Remind me

Remind me to breathe. For sometimes it escapes the confines of my mind.  Then my lungs fail me, and the air isn’t as sweet as I remember. It squeezes my chest so tightly in its palms, draining my life away. And the pain is unbearable. 

Remind me that this is only temporary and it’ll get well. That it’s just a passing phase and nothing is permanent. Tell me that it shouldn’t matter,  that it’s okay to be sad. That in the morning it might still be raining but it’s what should  make the day so beautiful. 

Remind me that I matter.  That my life holds some kind of value.  Because I forget, I really do. I wallow in self pity and self disgust. I compare myself to others and hate myself for the mistakes I made. For the poor choices,  the procastination and the temptations I was never able to overcome. 

Remind me that you are here.  That if I ever loose touch with this world,  you’ll wake me up.  That when I start slipping away into bliss,  you’ll hold onto me. You’ll shake me back to the painful reality and tell me that’s it’s for a short while. 

Remind me of the beauty of life and the freedom of positive thoughts. When we sang in the meadow,  our voices so rough yet so great. Help me get away from the slavery of pain,  hurt and inferiority. 

Remind me to flourish and to Blossom. Not because I’m supposed to but because I was made to. Tell me that my future is star lit bright. 

Remind me how to breathe again. 

A Letter for you

Wake up my darling,

It’s out there, we’re burning.

Beware of society,

They’ll raise you up,

Shower you with exquisite gowns,

Take you to the best suites

of the world’s most amazing places,

Like a hen for slaughter,

You are being fattened.


And when the time comes,

when you are completely unaware,

enjoying,  all despair forgotten,

They’ll bring you down

Like a plane caught in a tornado,

So fast you won’t remember yourself,

Rip you apart and shred you to pieces,

Beat up your face until you’re bloody

and your bones are broken

And no one will want you anymore.


So my darling,

Create that which will help all,

When you build,  make sure it’s concrete

Ensure your ladder isn’t cut down

And when you see those like you

My love reach out

For when you were down

I never forgot you.



 “Life asked death, ‘Why do people love me but hate you?’ Death responded, ‘Because you are a beautiful lie and I am a painful truth.”

When I am no more and dead
Will you remember me tested?
For the virtuous things I undertook
But never managed to get a kick
Or for the bad I tried to avoid
But was not too smart to succeed

Or will you forget too
The life I tried to lead, do
Far from a clean life, no saint
But trying to get by paint
Will you laugh at the sad?
Memories we made by the lake
Or by your fathers gate
Leaping and sneaking

Or will you forget
The music I loved
And throw away the records
That remind you of me
Will you forget our
One spot we made
Will you dread to remember?
The pain I went through
The trough of sadness
And the bucket of tears that
Silently begged to be released
From the chains of my eyes
Will you or will you?


Precipice of my life



‘In time we hate that which we often fear’  William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra

For a long time I resented(sometimes mistook for being afraid)  of the male species. Years and years of experience solidified that in my young mind. When I was about 11 years old my family had a financial crisis (the one we’ve all experienced)  so we had to move a lot to places where we could set up new business and find cheap life. And in all the places we went there was always a piece of harassment.

At one point,  we settled down in a small town in Western Kenya the almost ideal place and immediately my family set up a small hotel(the best we could manage at the time😁).There is where my fears began I believe.  Since we were located near the bus stage,  the matatu touts and bus drivers would occasionally stop for a cup of tea or a plate of Ugali.  They were always so rude and disrespectful to women(disrespected my mom). I even remember this one time this guy started hitting on my mum and when my mum said no he started insulting her.  Fortunately my aunt(mom’s bigger sister)  was around and forced the guy to apologize or else he would be reported to the police.

Others were always drunk on Chang’aa and illicit brews. They always felt entitled and bigger as if they owned the place. It didn’t come as a surprise that many young girls in the area had been impregnated by these men,  some raped. A silent community of girls who dropped out of school to become mothers. (HIV is also prevalent in the area.)

So I developed a defense mechanism.  Rael, one of the employees taught me to give witty and hard comebaks to anyone who tried to mess with me. I didn’t smile at just anyone,  or greet them, accept anything from anyone or even regard their presence since it encouraged them to feel entitled to you. I also didn’t have a lot of friends since they were untrustworthy  and not everyone had the best intent for you(both male and females).

I hid myself under layers of male clothing so that I could be undesirable. Always shaved my hair even though I truly loved it. They forced me to be ugly.  But then discovered what is greater than hiding and loathe for the other gender- words and accomplishment.

I realized that apart from policemen these people feared accomplished,  successful women and that is what I vowed to be. So I don’t resent men anymore because I’ve met great men,  who would give up everything for change.  Men who speak the truth and aren’t afraid of it. Men who push me to be the greatest form of me.I now understand that hate and resentment does more harm to me than good.


I want to see beauty. In the ugly, in the sink, in the suffering, in the daily, in all the days before I die, the moments before I sleep.
Ann Voskamp

She is ugly or so she thinks,

Round stomach,  legs full of strech marks,

Eyes too close to tell,

Bulb like nose,  lips too full.


She is ugly,  or so they say,

Skin too dark, Hair too kinky,

Too many scars on her back,

Her hands slack.


They say He is Ugly,

Thrown when a baby,

Clothes too dirty, Unshaven hair,

Hands too rough, to touch you wouldn’t dare.


Their Ugliness tell a story,

Of perception the world takes,

Because it truly doesn’t matter,

To them or to you.

For she loves unconditionally,

And her intelligence matches no one else’s,

And his determination, My God will drive you to tears.

So shut down the self loathe  Love,

For the last thing you want is to give into their judgment,

Their crude standards of beauty,

Because in the end Ugliness is in the eyes of the beholder.


Change is a difficult thing to do. You see all these things everyday that you want to make better but it so damn hard. Sometimes its just plain frustrating. How do you change people’s thinking and their perspective? How do you convince someone to speak up and fight all these injustices when they are comfortable with it. When did people get this closed up?

You ask yourself if it is even worth your time because anyway change is gradual and you can’t do it alone. You are in no position of power or influence, no one knows you and if they do to them it is a joke. You make a point and it is thrown around like a smelly sock. You know so many injustices have been been done but not directly to you and people are quick to question why you are so uptight when it isn’t your problem. It’s so freaking hard.

But then you remember the feeling you get when you change something and it is so great that you soak in it. You can clearly remember the faces of the poor kids you helped and there is no better feeling in the world.

When you think of what you will have helped achieve in the later years to come, you die with contentment. After all even the great scientist Albert Einstein didn’t even get to see the realisation of his dreams and calculations and yet here we are more than 50 years later applying it.

I am glad that someone years ago stood up for change and that’s why I’m living in a better society than it was during my Father’s younger days. And even though I’m so tired and afraid, I still work hard for change so that years later someone like me will look back and say that I made the world a better place.

It doesn’t have to be great, it just has to touch someone’s life. For if I do not try , it’ll never be achieved.


Survival. It’s like the child trying to wake after an anaesthetic procedure. Or a lazy student studying overnight for exams starting the next day. It is a developing nation living on debt from developed nations (FYI without the aid, the situation could be worse, it’s so said).

Survival is when a kid born in rural Africa has to be a doctor, engineer or lawyer to make it in life( which is so absurd). It is the girl on the streets selling oranges to get school fees😦. It is the disabled boy you saw yesterday begging for cash at his mother’s command.

Survival is the depressed person going for therapy every other weekend though it makes them feel like hell. It is the lost trying to find their way though they’ve lost it a thousand times. Survival is making friends when you are an introvert and the society forces you to get out.

Survival is waking up every single day to feed your family and yourself. Survival is following your dreams no matter where it leads you. Survival is being you whether fake or not.

Survival is the most ordinary extraordinary thing I’ve found out about.

Survival in it’s own ultimate state is success.