I’d say I’m someone who feels deeply and listens closely not just to people, but to energy, patterns, silences. I live in a way that’s deeply intuitive. I don’t always need the loudest signal to know what’s going on. I just know.
I’m kind not in the performative, people-pleasing way, but in the way that holds space. In the way that chooses softness even when I’ve tasted sharpness. ( Though to be honest, I am healing my people pleasing tendencies one step at a time)
I think a lot. I feel even more. And I try to be honest with myself through both.
I don’t chase perfection I chase clarity. And when I find it, I hold it like a gem; carefully, gratefully, knowing it could change again.
And maybe most of all I’m someone who notices. The small shifts. The unsaid things. The moments in between.
That’s where I live. That’s who I am.
In a nutshell I am: -Deeply grounded -Introspective -Kind -In touch with my emotions -Curious -Self aware
I radiate calm energy. Yet drama insists on acting like we’re in a situationship.
I’m a pretty chill person by default truly. But somehow, drama always finds a way to flirt with me. Today, it practically banged on my gate at 6:30am.
It’s Sunday. I’m sick. And trying to sleep in. But then my phone rings.
Guess who? A guy from home. We’ve texted occasionally mostly boring gig-related stuff. The last time we really talked was November 2024, when he asked if black magic was real or just a mindset thing. (Yes, he’s that guy. A total nerd. Talking to him usually requires a helmet and some mental padding.)
He says he’s at the gate. That alone is weird enough. But I figure it’s good timing I’d promised his mom I’d try talking to him about this thing we have in church, and maybe he’s there for that.
I shuffle to the gate, still drowsy, still congested. I try unlocking it, but fail so we end up talking through the tiny metal gap like it’s a prison visitation booth.
His opening line?
“I’ve spent eight f*king hours outside your gate.”
He’s tall. He has that tragic-hero energy like he’s always carrying the weight of the world. His words come out like they’ve been taxed heavily at customs.
I blink. “Okay… did you bring the church money?”
He ignores me completely. Eyes dramatic. Voice low. He continues:
“No Range Rover. No Mercedes. No Limo. No Rolls Royce. Just me. Eight f**king hours. And no one even came out to check.”
My brain is lagging. What do cars have to do with anything? I go, “Well, this is shagz. And also people aren’t exactly psychic.”
Still nothing. It’s like I’m on airplane mode.
“Val… I’ve waited eight f**king hours for you.”
I ask, “Only eight? Not even years?”
That’s when it hits me this man is drunk. And I’m in trouble.
“I know you think I’m insane,” he says.
I respond, “Not insane. Just careless.”
He tells me he’s obsessed with Range Rovers, and he’s going to get me a black one. I’ll always ride shotgun, no debate not even from his mom. I tease back, “I prefer your mom keeps the passenger seat. You can get me my own.”
He snaps, “Our car, not your car.”
I ignore that one. We’re spiraling.
He hands me his phone. “I don’t believe in passwords,” he declares. I deadpan, “Well… you better start. Privacy, my guy.”
Then comes the grand statement; “No man will ever afford what I can give you.”
I just stare. Because what is happening? It’s 7am. I’m sick. He’s kneeling like he’s about to propose. It’s giving Sci-Fi Romance, but the Wasted Version.
Then he says, “In 10 years, I won’t be on this planet. I’ll be on Mars. I’m working on that.”
I go, “Will you take me with you?”
He ignores that (again) and circles back to his thesis statement; that he’s loved me since Grade 2. For 12 years. And I was inaccessible.
I tell him, “Yeah… maybe I was inaccessible because I was 7. Also, it wasn’t called grade, it was class. And no, it hasn’t been 12 years since then.”
But the speech continues. Something about being the only man who can give me everything I’ve ever wanted. I’m officially cringing now.
So I gently say, “As much as I’d love to keep this jaba story party going, I need you to leave. Clean up. Rest. Then we can talk sober. Look at my face… I’m not being rude.”
He whispers, “I don’t have a home. Home is here. Where my heart is.”
In my head, I go “yooooooh!”
I ask if he’ll come to church later. His eyes light up like a Christmas tree;
“You… want to go with me? Together?”
Then he adds, “I don’t believe in religion. Or Jesus. But I believe in God.”
I don’t dare touch that one. I just say, “Cool. Just don’t forget to send the church money.”
Then he looks at me and goes, “Val… you’re a solid one.”
And I won’t lie. That one made me smile. In my head. He doesn’t know me like that though.
Thing is anytime we meet, our convos never go beyond hi and bye. I’ve never seen him drunk. He’s never seen my resting bitch face. I’m usually painfully kind. But I realize if I don’t firm up, this story won’t end. So I put on my Big Girl Face and tell him, kindly but firmly, to leave.
He shrugs, “Home is where the heart is,” and walks off not even in the direction of their home.
Should I worry? Maybe. But he’s an adult. I hope he’s okay. I’ll call later. His mom; she’s actually a close friend of mine. Super stylish and classy. One of those cool moms.
I’m kind of past the phase where I care about what people think but if anyone saw him outside our gate this morning, spilling Range Rover confessions and love-from-Grade-2 declarations… I’d be curious to hear their version.
To be clear: he said a lot but never once crossed a line. He wasn’t inappropriate. Just… lost in his own little fantasy. And I told him I’d write about it. So here we are.
Could’ve been worse. At least I’m not a TikTok girlie. 😌
PS: The only part that really stuck with me beyond the comedy was his insistence that he’d been there eight hours. That hit a nerve. In 2022, we lost his brother. He spent the night out in the cold… and didn’t make it.
I reminded him of that. He brushed it off. But I meant it.
I hope he gets home. I hope he’s okay. And I hope he sobers up soon because even Mars doesn’t have space for this kind of energy.
What strategies do you use to maintain your health and well-being?
Whew! You got me here.
When it comes to my health, I just exist. I’ve been consistent with my 2 second daily workout (Lazy girlies assemble please).
Oooooh I just remembered, I hydrate like my whole existence depends on it, and honestly yes my whole existence depends on it anyway.
I drink herbs🤣 I gaslight myself into believing they work wonders that is; Moringa and Hibiscus tea, and aloe vera once in while.
Then every day I affirm “I am a very healthy woman” 🤣 this one always take me out ( I laugh at my jokes by the way, like damn Val you are hilarious)
I am obsessed with my nervous system though, here’s where all the hard work goes. I’ve done an awesome job healing my nervous system, I gotta give it to myself when it comes to this. How did I heal this? I just allowed myself to see through my bs, made peace with it, accepted myself entirely and started doing the work.
I hope my Tiriki culture doesn’t get eroded. It is beautiful. I hope it stays around. Well, it’s 3:57 am right now. I have been awake for a while now. Let’s put all the blame on the rain. Also, when I’m extremely excited, it’s usually so hard for me to sleep.
Jubilation. Ululation. From a distance. Close by. That has been the mood in (Gimarakwa), my village, and all the neighbouring villages for the past week. Lovely, to sum it all up. There’s just this good energy in the air. And as easy as it is to hear, it’s even easier to feel.
I’m quite a mixture of everything: cosmos, tradition, spirituality, religion… Somehow, I just find myself relating to it all. My knowledge of each is, honestly, sparse, I must admit. That’s why, if you’ve noticed, I usually stray from speaking about religion, spirituality, and all that stuff. But I deeply believe we’re spiritual beings. And I truly believe God exists. I pray a lot. I mean, a lot. I fast religiously when need arises. I manifest. That’s beside the point, though.
It’s the circumcision period. This is the first time I’ve actually experienced the real thing. All the other years it happened, I was either away or too shy. (Sorry guys, young Val was extremely timid.) My brother went through the process a while back, before I was born. My sister Doreen has been bragging about how amazing it was. She’ll find “amazing” an understatement, judging from the way she described it.
Well, word around has been,.. “We’re losing our tradition.” Until yesterday, when everyone was rudely and beautifully proven wrong.
To be honest, I was a little snobbish about all the hype. I was even getting irritated by the excitement. Until I wasn’t. Now I’m here, too excited to sleep. I literally had to force myself into sleeping, only to manage an hour.
Rain sounds are usually my go-to whenever I can’t sleep. Funny enough, this morning they woke me up. And I haven’t been able to go back to sleep.
According to my tradition, our wazees are described as rainmakers. They can hold the rain. And they can make it pour. Stop sneering, I have my facts. As of today, 3:00 AM. The clouds just released all the rain they’d been holding back. And there’s a reason it’s supposed to rain today. I’m not even sure I’m allowed to say it here, publicly… But this morning’s rain? It wasn’t because of climate change. It wasn’t even God. (I’ll pray for forgiveness about this later.) It was actually because of our wazees. I kid you not.
I danced so hard yesterday, I surprised myself. I’m not one to be comfortable in big crowds. But I was. It felt… so natural.
So now, our little lads will be going away into seclusion for almost an entire month. And they’ll come back to us, not as boys anymore… But as men. Total transition.
I’m writing shyly about this because I’m still not fully aware of what is inappropriate to say and what is genuinely sacred to keep private. You know I’m trying not to offend my people.
It’s 4:17 AM as I write this paragraph. And drums and songs can be heard too close by. The rain is equally competing.
I’d sworn I’d wake up to accompany everyone else, but my chest seems like it’ll betray me, asthma. So anyway, the actual thing is happening today. They’ll go through the cut this morning.
And according to my Tiriki culture, this won’t happen again until five years from now. My fear of missing out is screaming. Five years feels like forever.
After they come back from seclusion, it’ll be a party again. We’ll get our dancing shoes back. And then that will close it.
I’ll want to write more about this, because I genuinely want to keep it. I’ll sit with my brother, ask him what’s appropriate to say and what’s too private to share… Then I’ll come back here and yap all about it. I mean, that’s one thing I’m good at. Lol.
In the meantime, this is just my sugar rush, sipping out. God forbid a girl loves the sound of drums.
Honestly, I pray that my Tiriki culture stays around. The songs. The drums. The tradition. Everything about it is simply sacred. And it should be kept.
That’s my friend Mo, and she’s a baddie of course.
Daaamn I need to restart the day! No for real. So here’s the thing, I woke up earlier than I usually do. Stuck with my usual cute morning routine. Speaking of which, I wonder if genuinely the workouts I do have any impact for real. They are extremely lazy. I just know I’ve grown skinnier, I doubt it’s coz of them. Lol
Anyway, so I usually have today’s work ready the previous day, if this makes sense (my grammar is acting up lately). So technically I already have my entire week’s work ready. But somehow doing this, also makes me feel extremely unproductive. But who said money always has to come the hard way?
Alright so it is 9:29 am and I have ticked everything on my to-do list. So I’m here staring. Wondering. Probing. What is this life?
But I am deciding here and now that I’m gonna have an amazing day and this is going to be the most rewarding week I’ve ever had. I mean I deserve it right?
Sending anybody who’ll bump into this love and light and wishing you a wholesome week ahead full of alignment and peace.
A lot of things bother me… I mean, it’s only human. But one thing I genuinely can’t stand is being around people who just can’t be themselves.
There’s something about that kind of energy that feels off. It doesn’t just irritate me it drains me. Completely. It’s honestly exhausting being around that. There’s just… something about it.
I’m still figuring out the why. Maybe it’s the tension they carry, or the constant shape-shifting that makes the room feel heavy. Maybe it’s because I value authenticity so deeply, that being around its absence feels like suffocating in silence.
I just wish more people knew how much peace lives in simply being who you are. No edits. No masks. Just you.
(The amount of time I’ve yapped “authenticity here feels illegal)
So, I know I’ve casually mentioned my mom here…my literal heart.
But I don’t think I’ve ever really spoken about my dad. My first love.
Lately, I’ve been having these little moments that keep showing me just how much I’m my father’s daughter. He reads a lot. The other day he chuckled and said, “I value books. Can you imagine, at my age, I still read this much?”
I smiled. And all I said was, “Books are valuable.” Believe it or not, sometimes I am a woman of few words.
My dad is the only human I can comfortably exchange books with. No pressure. No need to explain myself. Just trust. He usually chuckles and says, “Eiy, you’re all about volume.”
He’s a brilliant orator I’m sure it’s the years of reading. I quietly watch how he carries words, and I know I want to learn that too. I want to articulate myself that cleanly, that deeply. And one day, when my future husband finally meets him, they’ll have a beautiful conversation full of wit, full of wisdom. My dad listens well. He always has.
He’s a writer too. I haven’t read much of what he’s written not officially. But I know. The only piece I’ve ever read from him was my late sister’s eulogy.
I did the pre-reading for him. It broke me. It was simple no fluff, no jargon. But every word knew where to land. I also read it aloud during her burial. It was meant to stay with me. It breaks my heart that I lost it.
Well he loves a good whiskey too. Talk about an apple not falling far….
One day, I’ll write more about him. I’ll probably write endlessly.
But for now I’ll just say this: Even after all these years, he’s still my first love.
And if you’re lucky enough to have someone like that in your life a quiet constant, a gentle guide hold them close, won’t you?
Wishing you a soft and soul-filled week ahead.
(I was getting him a book and just realized my library keeps growing smaller. Why do people steal books from others like that, lakini? 🤣 Si now we have those “dummy thingies” for decorating your fake bookshelves with. For pit’s sake stop stealing my books!)
Well I kept my flex short and brief. Learn from me my friends!
Preachy Val still clocking in, honey. Yeah, she’s back. Soft voice, loud truths. Humor is on a small break on this one… you’ve been warned.
I was deep in conversation with my sweet friend Pauline the other day God, I live for our chats. You know those people who just hold space for your soul without even trying? That’s her. Every time we talk, something inside me shifts.
This time, the shift came hard and honest.
I realized I’ve been peeling back layer after layer of myself. Unlearning things I thought were gospel. Relearning who I am underneath it all. And you know what’s wild? The unlearning is the most painful part. It’s where the work lives. The sweat. The resistance. The soft breaking open.
I told her something I hadn’t even admitted out loud before… for a long time, I carried this quiet rage toward people who were born into wealth. You know, the ones who seem to breathe privilege like air. It wasn’t exactly jealousy, it was more like shame. I’d look at myself and feel less. Like I didn’t belong. Like I was on the outside of a world I didn’t even know how to ask to enter.
The latest layer I peeled? Whew! It nearly peeled me back.
One sweet soul once asked me, “Why have you placed so much of your worth on money?”
At the time, I laughed it off. But that question… it stuck. It whispered. It circled back.
And now I see it.
I see the friendships I slowly distanced myself from not because they were bad, but because I didn’t feel worthy of them. I told myself people were “out of my league,” but really, I had benched myself. Sat myself down on the sidelines of a life I deserved to be playing in.
The irony? I’ve read The Power of the Subconscious Mind more times than I care to admit. Tossed around quotes like “where focus goes, energy flows” like I invented them. Meanwhile, I was running on autopilot.
And yes, I’m that friend who’s always talking about healing (you already know this refer back to my previous TED talk lol. https://missinjairu.com/2025/07/07/healing-is-a-messy-masterpiece/). But at the salon yesterday, my nail tech said something that felt like a loving slap to my soul.
She said, “Kuomoka sio tu pesa. Ata mindset ikigrow, hiyo ni kuomoka.” Bingo!
Healing isn’t always loud. Sometimes it sounds like your nail tech whispering wisdom while filing your cuticles.
Truth is, my self-worth was paper thin. My decisions? Heavily dependent on someone else’s opinion. I didn’t know how to trust myself. I didn’t believe I could make me happy. And my attachment style? Let’s just say… if there were Olympic medals for codependency, I was definitely on that podium.
Looking back, I just want to hold that old version of me. Sit her down. And lovingly scream, Who did this to you?
But here’s the thing. And hear me when I say this, baby:
No one is out of your league. You are not behind. You are not too much or not enough. You are already it. You were born whole.
Please muffle the noise. Mute the lies. You were never meant to shrink just because life bruised you. You were born worthy. Don’t get in your own way.
So yeah… healing isn’t linear. Sometimes it’s a whisper. Sometimes it’s a full-on breakdown in a salon chair. But every peeled layer brings me closer to the core of who I truly am.
And as I sit with all of this…
I love the badass I’m evolving into. I’ve owned my energy. I am home with all my sides. The soft. The wild. The wounded. The wise. I’ve stopped editing myself to be palatable.
I’ve accepted the woman I am. Fully. Freely. Fiercely.
And baby? I am genuinely enough.
Cheers🫶
What could you let go of, for the sake of harmony?
“Healing isn’t linear.” I know…I just hit you with a full-blown cliché. But hear me out okay? It only feels cliché until it’s your reality. Until you’re smack in the middle of it, trying to piece yourself back together with shaky hands and half a clue.
I’ve tossed that line around, to my friends so many times. It’s always easier to say when you’re not the one swallowing it like medicine.
Lately, our little corner here has been all about humor, gentle vulnerability, and loud self-awareness. But today, can we just… soften the landing a bit? Good
This one’s a warm hug to anyone going through the thick of healing. Anyone clawing their way out of the bottom barrel. If you’re in that space, please know, cliché or not… you are not alone. I mean that with every fiber of my being.
Personally? My body’s been waving red flags. Random blackouts, funny noises inside my head (like birds chirping), seeing stars, losing balance, I’ve been running on empty without realizing it. On Saturday, I almost kissed the floor with my already humongous forehead (yes, I did say we’d keep the humor light, but come on 🤣).
And this? This followed weeks of thriving. I was chirping all over the place about how okay I was. See? It’s never linear. One moment you’re glossy and glowing, the next you’re unraveling quietly in a corner. But we move. Still. Always.
I know I over share here a lot, but that’s the whole point of this space…. to be entirely myself. I just hope this lands in the hearts that need it, and not the minds looking to judge it.
You’ve got this, babe. In fact, you’re almost there.
PS…(Preachy Val hasn’t clocked in for a while, but here she is. Still hilarious, just also lowkey in survival mode. You know it’s real when this version appears uninvited, lol.)
Shadow to my light. 