Thought tide

The messy in-between. TOL, proud of you, my not so little princess... Or maybe that's not the right way to put it. Wednesday afternoon. Home alone. Just perfect me bonding time... YOU. The number of times I've watched this creepy series is astonishing. I like the vibe almost as much as I find it creepy. Beck...craving to be seen. To be chosen. Her character, the typical dreamer striving to write, to do poetry, to articulate thoughts into words. But totally lost. Childhood trauma. A constant struggle to be seen. Quite the messy in-betweener. One moment dying to be a badass, the next settling for the bare minimum from the people around her. Joe chooses her, but possesses her in the worst possible ways...even eliminating those close to her because he feels they are a threat to what they could possibly have. Even attempts to fix her, to be the version he thinks suit her. However, can one really fix another person? One Sunday morning...An emotional conversation... I blubbered, ...

Mourning the Loss of Possibility Heartbreak is a funny thing. Not funny "ha-ha." Funny in the way life occasionally looks you straight in the eye and says, "Really? We were naming the children already?" Because if we're honest, many of us don't just date people. We date possibilities. Sometimes all it takes is one really good conversation. Then another. Then a phone call that stretches into midnight because apparently sleep is for people who haven't found "their person." Suddenly you're smiling at your phone like you've been sponsored by colgate. People around you notice. Even your neighbour's cat somehow senses you've become unbearably optimistic. Nobody has proposed. Yet somehow you've mentally allocated them the left side of the bed. Human beings are remarkable. Give us three good conversations and we'll furnish an imaginary home, choose curtains, and argue over whether our future children should attend boarding schoo...

When I say the devil is in the detail, I mean it. Lately, I’ve been speaking fiercely over my life. I stubbornly refuse to have murmurs… I am intentional with my gratitude. I think it often. I openly confess it any chance I get… I even say it when I hold doubts in my mind. But when I say the mind is a bully…mine has to be the leader of the gang. Btw, if there were two days my tummy has growled, it must be yesterday and today. Not from underfeeding, just some kind of upset… Ever felt like your gut is “rotten” without any medical proof? The windows will be opened at night… If you know, you know🤭 Back to “meaningful stuff.” This gorgeous lady from Pop the Balloon asks a potential match: “Anyone in your life, alive or deceased, who has made you look at life and see things differently?” She mentions her younger sister who passed away a year before, who taught her to go for what she believes in, what she wants in life. I pause on the episode… Not because it was an ambush thought...

So I wanted to write a beautiful love letter in the month of February. Why not to someone? Perhaps because with people, I can choose to feel the love or not. But money love? I’m not so sure about this one. It feels one-sided. Then someone would randomly ask, what is love? I would sum it up as adoration and consideration. But you, you stay too short a time. No sooner are you around than you want to leave. Why don’t you stay? You are needed. You are wanted. Then you would ask, you let me go so fast and so easily. Truth is...I struggle to let you go. Every bit of you exiting feels like a piece of me left void. I let you go not out of ease but out of lack of choice. Then you would say, why not multiply me so that I stay? I do not have a clear answer for you now, But please...stay a while. Regards, The one you leave behind😏 Dedication song playing in my head... Money comes to me easily, money comes to me fast Money loves my company when money comes at last While heading home, my stopover...

 Today feels like one of those mornings where faces blur into each other. A lady passes by the mathree I’m in and for a second I think, Isn’t that Joan from high school? She comes closer and, no. Not even close. She’s inches shorter, chubbier, round-faced. Joan was tall, slim, sharp-featured. Memory playing tricks again. Minutes later, another woman fast-paces past the Citi Hoppa. Isn’t that Achieng? Someone I worked with a couple of years ago. She disappears before I can confirm. Maybe it was the walking style. Maybe it was just my mind still half-asleep. Anyhu...I try to mind my business. Until Classic FM decides that 8 a.m. is the perfect time to debate women who don’t support their spouses when shit hits the fan. Like...really? It’s barely morning. The never-ending gender battles. And then my mind drifts to a video I watched recently of a grown man in tears, explaining how his wife wiped their joint business clean. I sympathized. These stories are no longer rare. Both...

Middle age has a way of turning the volume up on money. Suddenly, every decision echoes—savings, debt, health, the future. Time feels shorter, comparison gets noisier, and financial choices carry more weight. Still, this is not a panic stage. It’s a clarity stage. Wealth-building here isn’t about catching up; it’s about finally paying attention and making intentional moves. It starts with belief. Believe that you can save. Believe that you can invest. Believe that the numbers can change. Without belief, even the best plan stays on paper. Next, get specific. Vague goals create vague outcomes. Write down what you want: a home, retirement security, school fees, freedom from debt, or peace of mind. Then map out how you’ll get there. Clear goals give your money direction. Improve how you understand money. You don’t need to be a financial expert, but you do need financial literacy. Learn how investments work. Understand compound interest-time is still your ally. Know the tax implications,...

 I kept my voice steady, held my gaze, trying not to cause alarm. But it really bothered me. I was concerned.  I once told a friend that while people insist on “not burning bridges,” I bomb mine. I don’t look back on past relationships. I hold no enmity toward any of my exes, but I’m not one to cling to any kind of relationship after we part ways. So one would wonder how, after a decade, I’m suddenly having this conversation with my ex. We both blubbered about how life can slip through our fingers so fast, how we ought to be ready and prepared for exit. I asked him, “What does that preparation look like?” He gave me an unsure look and said, “Just live knowing each day could be your last.” Then that unpopular phrase;“What do you bring to the table?” came up. Oh, how I hate that phrase. While you pursue her, isn’t it because you already foresee something she can offer? I even smiled remembering that meme: “Don’t ask me what I bring to the table. I bring absolutely nothing. In ...

Let me tell you about my Fuliza Chronicles… I leave work past 6. It’s a bit dark, drizzling. I remove my sweater to cover my hair. My 2km trek to the stage is quick-halfway there, it pours. In my light black-and-white chiffon top, the wetness hits deep. I finally board a mathree. We’re crammed in as usual-and of course, why open the windows while it’s raining? Cue the near faint experience🙇🏾‍♀️ Along the way, we start paying our dues. The conductor gives me a paybill number. I input the account number-Mpesa responds: “Transaction cannot be completed at the moment.” I wait, try again-same response: “A similar transaction is underway.” Now the conductor’s irritated. We try the “send money” option. Miserably, same result: “Transaction cannot be completed. Try later.” At this point, everyone’s quiet. I look like a fraud. The conductor’s mad-panicky, rude, maybe even insulting. “Wewe ata hio pesa huna kwa hio Mpesa. Ulitaka tu ya sare!” My God. The panic, the fear, the embarrassmen...

Over dinner with Hailey yesterday, our chat drifted to school events. She mentioned a boy in her class who boards while the rest get to go home. I thought that was unfortunate, even unfair. She explained that sometimes he comes to class with unfinished homework. Understandable, because they’re given way too much for one evening. Four subjects, each with two digit questions. It’s just impractical. And yet, the same child is expected to be an all rounder. So where’s the time to play, to socialize, to have family moments, or even to breathe? I told her I was glad that their teacher understands his situation because unlike most kids, he doesn’t have an adult at home to help him catch up. That conversation pulled me back to a memory, three years ago. A sad one. I traveled to Kamba land to bury a colleague, a young mother who passed away after childbirth, leaving behind two daughters-one days old, the other not yet five. It was too much to bear. The grief, the uncontrollable tears, the ...