A lover

A lover is poetry, they feel like poetry, they sound like poetry and they look like poetry. They should feel like a melody, only, instead of hearing it, you feel it. You feel them. Down to your core.

A versatile lover, that’s what I want (for myself) and want to become. When say versatile, I don’t mean in terms of the many roles they play but rather how they choose to love you. The countless ways they choose to love you.

They are the gentle whisper that calms an anxious heart and the burning flame that lights up a dark room and warms the coldest skin. They should become the laughter in moments of joy, the little voice that cheers you on in moments of fear and the peace when all that your mind can habor is chaos.

A versatile lover keeps in mind that love isn’t just confined to grand gestures alone. At times it is found in the silence that is filled with patience, it is found in being able to understand without explanation, in holding your shaking hands when words don’t seem to be enough. It is in standing and choosing to stay beside you when everything feels amiss. They are able to give you the kind of love that you so crave to receive.

A versatile lover knows when to be a lover and when to be a friend. They know when to be the learner and when to be the teacher. They know when to be a safe space where one soul meets another in vulnerability. They are able to celebrate victory without envy, they’re able to comfort failures with zero judgement.

The beauty and versitility of a lover lies in the ability to transform ordinary moments into memories worth upholding. Their smile turns into this beautiful entity, like witnessing the most beautiful sunset. Natures canvas. Looking into their eyes feels like worship, oh sweet worship. They make an embrace feel like home sweet home. They remind you that the greatest gift is not and will never be perfection but rather unwavering devotion.

To love is to become versatile without losing yourself. It is to be gentle, passionate without recklessness, patient without ever feeling exhausted. A versatile lover understands that every season of love asks for something different. That love requires a bit of sacrifice, it requires laughter, strength and sometimes tears. Yet through all this is a heart that chooses to stay. A heart that still chooses you.

And perhaps that is among the most comforting things to experience; a versatile lover. One who give you the quiet assurance that despite changes, love will always remain.

I want to become that. I want to be a versatile lover and I want to be loved by a versatile lover (easily, slowly, without pressure)

Beauty standards today aren’t really about beauty, are they? It’s all about control and quite frankly teaching people, especially young people, how to shrink themselves into versions that are socially ‘acceptable’. Versions that are much easier to consume. Ones that fit very precisely into the most recent trends, algorithms and expectations.

These standards begin to shape people even as children. Children learn that some features are praised while others are shamed. They learn which types of bodies are admired and which ones are easily turned into jokes. Because of this, they become so insecure and grow fixations on how they look when really all they should be doing is enjoying their childhood.

I have a younger sister. She’s 11 years old. I love her to death. She’s growing into such a beautiful girl and any chance I get, I remind her of how much power she holds in simply being a girl, let alone a beautiful girl. She was recently sent to boarding school (I didn’t support this) so I don’t see her a lot anymore. When she closed school for her April holiday, my parents asked me to go for her and this was going to be my first time seeing her since 4^th of January. I didn’t think 3 months could change her that much (especially physically). Her face looked slimmer and so did her body, but she still looked so beautiful and happy. We went home and I kept on studying her because she looked so different. She noticed I was staring at her face and she covered her face and said “stop looking at my ugly face”. My heart dropped. I asked her why she thinks her face is ugly and she told me it was because she didn’t have clear skin and she had rashes and two pimples on her nose and chin and she thinks her nose is too big. This is an 11y/o talking about clear skin. She’s 11 and she’s already being fed the idea that a face is only considered beautiful if it’s clear and if certain facial features are shaped in certain ways.

At the moment, I remembered how much I struggled with appearance when I was her age and younger. The number of times I stood in front of the mirror and called my body ugly out loud were uncountable. It became a ritual. I believed that I would never be loved by my friends because I was (and still am) big. I compared myself to slimmer people and imagined how much I could achieve if I was smaller. I couldn’t even play with people my age because I was scared of making a fool of myself mostly because I believed I couldn’t move as briskly as they could (oh, I was wrong). Safe to say I didn’t have an amazing childhood mostly because I gained insecurities before I even knew what insecurities were. I don’t want that for my sister. I don’t want her to dissect herself in mirrors like she’s a problem that needs to be fixed instead of a human being that deserves love and kindness.

Social media has intensified this pressure and I must confess that I have fallen victim to this. We want to emulate what we consider beautiful. Perfection has become manmade, it always has been manmade, correct me if I’m wrong. People, including me compare themselves to edited versions of others and still wonder why they feel so inadequate. They aren’t real. And believe me, no one can naturally live up to standards that were artificially created in the first place.

Beauty standards are so painfully inconsistent. One decade celebrates thinness, while another glorifies curves. One generation mocks certain features while another turns them into trends and the ‘ideal’ constantly changes. Why? Why should there be a shift every few years. It’s simply a temporary social construct. So why do I have to live by it when I know it won’t be the same in a few years?

What makes someone beautiful cannot and will never be reduced to symmetry, weight, skin texture or facial proportions. In my opinion, some of the most beautiful people I know aren’t beautiful because of their appearance but rather because of their humor, how they laugh, the way they treat others with care, they way they speak about what they love and how passionate they are about those things and simply the energy they bring into a room. Humanity’s beauty stems from how diverse it is. Sasa if all of us look the same si basi beauty itself becomes meaningless? People should not have to earn respect according to how attractive they are. No one should feel the need to starve themselves, alter their appearance and hate themselves just to attain the feeling of worthiness. Your face looks beautiful, clear or not. Your nose is beautiful, bridge or no bridge. Your side-profile is beautiful, double chin or no double chin.

‘A person’s value does not increase or decrease based on how closely they resemble whatever society currently worships.’

So yes, to hell with your beauty standards.

To hell with the obsession of the idea that people should suffer to be considered beautiful. To hell with those impossible expectations that are disguised as self-improvement. And most of all, to hell with the idea that people should conform and become less like themselves and more like the versions that have been created to oppress their expression of what they think beauty is. To me, beauty will never be about perfection. Authenticity is all that matters.

Funny… my friends would probably disagree.

But really, what’s wrong with being quiet? Juu aki sijai elewa. What’s so bad about not always having something to say? I don’t like feeling pressured or rushed to talk, or expected to be loud just to fill the space. And honestly, that happens far too often. Can’t we just sit in silence and still enjoy each other’s company? In my opinion, silence is deeply intimate. Why does it automatically become awkward whenever silence settles in? (I genuinely need answers to these questions ,seriously.)

I want to exist in spaces with people who don’t mind when things get quiet. No pressure. No awkwardness. Just… being. And when silence does prevail, can we not make it feel so demanding? I want to feel like my presence alone is enough.

Sometimes I get so goddamn consumed by the pressure to be louder or more talkative. After spending time with people, I find myself replaying everything; how I acted, how much I spoke, whether I came across as interesting or impressive. I even rehearse what to say and how to behave before meeting people I don’t usually hang out with. And it’s exhausting. Performing is so exhausting omg, I’d rather not. I just want to be myself without feeling the need to conform. Na before uniambie hakuna mtu ameniforce… najua🙄 but it’s HARD!!

It often feels like the only personalities that are celebrated are the loud, outgoing ones. Being quiet is instantly mistaken for being boring. Being quiet doesn’t mean my personality is ‘shallow’. Msm NANI ALIKUDANGANYA?! Why not take the time to get to know the ‘quiet’ girl or boy? You might discover their humor, their depth, their intellect. I can’t promise constant chatter, but I can promise that I’m an incredible listener.

GUYS, SILENCE IS GOOD, AH! I don’t even know how to defend it properly, but it just makes sense.

To thee who made me feel insecure about my personality…. nikikushika wewe!

Embrace silence, it feels like a hear me out😂

(reason 1001 why I love my best friends)

Three words, eight letters, an era of heaviness behind them.

So simple to say, so easy to forsake. You forget how much vulnerability those three words carry. You forget how much commitment and truth they hold.

‘I love you’

Those three words aren’t just a phrase. They’re… a threshold. Before those words, there’s speculation. After those words, there’s significance. When I say ‘I love you’, I’m not just expressing affection. I’m revealing my attachment. I like to think love rewires the brain, like quite literally. It strengthens bonding chemicals like oxytocin, excavates neutral alleyways associated with security and it makes the recipient feel like a source of warmth. That’s why their absence can throb so much.

Love, in my opinion, is choice encrusted on top of a feeling.

The feeling; attraction, infatuation (comes naturally)

The choice; staying, being present, forgiving (what turns into what we call real love)

Look, the first time you say ‘I love you’ to someone, you’re not just confessing a feeling. You’re redesigning the relationship’s future and after that, there’s like a new depth, a new expectation and a new kind of intimacy. A stouter one.

But love also evolves. It starts off as sparks, then comfort, then partnership. Then when/if cultivated, it blossoms into something solid and profound.

And the truth is, love is less about intensity and more about consistency. It’s the little things that matter for real. That little detail that no one notices. Choosing gentleness in an argument. Staying when it would be easier to withdraw.

Shall we now look at the psychology behind those three words? I love psychology.

Love isn’t just poetry my guy. It’s biology, attachment patterns, identity and risk all together.

Love is an attachment scheme. Psychologically, romantic love invites the same bonding system that connects infants to their caregivers (mapped by John Bowlby). When you fall in love, your brain quietly asks:

1. Are they safe?

2. Will they choose me?

3. Can I depend on them?

Your attachment style (developed early in life) determines how you experience or rather receive love.

· Secure attachment- one is contented with closeness and independence. ‘I love you’ feels warm, never petrifying.

· Anxious attachment- one craves reassurance. ‘I love you’ can feel imperative. One wants to hear it more than often.

· Avoidant attachment- closeness can feel very overwhelming. Saying ‘I love you’ might feel like literally losing autonomy.

Those three words land differently for everyone.

Believe me when I say that love changes one’s brain chemistry. Romantic love lights up the brain’s reward system (same circuit involved in incentive and craving). Early stages of romantic love activate dopamine receptors linked to drive (and focus). This is why you can’t stop constantly thinking about them. This is why those small interactions feel so electrifying (butterflies and all). And it’s also the reason why rejection can feel physically painful. I promise, hajakuroga.

Love inflates identity. Psychologists call this self-expansion theory. When you begin to include your significant other in your sense of self. Their successes feel tied to you, so do their goals and when deep, the pain feels shared. However, this also means that when/if they withdraw, it feels like you’ve lost a part of yourself. That’s why heartbreaks can feel so destabilizing. It interrupts attachment and identity at the same damn time.

Love isn’t just an emotion.

Therefore, ‘I love you’ isn’t just a light phrase. It’s so much deeper than that, both platonically and romantically.

Mimi napenda mapenzi.

At least listen to the song, it’s beautiful.

She was the epitome of delight,
Not the kind that presents itself immediately or loudly. No. The quite kind. She’s barely noticeable when she walks into a room but her presence, her presence is somehow loud. It’s confusing. In her presence, peace is found. It’s as if she creates space just by existing in it. She doesn’t demand attention, she simply let things unfold, slowly, and that patience, that patience makes her so magnetic. She walks past you and behind her, she leaves a trace of her energy, like a scent that subtly follows you. Her energy is everything.

Wanna know what stands out the most though? It’s how genuine she is. Nothing about her feels… forced? Her kindness isn’t strategic. Her heart so pure, she could barely hurt a fly (she’s SO scared of insects). Her words are always light and thoughtful. She isn’t always fully honest though, but only when she knows it carries too much weight. She loves, and she loves so deeply that she couldn’t let go, She still can’t and she won’t, unless she really has to. She notices the small things. A slight change in someone’s tone, maybe a fleeting expression too. And she treats those details with so much regard, as if they matter. Because to her, they really do.

Everyone seems to love how fluffy and cuddly she is. She carries warmth in the way she speaks and affection in the way she listens. And she offers herself to anyone that needs an arm to hold. (She’s a ‘walking teddy-bear’. That’s what they call her). She allows them to drench her hoodies and shirts with tears because those moments make her feel so goddamn important. This is what she lives for, to make people feel wanted, loved, like they belong.

Watching her from a distance is bothersome. Especially when she’s alone. She’s anxious. Her smile fades so quickly when she’s alone. It’s as if her spark grows dimmer and dimmer. And that’s…. it’s murky. It’s murky because she always has a smile on her face when she’s around her people. A smile that you really can’t erase from your mind. A smile that’s so contagious and comforting, at least that’s what people tell her.

In her mind, there’s probably so much that she’s trying to quietly handle all by herself, because you can’t get her to talk. She’s difficult, she’s stubborn when it comes to expressing how she feels. She finds it difficult to arrange her thoughts and feelings into articulable words and because of that, she lets them eat her alive, slowly and slowly, until nothing is left of her and her beautiful ‘fairytale-like’ life (this is so dramatic😂)

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Dear reader, don’t get me wrong. She is not sad or depressed. She just feels like something is missing. She’s transforming. No no no, she’s EVOLVING. And once she finally finds her voice, prepare to be sick of her.

Bye bye.

My birthday’s in a few days, but I’m not excited. And that’s weird because I’m always excited for it. I have people around me who always make my birthdays special. I’ve never really done anything major for my birthday, I’ve never tried so I don’t know if I’d love that. But I love that I feel loved and appreciated somehow on the day. I love that people who understand how much I love being gifted show that they know. I love opening the tiny notes or birthday cards that I receive because it reminds me that I AM loved. I have a small circle of friends that I cherish so dearly. And when they show me reciprocity, my heart feels so warm.

That’s besides the point though. Last year, I was given a list of questions to answer during my careers class and one of the questions was asking me to describe myself in one sentence. I couldn’t do it. I felt like a stranger to myself, if that makes sense. I can finally give an answer (I won’t do it in a sentence though). I can finally confidently say that I love and I love deeply. I can finally say that I am a big sentimentalist, that every single act that makes me feel appreciated shocks my heart. I can finally say that I love looking at pretty girls, not because I’m attracted to them but because I am fascinated by their beauty. I notice every single detail on their faces, and even when it’s somehow imperfect in their eyes, I want to let them know how complete the flaw makes them look. I can finally say that I am hypnotized by visual poetry. That a sunset to me isn’t just ‘beautiful’. It’s more than just beautiful. It reminds me of how much nature has to offer. Flowers, I can finally say that I love love love flowers, which to me is such comforting visual poetry. I can finally confess that I do believe in second chances. Because I can’t crucify someone for being imperfect. I can finally sit with the fact that I am ‘soft’ but I finally know that it isn’t a sign of weakness. I can finally say that I don’t like it when someone acts ‘nonchalnt’ towards me because I love feeling, not just mere feeling, but feeling deeply. I can finally say that I will walk away when my kindness or softness is taken for granted because now I know my worth. I know that I deserve more than the bare minimum. I can finally say that I LOVE writing and receiving long letters because I believe it’s a form of sentimentally appreciating your loved ones and it shows and expresses your feelings DEEPLY. I can finally say how much I love both cats and dogs because they both offer so much comfort, comfort that is so underrated. I can finally say how much I love helping others, giving them a shoulder to lean on and making sure that they never feel alone. I can finally appreciate the fact that although my love and kindness isn’t fully reciprocated by the people I offer them to, I will never regret giving it to them because they needed it one way or another. I can finally say that I love learning from my mistakes. I can finally say that I love learning from other people and I do want to teach, I do want people to also learn new things from me (I’ll get there). I can finally say that I do have a lot to offer. That I am kind and forgiving. That I am smart. That I do have an imperfect body that I still need to love and appreciate because it sustains me. That being me isn’t after all some sort of a punishment from the universe. And if you’re reading thinking, ‘how naive’ , eh, pole basi. But that pretty much sums up the kind of person I am.

I really love that I can finally see these things in me. It took so much acceptance, and to be honest, acceptance IS bliss. I can finally find peace. And even though I have so much to still work on, I’m so proud of myself that I’m finally choosing to accept myself because I’m not ‘broken’ maybe just a little bit bruised, but I AM healing

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