionally, her yapping would be interrupted. Her cute baby was jumpy.

I asked, “Is she hyper?”

That’s among the first things I said to her, and I regretted it immediately because after I’d said it, it sounded rude.

She continued talking, and for a few seconds she stopped and seemed to be lost in thought. I noted that that was the first introspection I’d seen her do since she started talking.

“Or is she hyper? I think she’s hyper. How come I’ve never noticed it?”

I held my tongue.

I told her about ALX Africa, and she immediately Googled it and said she’d look into the courses they offer.

And then she continued talking about something else.

She was such an interesting yapper. I wanted to listen to her endless, unrelated stories.

But that’s how life decided my interaction with her was going to end.

I didn’t get to know her name, neither did she know mine.

I just knew her daughter’s because she walked right up to me and introduced herself immediately her mom started talking to me.

An apple and the tree…

Weird, right?

Like those novels that do not leave epilogues for us to get a glimpse of how the lives of the characters progressed.

Anyway, a little later the same day, I thought I should go to Little Polos and have a peach boba.

My mind.

I walked past it and thought, “What! It looks bigger on TikTok.”

Then I walked back, got in and sat.

Tiny cute space. Tiny cute tables. Tiny cute seats made of wood.

And for the hour or so I was at Little Polos, I disappeared into my own world.

Then I went back home.

Then October came.

My favourite month.

September has been wholesome.

No grand lessons learned.

I just truly immersed myself in experiencing my tiny cute life.

May October be full of beautiful experiences. Both tiny and massive.

To any soul that bumps into this, I’m sending you good intentions.

The lights stay on (For my darling sister who transitioned)

So your transitioning definitely didn’t give me a blueprint of all the right things to say to a grieving person, but it definitely gave me a clear picture of at least what not to say to a grieving person.

I just remembered the first time you and Mom visited me in high school.

I know I’m the one who insisted on going to boarding school. Damn, I hated the experience immediately. 😂

Okay, so the first time you and Mom visited me, I ran to you. Not even to Mom… to you. And I hugged you so genuinely. I was extremely happy. That’s even an understatement. Jesus! I was happy that day and, Val being Val, I cried so much. I broke down so badly. The happy kind.

It was confusing to anyone who cared to watch because apparently they confused that for something negative. God knows how happy I was to see you.

Thinking about that now, I doubt I’ve ever given anyone else such an amazing hug. I was truly happy.

Somehow, I’d forgotten about this memory. I don’t know how.

Anyway, the one question I keep asking myself, almost seven years now, is…“Did the doctors care to check everything else before they started the blood thinning?”

I know I have gone through all the parts of denial, and I guess that’s the only one that still lingers.

I try to picture how broken Mom was, coming back home alone without her darling Chela. I’ve never gathered the confidence within me to ask Mom what it was like being with you in hospital. I keep postponing it. I bet I’ll never ask.

Occasionally, I sit and say, “Woiye Chela, if you were alive right now, what would life at home look like?”

I try to picture that… And every time I do, I get different visions of it. It’s crazy because I’m not visual as such. Most of my thoughts come in the form of words.

Lately, I’ve learnt to tell my mind that you transitioned. Transitioning feels less painful compared to saying inside my head that you died.

I see now how losing you was somehow my greatest fear. Anytime you got sick, even just with a cold, I would get so scared. I’ve never learnt to understand exactly why I always had that fear.

Well, I know I loved you a little too much.

And I still love you so, so much.

I still can’t sleep in our bedroom alone. But at least now I can sleep on that bed alone.

We got a niece. She’s Brian’s. She’s the one I share our bedroom with now.

Since we lost you, I’ve only managed to sleep alone in our bedroom once. Two nights. Angela had gone for their school’s music festivals. They were the longest nights.

I would sit up for the better part of those two nights and only sleep in the later hours of the morning.

Now, I can’t ever imagine myself sleeping alone in our bedroom anytime soon. Maybe I just will never find the strength to.

The lights stay on.

I still can’t understand how, on the morning of 1st September 2019, your response to my birthday text was, “I am so grateful to have seen this day”

Just the other day, I thought about that response for a while and I was thinking, “Chela definitely wanted to live. Why didn’t God just allow her to?”

Then I disrupted myself out of that thought by reminding myself that you actually transitioned.

Alan still does my hair. He’s the major connection, besides Mom, that I have to you.

On my last retie, I got a scent from Hilda.

“Hiyo spray imenikumbusha mbali,” Alan said.

“Wapi?” I asked him.

“That was Chela’s and my favourite scent.”

That directly pierced my heart.

Mostly, I usually never respond to those things. If anything, I get so agitated if someone keeps bringing you up around me. I love remembering you personally. Inside my head.

However, I like it. It’s easier for me that way.

Somehow, I’m always going to get this particular scent. Always. It will always be with me.

I’m grateful Alan brought that up.

See that kind of desperation grief always leaves around? You want to hold on to any tiny thing that keeps the connection.

At times, people forget and call me by your name. Mostly, they freeze. Then they apologise.

I usually say a polite, “Ni sawa,” back.

Because yes! Your memory still lives, even outside the family.

I’ve had to learn how to host and accommodate visitors. For someone who avoided being home occasionally… I’m stuck at home most of the time now.

And anytime I’m away from home, I get homesick like crazy. Like I’m missing out on something.

Especially lately.

This happened when I truly came face-to-face with my emotions.

Last year, your friends, akina Sue… they came over in December. Just to spend time.

It was lovely.

See? Your memory still lives on, big-time.

And then I attended Sue’s graduation on your behalf. While introducing myself, I said, “I inherited her from you.”

I remember the last lunch we had together at The Vic. You, Mom, Alan and I.

When Mom asked if I’d go with you after you went back to your place …you know, stay with you for a while until you got entirely back on your feet, there was that slight hesitation.

I was fresh into a certain silly unnecessary relationship.

And also, somehow, because I knew you wouldn’t really be needing me. Like we always knew how strong your bounce back game was.

I wish eventually that was the reality that dawned.

But I can only wish right now, right?

Anyway, the next time I went to The Vic, I broke down so badly.

I’ve never gone back there until my birthday night last year. We just passed around there and I spotted the exact spot we had occupied that particular August.

Jeez!

I couldn’t really wrap my head around it whenever Nita kept telling me that the pain never actually goes away.

It felt unfair then.

But I understand it now.

Esther would shame me for crying. Anytime she found me crying, she’d say something like, “Wacha ujinga, Val. Changamka.”

And I get it. She meant well.

People would say insane things like, “Stop crying. Leave her alone. Make her journey easy.”

People say absurd things to people who are grieving.

So your transitioning definitely didn’t give me a blueprint of all the right things to say to a grieving person, but it definitely gave me a clear picture of at least what not to say to a grieving person.

And I’ve learnt to ask people if they’ve ever had a direct loss…

Because somehow, it’s super hard to understand grief if it has never touched you directly. This feels like such a dark thing to say.

Anyway, it took me a while before I could at least come out of the emotional wreck I was after your transitioning.

I was doing everything else to avoid dealing with the grief.

At that time, I didn’t even know that I was running.

It’s a realisation that’s just hit me recently.

My ring finger,  is that what it’s called? 😂 on my right hand is bent somehow.

I tried slapping someone on the cheek after they said something very insensitive about death, and somehow they missed and I hit my hand painfully on the wall.

I learnt to tell a lot of stories around it.

I once told a nail tech that I got it while playing basketball.

Haaaaaaaah! Me, Val? Do I have any athletic bone inside me? 😂

Anyway, I would get pissed off at very unnecessary things. I would lose my cool unexpectedly.

And I was on the longest drinking spree.

I mean, anger is the easiest emotion to feel, right?

So I avoided everything else I was supposed to be feeling at that point and somehow replaced it with anger until I couldn’t anymore.

On the night of 13th December 2019, I would have been injured or, worse, died in a road accident.

But somehow, miracles just happened.

I whispered, “Thank you,” to the sky because somehow, I truly felt that my guardian angel .. you, had played a role in keeping me safe.

The next day was my graduation.

I try not to imagine what that would have done to Mom.

I’ve never spoken this out loud.

As much as, day by day… slowly by slowly… I’m learning to make peace with your passing, I wish you were still here with us.

Better still, I wish I had enough time with you, at least.

Enough time sounds silly, right?

Considering the crazy love I have for you.

I know I still carry around the silent wish I had as a child that, amongst us, I hoped I’d be the first one to die.

You beat me to it.

Considering you were the same person I was enthusiastically asking how people honestly handle the death of a loved one… you made it sound simple.

But we were so full of life then.

You were so full of life.

And I promise, “Unakubali tu” was easier said than lived through.

Because wueh!

I still can’t tell whether your passing was proof that I could actually handle grief…

Or a scare that, truly, I’ve lived through losing a loved one and I can’t imagine going through the same torture ever again.

But we are in this world, and death is part of it, right?

I know I can go on and on…

So let me save some of these thoughts until next year, September 11th.

I wish you were here, cute smile.

Until then, continue resting in eternal peace.

When I have my child, they’re going to hear so much about you.

I love you forever and always.


https://missinjairu.com/2025/09/11/life-went-on-just-weirdly-different/

That is Chela’s hand on my thigh (2016)

Chapter 9 of 12 (The grandness of subtle moments)

The Sacredness of Small Things

I received my first bouquet of flowers from a bunch of sweet, thoughtful little kids. I promise, I’m not kidding.

I mean, it was a bunch of plucked bougainvilleas, but my heart melted all the same.

The rest of that weekend was blissful, with a touch of pink in every emotion I felt.

I kept the bougainvilleas in my room for about a week. I wished I could keep them longer, but I made sure to pick a few pieces and leave them at random pages in the books I have. I want that gesture from those sweet little angels to stick with me for a while.

Because truly, I’ve always known that life is in the details of such tiny gestures. But sometimes, it’s easy to forget.

You know… you’re sitting there, almost waiting and manifesting for some grand, glamorous gesture, when really, there are tiny, cute little joys happening all around you.

I wanted August to be easy on my emotions, and truly, it was.

Rather, I think I was very intentional about making sure that I handled myself with the utmost tenderness.

I caught the cutest sunset on the 15th of August. I was at Rouzie’s. I tried ignoring it. Then, almost subconsciously, I found myself walking to the balcony to get a good look.

I wasn’t satisfied.

So I went to the rooftop.

And there it was, in all its glory.

I stood and stared.

And all I could think about was, this is truly one of the sacred things about life getting to experience such grand, but also subtle, moments.

I stared for so long.

I cried a little.

I was too excited. I cry whenever I’m extremely happy.

Later that night, I wrote in my gratitude journal about how fulfilling it was for me to simply take the time to recognise the grandness of that subtle moment.

Normally, I would have missed it. Maybe I would have been entirely absorbed in my day-to-day life.

But not that day.

That day, I noticed.

I have received a lot of beautiful gestures in the month of August. You know, I’ve had moments when I’ve just had to sit and take it all in.

I know that, from other people’s optics, my life probably doesn’t add up.

Some might look at me and wonder what I’m doing still living at home, childless, with no traces of a husband… you know, society and its expectations.

Society and its expectations.

I’ve freed myself from those shackles, by the way.

I’m still trying to figure out the politest way to respond to people who come to me with that shade of, “Unajua unachelewa kuzaa?”

You know, if you’ve ever said that to me, just know that the insults I lodged your way inside my head were horrendous.

Personally, I know the inner work I’ve had to do on myself. And I can’t even explain the gratitude I feel whenever I remember that….

“Sure, Val. This version of yourself? You’ve gone to war for her.”

Inner work isn’t visible work.

But I know the quality of the life I’m living now, from within me. Let me just smile.

August was genuinely easy on my emotions, and I am truly and honestly grateful.

I’ve also truly seen how much I genuinely love Kisumu.

I mean, Kisumu has a special place in my heart, honestly. I’m being very intentional about exploring it. And truly seeing it.

With love.

I have collected beautiful memories.

And now, September.

Since 2019, the 11th of September has just never been an easy date for me. That’s when I lost my darling sister, ten 10 days after she had just turned 31.

Recently, I learnt that it feels a little easier on me whenever I say, “She transitioned.”

You know?

It feels more like she simply took another form.

I miss her so much.

So September usually feels heavy. The grief usually feels too intense.

Even through that, I want to truly experience September.

I want to collect tiny, cute, beautiful memories.

I want to notice the sunsets.

I want to laugh.

I want to sit under trees and feel the breeze.

I want to live.

And I want September to be easy on my emotions, especially.

Maybe that’s what I’m learning now that tenderness isn’t only for the days that hurt. It is also for the days that are beautiful enough to make you cry.

So, September, be gentle with me.

And to any sweet soul who happens to bump into this, may your days be filled with so much light, and may you experience peace in everything.

Cheers 🌸

In no particular hurry.

The more love I find within, the more love I seem to find around me.

I’m writing less.
I don’t like that I’m writing less nowadays. But I’m equally respecting that. I wouldn’t want to force it out.

My days have been calmer. I’m learning every day to be more present. You know, not rushing through things.
Not having my breakfast while my mind is already rushing through everything that awaits me that day, but actually eating my breakfast and enjoying it. Feeling the aftertaste of tea on my tongue before I take another sip.

I’ve tried to keep my streak on Duolingo. Well, apart from Sunday the 16th, when I went outside to watch the Arsenal match and ended up having a little too much fun.
I got the wrong time. The game was supposed to be at 5 p.m. I thought it was going to be at 7.
The perks of being an amateur fan. Haaaah!
Anyway, I ended up having fun.

I find tiny, cute things to be grateful for in my days and, honestly, they didn’t lie when they said it’s all in the mind. Because apparently, the more grateful I am, the more I bump into tiny, cute things to be grateful for.
The more love I feel within, the more love I seem to experience on the outside.
I’m enjoying the grind lately. It’s insane how much of my Google search history involves bonds, estate management, trust funds, mistakes that quietly hurt a business…
If someone were to bump into my history, they’d think, Damn! Val is really up in the game when it comes to financial literacy.
No, hun. I promise, no. 😂
Apparently, writing captions isn’t just as easy as it comes. You need to do your homework. Like, really.

I got an August read from Rouzie. The book is titled The Longest Holiday by Paige Toon.
Honestly, I only started it yesterday, and with how my schedule is, I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish it before the month ends.
I love the book cover. It has some touches of whimsy to it. Exactly how I love my things.
I keep telling people that I’m going to be the most childish 30 year old to ever grace this earth, and they think I’m kidding.
I’m not. 😂

Anyway, I’m grateful for life. I love experiencing life.
That’s how I told myself this morning…. I’m ready to experience today.
That’s how I want to approach life. As an experience to enjoy.
This was me literally flexing my writing muscles.

Live a little and remember to smile.

Cheers. 🌸

Cheers for real.

I’d love to dine with Hanya Yanagihara

Which author would you love to have dinner with?

The author of the book that tore me into pieces with every page, Hanya Yanagihara. A little life gets to be the most grim book I’ve ever read. Nothing seems to get better. You think the next page will bring a little ray of sunshine, then boom you’re balling your eyes out trying to picture whatever traumatic event you just read. It was unbelievably sad. I would love to sit down with Hanya Yanagihara, and understand her thought process… truly get a glimpse of how she managed to come up with a masterpiece that genuinely broke me down but also taught me a lot when it comes to holding out space for people who are battling with intense trauma, and also just understand how one views the world after they’ve gone through intense trauma.