Author: Miss Injairu

Earlier this year, on the first of January, I think I was in the middle of a meltdown when I had a conversation with my friend Winny (hey, brown eyes).

And one thing she kept repeating stayed with me….
“Life is fluid.”

I’m glad she didn’t just say it once. She insisted on it.

She also reminded me not to suppress my emotions to let myself feel.

That entire conversation felt like a warm hug I didn’t know I needed.

And from that moment, I made a quiet decision….
to feel every emotion that asked to be felt…
without necessarily acting on it.

Since then, I’ve been moving through life celebrating something I’m genuinely proud of, learning how to regulate my nervous system, even in the middle of chaos.

And in the grand scheme of things, I have.

But somewhere along the way, I didn’t realize that what felt like regulation…
was sometimes just me bottling things up.

In February, a lot happened.

I remember writing that I had felt everything I needed to feel.

I was wrong.

I had buried some of the most important emotions, the ones that actually needed my attention. I was so focused on being “okay” internally that I didn’t allow myself to be human enough to be upset about the things that had genuinely broken me.

So in March, I said something simple…
“God, surprise me.”

And I allowed life to be fluid.

Yesterday, I wrote on my WhatsApp status…
“I’ve killed the ego and worked on my nervous system. Magic.
I don’t entertain performance. Here, it’s about being. Not performing…….”

But the truth is… my heart wasn’t okay when I wrote that.

I was in pain.

And that scared me a little.

Because I don’t want to go back to the version of me that lived in anxiety and overthinking. I like to believe I’ve paid my dues there. In full.

I went to bed sad, thinking I’d wake up feeling better.

I didn’t.

I woke up heavy.

And in an attempt to steady myself, I told myself the same thing I’ve said a thousand times……
“If things hadn’t happened the way they did, you wouldn’t be who you are now.”

And yes, that’s true.

But it doesn’t cancel out the pain.

I got up, went through my routine, and got to work, …holding back tears the entire time.

At some point, I lost my cool on a phone call with a carpenter who had been lying to me since Sunday. I raised my voice. I hate unnecessary lies.

Immediately after, I knew I could have handled it better.

It doesn’t happen often, but it happened.

And I reminded myself…I’m still human.

Later in the afternoon, I went into my room and finally let it out.
I cried. Fully. Not pretty.

I don’t fully understand people who shut down. I don’t think I do that.
But I try to extend grace to those who do.
Still, I find myself wondering..
when someone shuts down… does everything shut down with it?
Empathy? Awareness?

I don’t know.

But what I do know is this….
my greatest fear right now is causing someone else pain.

After crying, I tried writing in my diary, but nothing made sense.

So I spoke to myself out loud.
I reminded myself that no one owes me anything.
That I need to stop trying to control what isn’t mine to control.
That I need to let go of attachments, of expectations, of quiet wishes I’ve been holding onto that no longer serve me and have shown me long ago that I shouldn’t be holding on to them.

And in that moment, I saw it clearly..
Life is fluid.

I feel overwhelmed.

But I also feel relieved.

There were truths I had been avoiding without even realizing it.

Layers I thought I had already peeled back.

I hadn’t.

And today was heavy but necessary.

I’m glad I faced it.
I’m glad I broke down.
I’m glad I let go of the quiet fantasies I didn’t even know I was holding onto.

Life is truly fluid.

And for April, I want the same thing I asked for in March….
God, surprise me.
Because despite the overwhelm, I have truly lived.
I’ve become more present. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

So just like before, I’m ending the month with a heart full of gratitude.

And hopefully, next time I’m frustrated… I’ll remember not to scream.

Oh…..and yesterday morning, in the middle of a conversation, I said something that stayed with me…
“At some point, you have to make loneliness your friend.”
And honestly… yes.

Meanwhile,
I speak ease and abundance into April.

Cheers.

I miss the version of me who’d use phrases like, “don’t flatter me.”
It hit me recently that it’s been years….maybe a decade, since I’ve said that to anyone. Somewhere along the way, it got replaced with “don’t gas me up…” I can’t recall when and why the shift happened.
And honestly, thinking about it now, “don’t flatter me” had something softer about it. Something almost delicate. That era of my life carried a certain kind of charm one rooted in innocence, in trust, in a quiet kind of belief in people.
I used to think that if people loved each other, they didn’t cheat.
So when Kevin would disappear for three days after telling me he was going to “study in the library,” I believed him. Fully. (He was in UoN I was in MMUST)
Haaaah!. Hi Kevin.

That version of me existed in purity. In trust. In not knowing any better but also not needing to.
And I think… I want a piece of her back.

I’ve decided that this week will not end without me saying “don’t flatter me” again. Whether it comes out naturally or I have to force it in somewhere, I’m bringing it back.


I used to be so eloquent man…and very creative. Do these two things fizzle out as we age or did I just grow too comfortable.

My Swahili? It’s soaked in slang. Effortless. Unfiltered. Mine.
I remember back in second year at Masinde Muliro, my friend Mburu (the only guy Mr. Ouko allowed to present in Swahili) summoned me aside… outside LBB. On the benches. He wanted to talk to me about stepping out of my comfort zone. I obliged.
And somewhere in that conversation, he said something that stayed with me….
“You sound like how I’m supposed to sound.”
The euphemism behind that….was that my Swahili leaned too ghetto, too masculine.
And he wasn’t wrong.
I was the kind of person who would say, “manze hiyo ni ngori, sasa tutado?” without a second thought.
Saying “hiyo ni shida kubwa sana, sijui tutafanya nini” felt like I was auditioning for a set book play.
But I heard him. And I respected it.

Still… you can’t teach an old dog new tactics. (Yes, I know I’ve probably butchered that too)

So even now when I’m speaking to my mates I say things like “manzeee“
And when I greet my dad in the morning, it’s a casual “mambo dad” instead of a polished “habari yako.”
The latter just doesn’t feel like me. Nikiwai enda kwakina ndoa I know I’ll have to work on that.

But don’t get it twisted, I know exactly when to switch my other side  on.
And I’m grateful that version of me always shows up when it needs to.

I deeply admire people who speak fluent, clean Swahili so effortlessly.
Not a bunch of “rada,” and the likes. Ngori manze. Just smooth, intentional language. I truly stan.

Anyway… I’ve digressed.

I’m really looking forward to using “don’t flatter me” again.
Also, I’ve come to terms with the fact that my Sheng is very millennial.

If you made it this far, this was a very good waste of your time. Exactly as intended.

Big ups, Mburu, if you ever come across this, send me a voice note. Kuna kitu nataka kuskia.

By the way in our voice notes there are times when twin flame with dreads would use “mpenzi” in place of “babe”. I remember this one time he said “mpenzi jamani” my knees went weak.

Okay si tuchekiane basi…?

Love and light huns♥️

We all have a past, don’t we?
Rhetorical question, I know.

I got my first tattoo in 2017. I can’t remember the month  which means I definitely don’t remember the exact date. Funny, because I usually remember things vividly.

All I know is that I was in my hostel when I heard there was a tattoo artist in Mango (Joan’s room at the time). I felt an adrenaline rush. Not random. Not impulsive. It had been a childhood dream.

My sister Chela (may her soul continue resting in peace) used to talk about getting a tattoo. Back then, we imagined they were ridiculously expensive. But she would always say she’d get one someday. Somewhere along the way, I adopted the dream too. I promised myself I would get one in adulthood.

So when the opportunity showed up at my doorstep, I knew. That was the day.

I didn’t have a grand design in mind. I just wanted the initial of one of my names and a few stars to complement it. I went on Pinterest and found a “V” with a heart and a shaded silhouette around it.

The tattoo guy looked at me while on a call and said, “I might take a while here.” I’m sure he thought I’d be fragile. That I’d make it difficult.

Shock on him.

It was painful. The second that machine started buzzing, I questioned every life decision I had ever made. When he began shading, I told him to stop. I was sweating everywhere  hands, armpits, pride. Every pore on my body was screaming.

But when he finished, he called the same person back and said, “Nilikuwa nimeunderestimate, nimeshamaliza.” I paid, got the aftercare instructions, and left.
I was happy. Genuinely happy.

Life moved on. Sometimes I even forgot the “V” on my hand existed. Occasionally I’d think about getting another one. The thought would pass.

Then 2022 happened.

It was a heavy year. Somewhere between an existential crisis and falling deeply in love  (yes, the twin flame with dreads). I decided it was time for more tattoos. Tiny, minimalistic ones.

The first was beneath my collarbone on the right  a mother holding a daughter. It represents my love for my mother. My literal heart.

On the left, I got a small heart with the words, be brave beside it. Because at that time, my heart was breaking in a way that felt physical  like something sharp moving back and forth inside my chest. I needed the reminder.

By the time Forsky finished, I wanted more pain. That’s how I ended up adding the small guitar near my first tattoo.

I love them. All of them.

I’ve been questioned. Judged. Talked about.

At one point, a woman from my village said I had joined the illuminati and somehow linked that to my late sister’s death. I was so upset I laughed.

Back then, I wasn’t strong enough to confront things like that. So I let it slide.

Here’s the context….we all have stories. We all have pasts.

Living in the village, I understand the closed-mindedness that can surround me.

And I’ve seen the particular way women with tattoos are judged.

Even when I got my first one, I knew the shade would come. I was braced for it.

Recently, a woman held my hand, looked me straight in the eye, and asked, “Why did you get a tattoo?”
“Because I wanted to,” I said.
“You didn’t have to.”
I didn’t respond. But I remember saying later, “I don’t regret it. If anything, I love that I got them.”

I know what the Bible says about tattoos and piercing. I also know what it says about many other things we selectively overlook. I read my Bible. I pray. I have a personal relationship with God. I am constantly trying to become better.

Today, I caught myself imagining a wedding gown off-shoulder. For a moment, I thought, Maybe I should choose one that covers the tattoos.
Then I corrected myself.
No. If I ever get married, I will show up exactly as I am.
It’s funny, because I don’t even dream of a white wedding. I want a traditional one. But that moment made something clear to me.
I have owned every scar on my body. Every story I’ve lived through. That’s why I’m not ashamed to speak about them. My wedding imagination is what inspired all these.

Lately, all I desire is to show up as I am. Unmasked.

Yes, society often sees even the tiniest tattoo on a woman as inappropriate. I see the looks. I’d be lying if I said I’ve never been self-conscious.

But now I ask myself… for what? For who?

On this floating rock where we judge others for sinning differently?

We all have a past. Some stories we hide. Some we share openly.

As for me, I have owned mine.

Because it shaped who I am right here, right now.

Cheers

And so she woke up on Sunday, March 1st, 2026.
The first thing on her mind was a quiet chant….”I am sorry. Please forgive me. I love you.”

It wasn’t directed at anyone in particular.
If anything, it was meant for herself.

It was a dull Sunday, the kind Sundays usually are… but this one carried a different texture. She found herself asking, How did I get here? And just as quickly, she reminded herself…” I am exactly where I am meant to be.”

Chapter 2 of 12 was layered. Messy in places. Clarifying in others. The theme had been simple.. “no peasant energy.” Nothing extravagant about it  just a quiet decision not to shrink, not to mask, not to entertain what diminishes her.

She has felt every emotion that demanded to be felt.

She has finally met her wounds without flinching. And the only honorable response has been gentleness.

Life has not unfolded the way she once imagined it would by now. But she no longer punishes herself for that. She embraces what is. Fully.

She has learned to hold all her sides…. the soft, the sharp, the uncertain and to move with conviction anyway.

For Chapter 3, she is open. Open to the surprises God has waiting for her small, beautiful life.

In the meantime, she feels free.
Whole.

Mended in places she once thought would remain fractured.

She is loosening her grip on what was never hers to carry.

Even in the ordinary, she notices beauty tracing the edges.

She has been writing less lately not because there’s nothing to say, but because some things are sacred. Some details require more time before they are offered to the world.

For now, she simply wants Chapter 3 of 12 to be elegant in its own quiet way.

Sending love and light to every gentle soul who stumbles upon this. May you find the courage to release what no longer serves you. May you recognize beauty in the most ordinary moments. And may March arrive with a thousand small glimmers, soft and steady, with every waking day.

Cheers

I made a stop at a stretch of road I never imagined I’d return to.

For a second, I was excited. Then sad. Then everything came back at once…. memory crashing straight into my chest.

I almost took a picture to send you.
“Guess where I stopped.”
It felt silly. I didn’t.

So I just sat there and inhaled it all the past, the ache, the quiet. I thanked the heavens I didn’t break down. The crying stayed internal though.

When we drove off, I felt split in two. Grateful that fate took me back there. Haunted that it still hurts.

And I kept asking myself, when does this stop?

The weight. The replay. The exhaustion of carrying things no one can see.

I was afraid to go home afraid of being alone with thoughts I thought I’d already defeated. What if they were just waiting for me to be tired enough?

So I went to my friend’s place. It felt safer for my headspace that way.

I Sat with every thought demanding attention.
At one point I asked Rose, “Should I crash out on this person?”
Calm as ever, she said, “I don’t see the point.”

That stayed with me.

Later, I found myself questioning my own competence  something I haven’t done in a long time. That part drained me more than the memories did.

There was even a fleeting, dangerous thought  what if I just didn’t have to carry any of this anymore?

I let it pass.

I’m letting all of it pass.

Because as unsettling as it feels, I know this..
We are exactly where we are meant to be.

Love and light.