Author: Miss Injairu

This is my best kept muse. Have fun.

When Tradition Woke me Up

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.

Let’s stay awesome, won’t we?

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.



Cheers

Photo credits: daydream on Pinterest

What bothers me, still figuring out the “why”

What bothers you and why?

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)

My first love, still

Allow me to flex a little. Thanks.

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!

Cheers.

Evolving……Arriving

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🫶

Healing is a Messy Masterpiece

“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.)

Cheers. 💜

Romance? Let me explain..

What’s your definition of romantic?

Haah! I almost missed today’s prompt, but whew! This one’s got me smiling. I love love. I’m a certified, card-carrying hopeless romantic.

My definition of romance? Comprehension.

Not just flowers and fancy gestures (though yes, please 🌹) but truly getting each other.

Like, “I see you. I get you. I hold space for who you are,” and you doing the same for me.

That’s it. That’s the romance.

It’s conversations.

Not just the deep, soul-baring kind (though I live for those), but the playful, “you won’t believe what happened at work today” ones.

Talking to my man, my man, my man (yes, I’ve said that way too many times 😅)  that’s my love language. It’s how I go on adventures without ever leaving the house.

It’s listening. Like, actually listening.

Because have you ever opened your heart to someone, only to realize halfway through they’ve completely zoned out? Whew.

Not just humiliating, diabolical.

A heartbreak without the breakup.

So when my person really listens tuned in, heart on, eyes soft? That’s poetry.

It’s quality time.

Car parked. Takeout in hand. Nowhere to go just good vibes.

It’s snuggles. It’s canoodling. It’s couch cuddles where time disappears.

It’s respect.

(Hey papi, here…respect abounds)

Knowing that beyond and above the love, there’s respect.

On the days when love doesn’t feel like enough, we’ll fill the gap with the respect we’ve built around each other.

It’s space.

Space to talk, to vent, to become the full-blown podcast that I am unfiltered, unscripted, and slightly dramatic. 😂

To me, romance is showing up as your whole self and letting me do the same.

Like yes, I’m your safe space. And you? You’re my effing best friend, hun. 💛

Also… I already have the design of my gown, by the way. 😌

Cheers!

I love WordPress, but I’ve got a side piece now.

I got my very first WordPress account back in 2015. It was a class assignment from this gracious professor we had. (Y’all were still in diapers no? Alright)

Like I used to, back in the day, I panicked. So I randomly created an account just to tick the assignment box.

I can’t quite recall what I wrote about, though I do remember asking this very pretty classmate we shared a hostel with how to spell the word detest. I think I wrote something about promiscuity. Haaaah!

I would just randomly post things, still trying to find my voice, my flow.

Outside our hostels, we had pit latrines (someone explain to the rich kids at the back what those are). I preferred them for reasons I won’t mention here. One day, I had my phone in the back pocket of my trousers and totally forgot… So yes, you guessed it, and friends that’s how I lost my phone. I didn’t have a laptop yet. And back then, I wasn’t savvy enough to recover my Gmail account.

So just like that, I lost my first WordPress account and with it, all my weird little writings. Most of them, written in the middle of mini panic attacks. I remember my favorite post, the one I wrote about my grandad right after I received the news of his passing. I couldn’t process the grief, so I wrote instead. So typical of Val.

Anyway, that backstory is to say, ever since I started writing on WordPress again in 2022, I’ve always carried this low-key fear “What if I lose this account again?”

Truth be told, I’ve never been one to take some things with the seriousness they deserve. I used to be that person who didn’t care much who had access to my accounts. Until one day.. plot twist…a very selfish human being deleted my YouTube account. And that account was actually doing well. Believe it or not, I’d have been a full-on YouTube girl by now. I loved what I was building on there.

Ever since, whenever someone asks, “What happened to your YouTube?” I just smile weirdly and move on.

That incident taught me a painful but necessary lesson, passwords and logins are critical. Ignore my past ignorance, please.

When it came to subscriptions; Netflix, YouTube premium, Spotify, WordPress…I’d always counted on another  awesome soul who would just “handle it.” I never bothered. I just knew someone would sort it out.

Until we stopped talking. And I was like, okay Val… I know you’ve got some codependency things to work through, but maybe it’s time to start acting like the full-time adult that you are.

So here we are. Seven months later: no Netflix, no Spotify… and my WordPress subscription is expiring sometime in August. The thought of losing my domain is eating at me. It’s not even a huge task, but it’s always the simple ones that trip me up.

Lately, I’ve been having nightmares about losing my WordPress , again.

Enter Pauline. (https://pwaitheruechostudio.wordpress.com) My kindred spirit. An incredible writer. She writes the kind of poetry that will wreck you in the best way. And she’s the one who introduced me to “Blogger.”

You know how it is with Google,  if I’m not in my Gmail, I’m probably on Sheets, Docs, or Slides or Forms. Never once did I scroll down far enough to discover “Blogger.” And yet, here I am, always going on about being “adventurous.” The joke is on me.

So I tried it. I copied one of my WordPress blogs onto Blogger just to test the interface  and I love it. Pauline’s blog is so well organized, and honestly, I’m impressed.

Which means,  I may not have to keep panicking about WordPress. Because now, I kinda have a side chic. (Don’t get me wrong I’m all about monogamy, by the way.)

Oh, and one last secret  I have a Substack account too. Y’all will never find it. That one is just for me. I learned about it from another beautiful soul, Wairimu Leah. She pours her heart out into everything she writes(Her account is currently on private).

Anyway, enough of the yapping.

Stay acing, guys.

Ps (Because I can’t, for the life of me, figure out an appropriate image for this post and I love attaching images to my write-ups, the child in me can’t just help it… I’m just going to go ahead and upload my favorite thing, curtains and windows.)


Cheers.