I have been working out for more than one month straight. Not missing a day.
I’ve gotten up and showed, especially on the days that I felt like I couldn’t.
Nothing extreme, just a few stretches. Skipping. Squats. A few minutes of yoga. And a 40 second plunk that almost always takes me out. Come to think of it, there are people who can hold up on plunks for more than 2 minutes, are these ones even real human beings because yooooh!
I am just happy to report, this is the first time in my life, that I’ve kept up with working out. I’ve never gone past 4 days.
Honestly speaking, I’ve never been so proud of myself.
I love what the workouts are doing to my body, and especially to my mind.
I would love to go on the famous “hot girl walks” but I live in the village, don’t take this the wrong way, I looooove love my village..but in case you don’t know, and I know this applies to almost every village, your business is usually everybody else’s business.
You need to greet everybody you meet, and usually it just never stops at that. Small talk here. A little gossip there, and the usual “you are getting late, you should be having at least two babies now”. No! I’m not quite ready to jump into that, the hot girl walks in my village I mean.
So until I move out, I think I’m fine with the little cute work outs I do in my bedroom.
You should probably try it, it doesn’t have to be much..imagine the girlies aren’t lying. Intentionally moving your body, just does something sacred to it.
I have intentionally decided that today, I am going to slow down. Darn sure my body and mind could use that.
Slow breaths, graceful steps.
Slowly opening my laptop to catch up on everything I couldn’t yesterday.
On Monday, I woke up in extremely low spirits, I was like God no! There’s no way I’m going back to that snappy old self. That’s the thing, once you’ve genuinely tested the good side of life, something slight happens, and the fear of going to the awful life creeps in.
So yeah, Monday morning wasn’t really coming along well. I went back, inside my head and held an entire positive conversation about myself.
Then I made a small prayer, then I reminded myself how I am entirely obsessed about myself now, that outwardly things shouldn’t really faze me like that. You know a literal bad b*.
And just like that, my day switched up for the good. I went to bed Monday night an extremely happy woman, grateful for how the entire day had played out.
Mastering how to get a grip is something I’m going to celebrate about myself for so long.
Anyway, Tuesday came and I woke up in a rush. Probably afraid of ruining the good momentum I’d built the previous day.
To cut the nitty gritty, it ended up being such a messed up day. I tried doing everything all at once, then I ended up accomplishing nothing.
At around 3:00 p.m. My head was spinning. Disappointed that I’d wasted an entire day trying to do everything, and eventually accomplishing nothing.
I switched off my laptop. Switched off my internet. Put my phone on DND. Then I sat with myself.
I held another pep talk with myself. I needed it. I am happy to report that I went to bed happy and regulated again.
Slept soundly, until the door bell rang weirdly at 1:45 a.m.
Anyway I’ve woken up a happy girl and I have decided that I am going to slow down.
Gracefully approach everything on my to-do list. ( Technically, I do not have one written, I just have a content calendar that dictates how the rest of my day goes)
Maybe I should go back into actually having a to-do list.
Anyway, yeah. Today, I am literally slowing down. So technically I know my day is going to be long, asin I will finish most of my things later than I usually do. But I know it is going to be worth it.
Looking forward to how the rest of the day is going to be.
I was startled out of sleep in the ungodly hours of the night, 1:45 a.m to be specific.
Someone just randomly rang our door bell.
Not just me, even my mom was. Trixie, on the other end couldn’t stop barking.
Too scared to move, I couldn’t even manage getting out of my bed. So I decided on having a whole venting session inside my head, “Yani why would mom be expecting someone at this point of the night and think it is appropriately right for her not to give me a heads up. This isn’t even funny. This is upsetting.”
I was raging mad and scared all at once.
Waited to hear her getting up, to invite her guest in. Nothing. I thought I’d hear something, maybe her on a call with whoever was on the door, but nothing. At this point my fear was escalating.
The bell didn’t just ring once, it rang twice. So yes, there was no way I was dreaming about that. And Trixie can never go wrong.
As I was busy having a whole ranting session inside my head, at least my mom (God bless her heart) had the courage to get up, peep outside…see if she could get a glimpse at our uninvited guest, who’d decided to grace us with their visit right in the middle of the night.
Mom even managed to check the entire house. I imagine she was tiptoeing, too afraid to make any sounds because I didn’t hear any movements while she was at it.
Listen, I was too scared to even breath, I’ve never known I can be startled to this extent.
Okay I had all the reasons to be. Why? Around my village, there’s a curfew now. There’s been two cases of guys just being maimed carelessly, in our neighbouring village. Just around our market. So the authorities decided, “no, it’s getting out of hand. Let’s put a curfew on from 9:00 p.m.”
See the whole point why I would go crazy scared.
I decided, let me ping mom’s phone. She didn’t pick. My scare moved a top notch higher.
So I thought, okay probably she’s equally too scared to speak. I left a text, “Kwaninani anaring bell sahi mum?”
In no time, she was here in my bedroom.
Her heart racing, insanely. For a small second I felt so bad for her. She was way pissed, more than I was. “Who could be that?” I figured it was safer, if I didn’t answer that.
So I called my sister in-law, “Umeskia mtuamering bell?” Her on the other side, sounding so calm like I am the annoying person who’d just startled her out of her insanely beautiful sleep said, “hapana, lakini nashangaa mbona Trixie anabwekahivyo“
She wasn’t helping, so I hung up.
I got up, mom following me. I decided on switching on all the security lights. In my head I thought, probably that was going to intimidate whoever the person was, if at all they had any ill motives.
Haaah! Such a heroic move from me. Right?
Anyway it seemed to calm my mom down a notch.
We headed towards our back porch, see whether we were going to catch a glimpse of anything. But there was nothing.
We checked everywhere, the little courage we had mastered could allow, but there was nothing.
It felt odd, because our gate was equally locked.
After a few minutes of probing and having nothing forthcoming, we decide to go back and sleep. But stay alert.
It was so awkwardly scary.
At this point, I was calmer though, so I got back to bed, read psalms 91, said a prayer then just lay in bed thinking.
Eventually I slept off, I can’t tell at what time, because I know at 3:00 a.m I was pretty much still awake.
I’ve woken up to a beautiful morning. Too beautiful to even tell we had an encounter at night.
Though I’m just like, “who the hell could have been that?”
It could have been anyone, but again what are the chances that things could have gone horribly wrong?
“Every shade tells a story. Let’s stop shaming confidence and start celebrating it.”
Maybe it’s just my TikTok FYP, but lately, there’s been this unspoken pissing contest between girls who are bleaching their skin and those who are entirely comfortable in their natural tones.
It’s as if colorism just unlocked a new level. Scrolling through the comment sections of those videos felt… weird. Almost like women who are secure and content in their skin are now being shamed for it. How did we even get here?
Colorism has always been around, yes. And so have the impossible beauty standards pushed on women globally. But honestly? Whatever someone chooses to do with their body is ultimately their decision. I truly believe any woman who chooses to bleach her skin knows what she’s signing up for, she’s likely informed about the risks and long-term effects.
Still, I can’t help but think that a woman who is fully at peace in her natural skin has probably done some deep inner work. Because self-love doesn’t come served on a silver platter. It’s earned.
Over time, I’ve learned to respect people’s choices, even if they differ from mine.
But if the decision to bleach comes from a wounded place, from self-hate or deep-seated insecurity… no amount of lightening cream will ever give you self-love. That journey starts within. You can’t bleach your way out of self-loathing. At least this is what I believe.
That said, I celebrate melanin. If I were a guy, I know exactly the kind of woman I’d be drawn to. And even now, I know the kind of woman I admire. But that has never given me a reason to hate on the ones who don’t fit my personal preferences. I keep that to myself.
While we’re here, can we just let girls who are confident in their skin be?
This new wave of meanness, disguised as “colorism discourse”, is harming the very girls who are showing up authentically.
Colorism isn’t going anywhere, sadly. I’ve even had conversations with some of the smartest guys I know, and it was honestly heartbreaking hearing the subtle jabs and shady remarks they made. Like, come on! We are African. If you have a preference, fine. But don’t shame the other one.
And to my fellow women, please don’t let these beauty companies fool you. They’ve figured out how to profit from our insecurities. So love yourself. For real. Eat well, hydrate, know your body. Monitor your hormones. Radiate love, from the inside out.
Start there maybe.
And please, maybe I’ll emphasize this a little harder…love yourself enough not to let society pressure you into doing something harmful to your skin just to meet a beauty standard rooted in centuries of shame and projection.
I just had a moment. Like everyone else, I still can’t believe we are the current adults now.
An old friend of mine, who’s a mom now (I have to remind myself of that every so often because, eiy 🤣), always says, “The smallest coffins are the hardest to carry.”
I’m not a mom yet. But I genuinely love babies. And somehow, babies just gravitate toward me.
So I get what she means.
Just this Wednesday, I wrote a letter in my diary to my future child. I even gave them a name, something unisex, for the balance.
My brother recently had a baby..Kibali. I’ve been with him since he was 0 days old. And honestly? I think, somewhere in his tiny heart, he might believe I’m his mom. Okay, not to brag, but you should see how his face lights up every time he sees me. And he just turned three months old on Sunday.
He is my little darling right now. The reason my days feel lighter. When I see Kibali, it’s like everything turns to bliss.
Recently, someone in our neighborhood lost a child, not even a year old. My heart broke for them.
I’ve been trying to imagine what they must be feeling. And all I know for sure is, it’s devastating.
I’ve lost my train of thought. Some things are just too painful to imagine.
I live in a typical African village, and watching it evolve over the years has been nothing short of epic.
I still remember when the entire village shared a single phone. If someone received a call, word would travel fast, literally. Someone would run across homesteads to deliver the message: “Your call is waiting.”
But what I miss most is not the technology or lack of it. It is the intentionality in our interactions. Most evenings, our parents would stroll to the neighbors’ compound, sit under a tree, and catch up on the latest village gossip. We kids? We’d gather and dive into games like “kati”, hide and seek, and “kalongo” until the moon told us it was time to go home.
Those were the kind of moments that filled our hearts, unfiltered and real.
Then came the shift.
First, more phones. Then, one in every home. Then Facebook. Twitter (now X). WhatsApp. Instagram. And just like that, our quiet little world turned into a global village.
Suddenly, life outside became quieter. Not because people were not around, but because they were inside, eyes glued to glowing screens. Connection became easier, yes, but not always deeper.
Sometimes, I say… half-joking but wholly honest, that I would have thrived in a world without the internet. A world where messages were passed with smoke signals, drumbeats, or a neighbor’s knock at the door.
Of course, I appreciate the digital age and all it offers. But part of me still longs for the soul of a slower life, where presence was not a status, it was a way of being.
I know I write about the most random things, but hey just hear me out okay…
I got a cup from my friend’s place. Something just felt so right about this particular cup. It almost felt like I’d at one point met this specific cup in my previous life.
It felt so familiar.
There’s something so anciently beautiful about it.
It feels like it was picked from the 1900s. See the literal reasons why I always refer to myself as an old soul.
Such a wholesome cup this one.
I brought it home, and everyone called it “kikombe ya kitambo”, (a cup from the past). I found it curious how quickly they linked it to old age, as if history clung to its surface.
I’ve gotten a whole lot of unexplainable nostalgia. I can’t really put a finger on it. But I also know growing up, my grandma had a similar set of cups.
Maybe I’m just being extra but,.. the cup has been the highlight of my day. A familiar warmth.
Yeah that’s basically about the cup I borrowed from a friend.
I’ll probably have to name it, referring to it as “the cup” just feels so unfair and mean. Very diabolical. Cruel.
I know when tomorrow comes, I’ll have a name for it.
