Shadow to my light.

Dear Sugar,

How does it feel to finally be back home, to yourself?

First of all, wow! You have never written a love letter to yourself before. And look at you now, so comfortable expressing love inwardly. I love that for you.

I get it now, why it was once so hard to show yourself the kind of love you so freely gave to others. But I’m proud of how far you’ve come. I’m grateful that you no longer beat yourself up for the painful experiences you endured when self-love was just a foreign concept. The spaces you settled in, the people you tolerated, you see it all now, and you extend grace instead of shame.

What amazes me most is how, though it took years to reach this place of forgiveness, the moment the realization hit, you simply said, “F*ck that bullshit. I forgive myself.” Just like that. And it stuck.

You have written love letters to others , but today was different. Today, you thought, “wait a minute!” I deserve a love letter. And when you said, over and over again, “I love you. I freaking love you so much,” it was joyful, freeing. You didn’t cry, you laughed, because something inside you cracked open. Finally, you realized those words weren’t just meant for others. You could say them to yourself, and mean them.

You have looked for those words in others for so long. You love deeply, vulnerably, fearlessly. I know you’d go to war for the people you love. But it’s enough now, okay? You have given so much. Your cup was empty. And you know better now… you can’t pour from an empty cup. I love how self-aware you have become of that.

Just look at how you have been extending grace to yourself these past few weeks. I know a small part of you asked, “Why did it take me so long?” But you didn’t let that question spiral you. You caught yourself. Because you now know, it’s never too late to be better for yourself.

Just a few months ago, if someone told you “it gets better,” you might have laughed bitterly in their face. The pain back then was unbearable. Excruciating .You have broken down in strangers’ arms. Remember that week you spent unable to speak, afraid of choking on your own tears. You even flirted with the thought of not being here anymore.

You wrote to a friend in the middle of the night… “Death might be easy. I can’t do this shit anymore.”
She said, “Think about your mom.”
And you did. But you also thought about you. It didn’t make sense at the time, but you stayed.

You didn’t dare intoxicate yourself to numb the pain like you used to. You sat with it. Felt every bit of it. You cried more than a river. And still, you got up every day and carried the pain, without even noticing how slowly, it began to lift.

Look at you now. President of the “It gets better” club. But this time, you understand… it only gets better when you are intentional about it.

The breaking was necessary. You used to write in your journal, “It’s darkest just before dawn.” And here you are, protecting your peace fiercely. You have gone MIA, not because you are hiding, but because this season is for you.

When you are ready to re-emerge, the world better be ready too! You no longer doubt yourself. You no longer believe certain people or dreams are “out of your league.”

You are  unapologetically you, and it’s breathtaking to witness you ruffle your feathers like this. You are finally loving who you are, with no apologies. And that inner love is blooming…. because you know the universe loves you right back.

You see your flaws. You have made peace with them. You are evolving.

Yes, you have always been calm,,, this new calm though? It’s rooted. Grounded. Whole.

And damn, is it sexy watching you move through life with gratitude. Girl, in the past? You’d wake up bracing for the worst. Scanning for signs of doom. But not anymore. Now you know… the universe isn’t on a budget. You can ask for anything.

Your mindset is a muse. You no longer identify as “an overthinker” or “anxious” or someone with “shaky self-worth.” You have stepped fully into your essence, and it turns out, that’s where the treasure always was.

I’m proud of the woman you’re becoming, but even more proud of the woman you were, who didn’t give up.

I see you. I love how you wake up and simply choose to have a good day. You don’t react… you observe. Because you know now,  just because life isn’t always soft and glossy doesn’t mean you aren’t strong enough to handle it.

Your mindset is your compass now. It will carry you beautifully through life’s waves.

I can’t wait to see more of you. How you keep pouring into yourself, how you are going to leave love prints on every person and every place you touch.

It feels wholesome to be finally be back home to yourself yah?

I love you so much, Sugar. More than you can imagine.

Cheers.

Somewhere last week, I decided, I was finally going to finish Becoming by Michelle Obama.

It’s been over five years since I first picked up this book. More than five years of batting my lashes, blinking away tears on almost every page. Some were tears of joy; others, of excruciating pain I could almost feel spilling over.

Over time, Becoming became more than just a book it became a companion. A constant through so many seasons of my life. I started reading it in my early twenties, and here I am now, closing it in the final stretch of that decade.


I’ve experienced deep losses while holding this book close. I remember one night vividly, I was talking to my mom about how emotional the part about Michelle’s father was. I turned to my now late sister and said, “I just wouldn’t know how people handle the loss of someone so dear.”
Barely over a year later, I found myself in that exact place, trying to make sense of life without a sister I’d known my entire life. (Strangely, I’ve been talking about her a lot lately, in here)

I often made sure to read Becoming in solitude. There were parts that broke me. I’d cry, then pause for long stretches, just to breathe, to reflect, to let the words sit.

It felt so familiar. So intimate. Like a warm hug.
Inspiring in more ways than I can count.

Now that I’ve turned the last page, I find myself at a loss for words. Just sitting with it all like, “Damn.”

So for the rest of today, I’ll be doing just that, sitting with it all.
Every word that moved me.
Every memory it stirred.
And every gem I’ve gathered from this beautiful, wholehearted read.

This morning, I woke up caught between snuggling in bed with my book or hopping out to be a productive human. 

I happened to wake up earlier than usual, so for once, I had the luxury of pretending I had options, felt kinda fancy, not gonna lie.

I ended up sitting with my thoughts for what felt like an entire 30 minutes just zoned out. I rudely had to force myself out of that zoning. 

I have insanely crazy reminders on my phone that come buzzing once it hits 8:00 am.. I never play whenever I say I feel the most vulnerable when my phone is in another person’s hands, it’s an asylum this one. So much of my craziness tucked behind my password. The gaslighting I do for myself is next level. And only for my eyes. 

If my phone ever lands in your hands, please avoid the notes app. I mean you can read my messages, check my WhatsApp…go everywhere but kindly avoid my notes app. Just a heads up because you just might go insane. 

Okay so my reminders, are part of my morning routine, a girl must lock in you know. 

After my crazy intimate morning routine, I was like “Okay Val, we are going to have an insanely beautiful day” 

I just decided that I was going to have a gorgeous day and I manipulated my mind into believing that. 

Haha!  That’s basically what I wanted to say, I just decided I was going to have a bombass day.  

In 2020, right in the middle of the pandemic, I got a dog. Not as an impulse. Not to pass time. But because I was drowning in grief.

Her name is Trixie. She was a gift, quite literally. After losing my sister, I was desperate for something, anything, that would soothe the ache I carried around every day. So, I asked my late sister’s boyfriend if he could get me a pet. And just like that, Trixie came into my life.

She was barely a month old when I got her. I could barely care for myself at the time, let alone a tiny, fragile puppy. The anxiety was real. A few hours after I got her, she vomited, and I spiraled. I thought I was going to lose her too. But from the moment she curled up in my arms, the bond was instant.

I bundled her in blankets and made a spot for her in the guest bedroom. My mom, bless her traditional African heart, watched in quiet disbelief. She didn’t say a word, afraid to step on my fragile heart. So, everyone just watched as I figured out how to raise this unexpected companion.

Google became my best friend. Every time Trixie twitched, sneezed, or wagged her tail, I was deep in a rabbit hole of research. I had no idea what I was doing, but somehow, we figured it out together. Day by day. Bark by bark.

Then came December. I got a job offer that meant relocating. As excited as I should’ve been, my heart broke at the thought of leaving Trixie behind. Taking her with me wasn’t an option, and the separation anxiety hit hard. I cried the entire 12-hour bus ride to Voi. It wasn’t the road trip I usually lived for, it was one of the hardest goodbyes I’ve had to make.

But I had videos of Trixie and I. Enough to keep me going. And the knowledge that she was safe and loved at home.

Years later, Trixie is still here, curled up in her favorite corners, loved by everyone in the house. She’s become an irreplaceable part of my life. Grief doesn’t go away, but she became a soft distraction, a living, breathing reminder that healing doesn’t always come the way we expect it.

She’s mushy, emotional, and a little dramatic. Just like me.

Today, while feeding her, I teared up. I reached down, gave her a gentle touch, and felt this overwhelming wave of gratitude. I thought, I need to write this down. Someday, I might need to remember what she did for me.

For context, my late sister also had a dog, Blee. She was a birthday gift and a gentle soul. Blee and I had a bond too, and I swear I saw grief in her eyes when my sister passed. Blee stayed with my sister’s boyfriend, as it should’ve been. But perhaps that’s what led me to Trixie.

I know not everyone gets it, not everyone is into pets. But I promise you, dogs are something else. Something otherworldly. They don’t replace what’s lost, but sometimes, they help us hold the pieces together just long enough to start healing.

And that, my friends, is the magic of dogs.
Maybe the magic of my Trixie.

Ps: I intentionally didn’t post Trixie’s picture.

Side note – We lost Blee just about the time I wrote this. I found out later and it was just so heartbreaking.

My mind just went more than five years back into my life.

In campus, I would make friends so fast and I would lose them as fast as I made them.

On a first glance, most assumed I was “cool” then a few days in, the realization that I was just a closed off weirdo dawned on them and they would run so fast away from me. 

I mean c’mon, life was a lot back in the day. A bad joke right? Yes.  Honestly there are times I wanna go back in time and just slap the younger version me so hard and tell her to get right back on track and do everything else every young human was allowed to do…and other times I wanna go back and just give her the warmest hug and tell her she is enough and that everything else that happened to her wasn’t her fault and that she should just try and make something worthwhile out of her younger years…

That aside, so this particular character stood out. His name was Johnpeter. He identified as a countryboy. He only listened to country music. Nothing else. He could careless about anything trendy. He wasn’t on any social media platform. The world he had created for himself was simply just enough for him.

Johnpeter felt weird, because honestly he was the total opposite of the originator of that name. First he was an atheist and second he still is the weirdest human I’ve ever encountered. He was a gentle giant though. Very pure. Hence why I ended up nicknaming him JP.

The most authentic nyctophile.

He always wore black. He was studying criminology. And just like how they were taught in class, he handled everybody else like a suspect.


Okay so he always wore black, for reasons I won’t mention here. And I mean, black shirt, black plants, black boots, black belt and a weirdly long trenchcoat. As if that wasn’t enough, he also never left his black cowboy hat behind. 

Honestly anyone who’s been in kakamega understands how keeping up with a weirdly long trench coat isn’t for the weak. But JP survived it, plus his hat. (What are the chances that he was an outfit repeater because you can’t tell black from black … especially black plants…)

This man thrived in darkness, I doubt if he ever slept. He was young, but also old. You know what I mean? Thinking about it now, he was barely a 23 year old lad, but he carried himself around like a 40 year old and I promise I am not even being extra right now.

He had such a fatherly energy to him. The kind, you’d run to when a bully was picking on you. His conversations were deep. He had a very strong gaze. A piercing one.

I’ve never met someone who loves darkness like JP did, he would have his walks at night. In his black trenchcoat. Dude was ahead of time because back in the day who cared about walks?

Thinking about it now, was he even a student? Maybe he was some secret detective on a mission because honestly I don’t even know whether he graduated. He sort of just disappeared.

The most beautiful thing about him ….. he was a writer. A real writer. I mean the kind of writer who would high-key intimidate other writers. He genuinely intimidated me.

He asked about my hobbies, I told him.. he beamed. Real grinning, and I promise this weird human barely ever smiled. So because mine was writing, he let me read his works and here my friends, that is how I stopped writing for so many years. JP was a good writer.

You won’t even guess this one.. so yes he thrived at night. Meaning he did most of his things in darkness. You know where he would do his writings? In the freaking club. Yes, in the most chaotic of clubs. Not a quiet inn…not a calming resort. The club.

In his weirdly long trench coat in the ungodly hours of the night, he would get inside the club, with his gadgets order a beer. Sit somewhere in the middle, where the real chaos abounded…and disappeared into his own world. He would get back into the real world with the most brilliant pieces.

Somehow girls were just drawn to him. I mean the prettiest, hottest, mysterious girls were just drawn to this weirdo. He didn’t even have to do a thing, he would just stand their with his weirdness and magically girls would just come falling and worshipping at his feet.. literally.  We would laugh about that.

Something happened and we lost touch. I was in my first year, he was in his fourth. After he weirdly disappeared, I sort of lost touch. The typical me…I missed a few of his calls. Ignored his messages. And after so long, life just went on without him.

Somewhere around 2019, I emailed him…okay in one of our conversations he’d given me his email, he was very specific about “I might just disappear someday, but I know I’ll never change my email” so that’s how I ended up having his email.

He responded with, “Guess who’s the best dad of the year” I was shocked. Genuinely. He never struck me as someone who’d sire an offspring. Not at all. So I sent a middle finger back.

And let me tell you, he was very clear about language, as atheist as he was, dude had clear principles and he stood on them. So anything to do with vulgar language would just turn him off totally.

I wonder how we survived being friends because I know myself and I know my language.

He was so excited about being a father, the middle finger didn’t drive him insane.

The next time we spoke, death had stolen from me. I had lost my darling sister. And subconsciously I just felt like his “daddy” aura would have done some magic and lessened the pain. I left him an email. And he wrote the most grim and also comforting email back. It was a lengthy email. The longest email someone’s ever written me.

I remember only but a few words, “grief never goes away, so just go with the waves” typical JP language. Catch him dead sugarcoating anything. With him, a spade was simply a spade.

Other than that, he helped me through the most trying of times back in the day. That was a time I experienced his softest side, maybe because a few years back he had lost his brother to a similar issue.

A weirdo hacked my phone, I changed my email. Before losing my previous email, I forgot to get JP’s email.  And that marked the end of our friendship.

I wonder where he took his weirdness to.
Is he even alive? I hope he is.

Honestly, thinking about it now, life grants me the weirdest… sweetest souls. A total movie, my life, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

I hope he feels this energy wherever he is.

Cheers.