A new era

There is something unshakable about the bond between women who share more than just moments — they share lifetimes. Female friendships are not merely social connections; they are lifelines, invisible threads binding hearts that understand each other’s unspoken aches. True sisterhood often grows quietly, in the spaces between laughter and tears. It’s in the knowing glance when words are too heavy to say aloud. It’s in the gentle “I’m here” that comes without a single question asked. These bonds become especially deep when women walk parallel paths — juggling the weight of keeping a family happy, maintaining a balanced home, striving to be the best partners they can be, and still finding pieces of themselves in the process. Sometimes it begins with shared trauma or mutual pain — a loss, a heartbreak, an invisible struggle — and somehow, that mutual understanding becomes the soil in which trust and compassion bloom. Through the years, the friendship becomes a sacred place where both women...

 People like to say time heals everything. That wounds close, that pain fades, that trauma becomes just a distant memory. But the truth is harsher, less comforting: we never fully heal from our deepest wounds. We carry them. They become a part of us. What we do — on our best days — is try to make better choices. We try to build lives that feel happier, safer, more secure. We choose new partners, new routines, new surroundings, hoping these choices will create a gentler world for ourselves and those we love. But these new choices do not erase what came before. They simply build around it. And when those choices fail — when a relationship ends, when trust is broken again, when stability crumbles — it feels like ripping open an old wound. But this time, it doesn’t heal quite the same way. The scar tissue is thicker, the pain more familiar, and yet more bitter because we had let ourselves hope. Trust becomes fragile. Love feels conditional. Contentment becomes a shifting target. Stabil...

There’s a unique kind of vulnerability, isn't there? The one that hits when friends—the right friends—look at you with that knowing gaze, past the witty banter and the carefully curated smile, and see the truth: you’re pretending. You’re trying to cover up what’s really inside. It’s a powerful moment, sometimes uncomfortable, but always, always a gift. Because in that recognition, there’s an invitation to authenticity, a gentle nudge to shed the masks we’ve so meticulously constructed. This brings us to a fundamental question many of us struggle with: the delicate dance between doing what you love and being genuinely happy. Often, we assume these are one and the same. If I’m passionate about my work, my hobbies, my pursuits, surely happiness will follow, right? Not always. We can be incredibly driven by our passions, achieving great things, feeling a sense of purpose. Yet, underneath it all, a quiet hollowness can persist if we’re not genuinely happy. Perhaps the pursuit of what we...

 Some of the best days in life are the quietest. Today wasn’t planned. I simply found out Baba was home alone and something in me just knew — I wanted to be there. No reason. No agenda. Just a feeling. I showed up at his house and walked into the sitting room that feels more like a time capsule than just a space — familiar cushions, the same tv chanel on , the slight scent of yesterday’s luban still lingering. Without a word, Baba got up and made me a cup of coffee, the kind he knows I like. No questions, no fuss. Just love served in a cup. We ended up talking — really talking. First, about people and their theatrics. He lit up in that mischievous, brutally honest way that only he can pull off. We spoke about the kinds of people who chase appearances, spending money they don’t have, trying to live a high-standard life to impress others. He shook his head, took a sip of coffee, then hit me with a line that had me howling: "Unanataka kuishi kama mfalme na we ni mbuzi." It was s...

I’m into astrology—not the kind where I shove it into every conversation or blame Mercury retrograde for all my life choices. But I enjoy it. Quietly. I don’t brag about it, and I’m definitely not ashamed of it either. As an Aries, I know my fire. It's not just a personality trait—it's an armor. A fierce, stubborn, impulsive blaze that shields the part of me I rarely let anyone see. The soft, tender core. The one that only shows up for the ultra max pro special people—the chosen few. But hold that thought. I’ll circle back to it. You see, something happened recently. Something powerful. Ever since that moment when I found comfort in Mum’s shoulders—when I finally exhaled after carrying the weight for so long—I felt a shift. Like something in me burst wide open. A buildup of emotion, tension, silence, and overthinking had been waiting for a moment to release. And when it did, it cleared my mind like the sky after a sandstorm. That moment of release wasn’t just emotional—it was c...

Some moments in life don’t come with a countdown. You don’t get a warning, a manual, or a guide on how to survive them. You just wake up and step into them — heart clenched, breath trapped, memories roaring. Today was that moment. We met. A decade since. She stood near him. Nervous, stiff, giving cold, clipped replies. I could feel it in her posture, her breath, her refusal to meet his eyes for too long. She leaned into her aunty. She clung to her stepfather. She found safety in their presence, and I understood that more than anyone else ever could. Slowly, she softened just enough to make it through. But me? I couldn’t even breathe. Thirty-two minutes. Thirty-two minutes of memories crashing into me like waves I had spent years trying to escape. The smirks during the hearings. The echo of my screams. The humiliation in the courtrooms.  That twisted attempt to seduce me amidst the trauma. The judgments that stole sleep from my nights. The victories I couldn't celebrate — because tr...