Prologue
An ache from within, something i still can't explain. Pain became the silent companion of my existence, a force that shaped the contours of my life in ways I often cannot fully understand. Everything felt like a reminder to stay quiet, to stay hidden. My wound felt like it was never going to heal. At this moment I did not fancy a scar but to forget everything and start a new. It was the echo of loss, the weight of unmet expectations, the chasm between what is and what could have been. I begged for death, I prayed to God to take everything. At the end of my strength where my flaws have taken over, I prayed to the Lord to take away everything. I tried to fight in the dark for light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. So Lord, take it all, the light and the darkness. It sounds like a cliché saying how my life has been a storm. However, I feel some kind of pain and in the back of my mind, I nearly killed myself.
Let me take you back to 2018, I just started the semester. New friends, new chapter to grace the whole term. There she was, my eyes were corrupted by her beauty and my heart was weak. Everyone adored her and this is why I have her on my prologue. She was a paradox wrapped in grace, a fusion of beauty and strength that captivated and challenged in equal measure. Her beauty wasn't just in her appearance, though it turned heads. It radiated from the quiet confidence she carried, the spark of intelligence in her eyes, and the way she moved through life with purpose. Hardworking by nature, she poured herself into her passions with a relentless energy that defied the limits of time and exhaustion. Yet, her drive was not just about the tasks she completed, but the way she approached them with creativity that transformed the ordinary into something extraordinary. She saw the world not just as it was, but as it could be and could have been, constantly reimagining and reinventing, finding inspiration in the mundane and turning it into art. But beneath this radiant exterior there was a slyness, a subtle cunning that added depth to her character. It's not the kind of slyness that deceives maliciously, but rather a sharp wit and an understanding of human nature that she wielded with precision. She could navigate complex situations with ease, using her charm and intellect to get what she wanted, often without others realizing the full extent of her influence. She was a mosaic of contradictions, a beautiful enigma, driven by both heart and mind, with a cleverness that kept her one step ahead. In her presence, you sensed both warmth and mystery, a force of nature that was as much a puzzle as she was an inspiration. That's how related. Everything did not work out as I had planned in my head. The way she said it, "just friends" killed my inner child. I was foible. Too intimately connected with the reality of imperfection. I had the tendency to shy away from difficult truths, the habit of clinging to comfort when challenge is required. These small shortcomings were not catastrophic, but they tripped me up, reminding me that perfection is an illusion. The world felt distant and different. I had to go into the cookie jar.
Here's a thing about this situation, I had dug far deep into a rabbit hole and I was digging much deeper. Comfort was unimaginable in the chaos. I was afraid to show my emotions. It felt like the end. I went over to a friend's house and it dawned to me, that it was a mistake.
The night of relapses, giving up was an option and I had thought about it. I was high and time felt like a stretch, compress, distorting the sense of what is real. Just a temporary escape, a flight from the ordinary into a space where sensations are heightened, emotions are magnified, and thoughts drift into surreal landscapes. The weight of past trauma came crumbling down in my heart and from Maina's account, "bro yesterday you lost it, you were this close to lamba cocaine like juice cola,"
"""
The voice from my past was rough and angry, seemed to linger in the corners, even after all these years. I had thought I will leave it all behind at some point, the shouting, the fear, the nights spent curled up in my bed, hoping to be invisible. But trauma has a way of clinging to you, embedding itself deep in your bones. It changes the way you see the world, the way you trust, the way you love. Now, at twenty seven, I have found myself hesitating at the threshold of every new relationship and every new opportunity. My childhood taught me to be wary, to expect pain even in the gentlest moments. As much as I tried to break free, the shadows of my past followed me, casting long, dark silhouettes over my present.
Chapter one: Where it all started *
"Someday, I want to wear a starry crown."
Her account
It all starts before I was born. A question of my existence, was I lucky or was it God's purpose. The year was 1995, my mum was expecting and at the moment life was daring. She was going to have her third after 2 successes.
Life in the 90s was grueling for a woman already juggling motherhood with the demands of work. Imagine a woman, heavily pregnant, with two young children to care for, living in a time when societal expectations and limited resources made life a daily struggle. Each day, she wakes up before dawn, her body aching with the weight of her unborn child, but there is no room for rest. Her two children, still sleepy, cling to her as she prepares them for the day ahead, knowing that she must leave the house early to set up her small fruit stall. The market is her lifeline, a small space where she sells fruits and fresh juice to earn enough money to feed her children and keep a roof over their heads. The physical demands of the job are relentless. Pregnant and exhausted, she hauls crates of fruit, cuts and squeezes fruits for juice, and stands for hours, trying to catch the attention of passersby. Every sale is a small victory, yet it never seems to be enough. Her children are too young to understand the burden their mother carries. They sit near her stall, playing in the dirt or asking for food that she struggles to provide. Her mind is constantly racing how to stretch the money she earns, how to ensure her children’s safety and health, and how to prepare for the impending arrival of another child. There are no maternity leaves or supportive systems in place. If she doesn’t work, her children don’t eat. The societal pressure weighs heavily on her. In a world that often expects women to silently bear their hardships, there is little room for vulnerability. People see her as just another vendor, another woman struggling, but they don’t see the deeper layers of her pain the physical exhaustion, the fear of the future, the guilt of not being able to give her children more. Her nights are sleepless, filled with worries about tomorrow and beyond. Yet, despite the hardship, she carries on. Her strength is in her resilience, her ability to find hope in the smallest moments a kind customer, a day with good sales and a smile from her children. The 90s were not kind to her, but she navigates each day with a fierce determination, driven by her love for her children and the dream of a better life for them, even if it means sacrificing her own comfort and well-being. Children are a gift from God, thats the point of view driven by the society. Probably, more children meant more wealth, security and the likes. However, that is in the context of the parents willingness to nature and provide for all the children. Heavy burden by the unborn and providence, she stretches herself away to provide, not knowing that she was risking the life of one of his kids. She pushes harder and breaks her elasticity.
Fate caught up with her and it went south. On a matatu to work, her water broke. Helpless with no one to help her, not even her 2 children, one who had just started school and the other had to take a day off. They were all tired, only if life was kind to them at the moment. Her water and she lost. For the first time as a mother she defined pain. A profound, multifaceted grief that touched every corner of her being. It was a loss that lingered in the silence, in the dreams of a future that will never come to be. She fought with the pain that often felt invisible, hidden beneath the surface. As strong as she was, the hollowness of in her body where life once grew was in despair. She has to mourn and pretend that everything will be alright. Her grief carried the weight of that of her children and also the husband who all anticipated the arrival of a new life. If only they could imagine the pain that she had to go through.
January 12th 1997, this time she had to do everything right. Her strength was determined by the determination to go forth and try again. She carried within her the weight of loss, yet dared to hope again, embracing the possibility of new life with an open heart. This strength was not the absence of fear, but the ability to move forward despite it, to continue the journey of motherhood even when the path had been marked by pain. Her strength was evident in her willingness to face the unknown, to risk another heartache for the chance of joy. It was a strength that knows the fragility of life but chose to nurture it anyway. Every doctor's appointment, every test, every day of waiting was a testament to her perseverance. She confronted each moment with a mixture of anxiety and determination, balancing her longing with the scars of the previous year. This strength was also found in her ability to grieve and heal simultaneously. She still honors the child she lost while making space for the one she hoped to conceive. It was a delicate balance, allowing herself to feel the depth of her emotions without letting them define her future. She carried the memory of her loss as a part of her, but she refused to let it overshadow her desire to create new life. BRIDGES MBAVASI MUGALA, the aftermath.
My account on him
"How does a parent love his child?" A question posed by my therapist. Defining love can be as simple as having an affection towards someone or something. However, how do you attain this affection? From the smallest detail you get to learn about who you love. My philosophy on love focuses on the journey of love. Every detail our lives entail, from our success stories to our failures. Of their weaknesses and strengths.
At the core of my experience is a dichotomy, being materially provided for yet feeling emotionally neglected. This was confusing for me because, on the surface, my father is a really good parent. I was given the best education, clothing, opportunities, and a stable environment. However, beneath the surface, there is a yearning for something deeper: emotional connection, validation, and mental support. In this scenario, he was present physically but absent emotionally. For sure, I give him all the credit because he ensured that I had the best material advantages but might have lacked the ability or willingness to engage emotionally. This type of neglect is often subtle and it manifested as a lack of communication, emotional unavailability, or indifference to my inner world thoughts, feelings, dreams, and struggles.
It should not go without saying that he wanted the best of us. Nothing would have come in his way not even my opinion on how life should have been. He just wanted the best of us, probably he had a blueprint. I always felt like I needed to seek his validation. This came up after seeing his relationship with my brother. At some point it became a result based system. It became inane everytime he would tell me that he loves us equally. Love never felt diverse, Growing up, I often found myself wishing for a connection that went beyond. I longed for a hug that felt like home, for words that carried warmth and understanding. But love, as I knew it from him, felt one-dimensional. It was like a language he spoke fluently in terms of duty and responsibility, but struggled with when it came to affection and empathy. Maybe times were changing, maybe we needed to adapt more on how to communicate during difficult moments. There were no deep conversations where we shared our fears, no moments where I felt truly seen by him. I felt like I needed to hide myself. Instead, his love was shown through actions, actions that I knew were meant to care for me, but that didn’t quite reach my heart. He worked hard, provided stability, and for that, I am grateful. But emotional presence? That was something I never truly felt from him. However in return, he replaced the emotional bit with his spiritual appeal. It was as if there was an invisible wall between us, one that separated his world from mine. I could see the effort in his eyes, the way he wanted to protect and provide, but there was also a distance that never allowed us to connect on a deeper level. His love was there, but it was like an ocean I could never fully swim in vast, powerful, but ultimately unreachable. This lack of emotional connection left me with an emptiness that I tried to fill in different ways. I sought validation and comfort elsewhere, all the while wishing that I could find it in him. His love was constant, but it never felt diverse, it didn’t touch the parts of me that needed understanding, compassion, or a sense of belonging. As I grew older, I began to accept that this was simply who he was a man who loved in the way he knew how, but who could not give what he did not have. Yet, the sadness lingers. I mourn the relationship we never had, the bond that could have been. I wonder what it would have been like if love had flowed between us more freely, in all its forms. In the end, I am left with a love that feels incomplete a love that provided for my physical needs but left my heart yearning for more. And that is a sadness I carry with me, a reminder that sometimes love, no matter how strong, can still fall short of what we truly need. But I am grateful he never bailed out on me. I just needed love to be diverse, love that made me free. Love that would have helped me learn from my mistakes rather than blame myself everytime. Love that I wouldn't be afraid to show others, all these I needed to learn from him.
Chaprer : Love and lust
"I've been trying to make you love me, but everything I try just takes you further from me..."
My first love, the one who created all these madness called lust. Supposing that the truth is a woman, then what? Is there not a ground suspecting that all philosophers in so far as they have been dogmatic, have failed to understand women. "Women will kill you one day." One of the greatest lectures my uncle talked about. I envy being in love. At some point I would have killed just for love. However, it is not always as planned. I have been broken and shattered into pieces. Rock bottom feels like home because of love and lust has taken over.
I am afraid of love because it feels like surrendering a part of myself to something unpredictable and uncontrollable. Love, with its promises of connection and intimacy, also carries the weight of vulnerability, and that terrifies me. I fear losing the sense of who I am in the process of loving someone else and becoming so intertwined that my identity blurs and fades.There's a depth to love that draws me in but also frightens me. It demands that I open up the most guarded parts of myself, the ones I've kept hidden for fear of being hurt. To love means to trust, and trust is a fragile thing. I worry that once given, it will be shattered, leaving me exposed and wounded. Love, in its purest form, is supposed to be freeing, but to me, it feels like a cage built out of expectations and emotions I can’t control. I dread the thought of depending on someone else for my happiness, of giving them the power to break my heart. It’s easier to keep love at a distance, to admire it from a far without diving into its depths, where pain and disappointment often lurk. Yet, beneath this fear, there’s a longing a hope that maybe love could be different, that it might not destroy me, but instead, help me grow. But that hope is overshadowed by the fear that love, like a storm, could tear through my carefully constructed walls, leaving me defenseless against the chaos it brings. So, I stay on the shore, watching the waves of love crash against the rocks, too afraid to wade in, but always wondering what it would be like to let go and float.
I drowned in love and she was the truth. Certainly, she has never allowed herself to lose.
At sixteen, I lost my virginity and then followed my dignity. Life felt different and my desires changed. Greed and lust settled and my spirit was shaken for the first time. My timid heart was tired and beaten up. Love, sex and drugs took over, my little teenage mind had to maneuver through that roller-coaster of emotions. However, there was nothing I could do about the process. True love became a fantasy that I adored. Then came Lorraine. The first girl who made my heart settled. She made love simple. Talking to her was a gift to understand where I was at life. God given but I had some unresolved issues at the back of my mind. Thus the questions about loving her, would I be patient? How much would she hurt me? When will she be bored? I started doubting what we would have had and trauma from the past started settling. Being shy did not help at all. Sometimes I wondered, probably she was too good, too beautiful to love someone like me. Over time, she became tired of the games and grew up. I was still waiting for God's manifestation in our lives. Lying to myself that there are a lot of fish in the sea but she became the first fish to break my rod and I lost all my confidence going back to the fishing grounds. No closure but for heaven's sake I felt too young to understand how to get over with it.
The degree of my sentience was remarkable, how was I tired at only eighteen. My heart had enough of it and its elasticity was worn out. God gave me another opportunity and I found myself in a university. A university my parents had to sacrifice in the thought of they were paying for three. I had to start of from a bridging course and I owed it to myself that I would focused solely on my education.
Then just when I was about to ensconce in academic excellence, there she came, Sophia. I only had a crush on her. The feeling of heliophilia joy and happiness Love felt like the sun that draws us closer with its warmth, a magnetic pull that brightens the darkest corners of our souls. It was the radiant energy that made us feel alive and i was yearning to bask in her light, even when it burns. Just as a heliophile is irresistibly drawn to the sun, love compels us to seek connection, to chase after that warmth no matter the distance. In her glow, I was searching for comfort, passion, and an unspoken understanding that, like the sun, love is both our sustenance and our undoing, powerful and eternal. Her friendship meant everything to me. A young man from the lofty, western hills of chimoi being close to Sophia, would have put chimoi on the map.
Sophia, with her light skin that seemed to glow softly in the sunlight, had a way of making me feel alive in ways I hadn't expected. Every time she smiled, it was like a gentle warmth spread through me, igniting emotions I didn’t know I could feel. Her presence was intoxicating, every word she spoke, every glance she gave, made my heart race and my mind spin with possibilities. She made me feel seen, and in those fleeting moments, I believed that maybe, just maybe, she could feel the same way. But beneath that hope was a painful awareness, a realization that her feelings for me were not the same as mine for her. It was a bittersweet ache, knowing that no matter how much I cared for her, no matter how much I wanted to be close to her, I would never occupy that same space in her heart. Loving Sophia would have been exhilarating and terrifying all at once. There were moments of pure joy when I was with her, but also deep drops of despair when I remembered that our connection was one-sided. Still, I couldn’t help but cherish the way she made me feel. Even in the midst of that emotional turmoil, there was something beautiful about the way she touched my life, leaving behind memories of a love that, while unreciprocated, was still powerful in its own right.
Love felt like an unreliable feeling. For God's sake I even did the imaginable for her. At some point I did her assignment. The funny thing is that she was doing a totally different Major than the one I was doing. I even ditched my best buddy just to go home with her. Those were the simple times.
(Still story pending) In the midst of falling out of favor for Sophia, came Caro. I told the boys about Caro and clearly I jinxed it. There was a quiet softness about her, an unspoken warmth in the way she looked at me, the kind of look that promised a love that was deep, honest and kind. She moved through life with a sense of purpose, not the kind that screams ambition, but the quiet resolve of someone who has been through things, who understands that love isn’t about fireworks but about constellations, the slow and steady growth of something grand.
But I didn’t see that, or maybe I did, but the urgency inside me clouded my vision. I wanted to capture her, not in a possessive way, but because I felt something rare and I was scared that if i did not act quickly, it would slip through my fingers. I saw a future with her, but in my eagerness, I forgot to let her breathe. I forgot that love, especially with someone as delicate and thoughtful as her, needs time, time to be nurtured, to unfold naturally like a flower reaching for the sun.
I pushed, maybe without even realizing it. Little things, like pressing for plans too soon, asking for reassurances when she was still finding her own way. The more I pressed, the more she withdrew. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel something for me. She did. It was there, in the way she lingered just a bit longer in my presence, in the small smiles she reserved only for me. But the pace of it frightened her. Love was supposed to be something that grew with time, with patience, not something that was rushed or forced.
So she left. Not in a dramatic, storming-off kind of way, but in the quiet way that people who are protecting their hearts do. One day, she was there, and the next, she wasn’t. Maybe she didn’t explain herself clearly, but the truth is she was scared. Scared of what could have been, but more scared of losing herself in the process. She needed to be sure, and she couldn’t be sure with the pace I was setting.
In the end, she might have loved me. But I’ll never know, because I couldn’t slow down, couldn’t let the natural rhythm of her heart guide the way. I wanted to skip the chapters, not realizing that in doing so, I lost the chance to write a story with her at all. And now, she’s just a memory, a quiet, lingering "what if" that I'll carry with in my heart.
Then something changed after Caro. It felt like my mind had to take over the heavy burden. Yes, I am talking about the emotional strain. My heart felt weak and my soul was broken. A smile, that was the only card I could play. Just a smile, with a tired heart and two tired eyes. Depression started settling on my nerves and I was really confused. All of a sudden, I wasn't doing well on my class work and I ended up failing some of my classes. Luckily, I had Maina. He always knew what to do and this is the part in campus where we made wrong decisions that left scars on us.
The aftermath of a broken heart is not just sadness. It’s the suffocating silence that fills the spaces where hope once lived, the unshakable sense that something essential has been torn away. You try to move forward, but every step feels heavy, like walking through thick fog. That’s when the depression kicks in, creeping slowly at first, then all at once. You stop finding joy in the things you used to love, and before long, you start avoiding everyone, even yourself. Sounds insane right!
That’s when Maina steped in. Maina, with his easy life and his endless connections. He hands me my first 'Xanny' like it’s nothing, like it’s just something to take the edge off. “It’ll help you sleep,” he says casually. Then comes Paxil, another quick fix, another promise of relief. You don’t question it; you just want to feel something, anything other than this crushing numbness. I fell in love with Adderall. Unlike Xanny and Paxil, Adderall became a constant companion in my life, offering me focus when I felt lost and motivation when I was drained. At first, it felt like a lifeline, pulling me out of my chaotic mind and into a world where I could get things done. But over time, it slowly took control, leaving me dependent on its effects to feel normal. The highs became fleeting, and the lows were devastating, sinking me deeper into a cycle I couldn’t escape. I knew it was damaging me, but I couldn’t resist the pull, always telling myself I needed it just one more time. It felt like I was losing myself and it was the only thing I couldn’t let go.
For a while, it seemed to work. You float through your days in a haze, your emotions blunted, the sharp pain of heartache dulled. But soon, it’s not enough. The drugs turn your world into an empty routine, and you realize the emptiness is still there, lurking beneath the surface.
The side effects come like unexpected guests, an insatiable craving for sugar and caffeine, as if your body is desperately trying to fill the emotional void with artificial highs. You start drinking coffee by the pot, consuming sugary snacks like they are a lifeline. It feels like you are constantly trying to wake up from a dream you cannot escape. You become addicted not just to the pills, but to the short-lived bursts of energy and comfort that sugar and caffeine provided.
But the high is always followed by a crash. You are left feeling even more hollow, with jittery hands and a racing heart, the antidepressants pulling you further from yourself and closer to the pain and it keeps on reminding you of the heartbreaks. Maina, with his effortless charm, would drift away, continuing his life as though nothing ever happened, it was not like he forced anyone, I always had a choice to make. The only problem was that you are left grappling with the mess inside. But you realize, too late, that the pills were never a solution, just another form of escape. The addiction creeps in quietly, and you find yourself trapped in a cycle of artificial fixes, trying to outrun the heartbreak that never truly left.
The antidepressants numb you, but they also rob you of the ability to truly feel both the pain and, eventually, the possibility of healing. You are left somewhere in between a gray area where life goes on, but you are not really living. You are surviving, a shadow of who you were, chasing fleeting moments of comfort while the deeper wounds remain untouched. I drowned myself in isolation, though it came with advantages I always camped in the library trying to work on my GPA. Trying to offload alot I had put on my mind. Again, I cannot underestimate Maina's effort to realize that he had Fucked up introducing me to antidepressants that I was too broke to afford. He was always there to make sure I do not fall.
(For this part I will not use the real names of he personel set to be mentioned) A year later, my heart was rested. Got a job and I was working on my spiritual connection with God. I had made more friends who really cared and money wasn't a big deal at the moment. My grades were better and I was enjoying life. As you know, life cannot be a constant. It is subjected to change.
Belinda was a ghost I fell in love with. Belinda was ethereal, a figure who seemed to float between realms, always present yet never fully there. The first time I saw her, there was something in her stillness, something haunting, but I could not look away. Her face was pale, eyes hollow with an emotion I could never quite read. Maybe that was what drew me to her in the first place the mystery of it all. I was fascinated by her, perhaps even a little obsessed. She was a ghost, but to me, she was more alive than anyone I had ever known.
At first, I thought I could change her, make her notice me in a way that was more than just passing. Every time I reached out, it was like speaking into the void. My messages would float unanswered, my calls never returned. When we made plans, she would fade away, disappearing before we could meet, leaving me with nothing but the echo of what might have been. I told myself it was because she was lost, trapped in some other world, and I just needed to give her time. I kept hoping she would show up one day, fully present, and everything would change.
But as the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, I began to feel the weight of my own delusion. Every conversation was one-sided, every effort met with silence. I was always the one initiating, chasing after her like some desperate fool. She never seemed interested, never really looked at me. Her gaze would pass over me like I was nothing more than another shadow in her forgotten world. I would make excuses for her, telling myself she was just shy, that maybe the weight of her existence made it hard for her to connect. But deep down, I knew. I knew she did not care.
Still, I could not let go. There was something so intoxicating about her, the way she drifted in and out of my life like a dream I could never fully wake from. I told myself it was love, that if I just tried hard enough, if I just held on a little longer, she would come around. But she never did. She remained distant, always out of reach. I would stare at her, hoping to catch some glimmer of feeling, some flicker of affection. But her expression never changed. It was always the same cold, empty stare.
I became consumed by her, my days revolving around thoughts of her, my nights haunted by dreams where we finally made conversation, that she finally stayed. But those dreams would always end the same way she would fade into nothingness, leaving me alone with the aching reminder that I was chasing a ghost. I was in love with someone who didn’t, couldn’t love me back.
Eventually, I realized that I was not just in love with Belinda, I was in love with the idea of loving her. She was never going to be the person I imagined, never going to return the affection I poured into her. She wasn’t capable of it. She was a ghost, a remnant of something long gone, and no matter how much I wanted her to be real, to be mine, she was never truly there. In the end, she left. Without the courtesy of saying goodbye, I was left all alone without even knowing whereabouts of the relationship we had. However, that did not really hurt. On the onset of that relationship, I learned what to expect. Though I was angry at myself. I wanted to achieve the impossible. From the way she talked to me felt like she was doing some sort of community service. But I was never angry at her. At this point, I understood that she was on a different path. I could sense how uncomfortable she was with me hence the postponing of our dates. The only thing was that I knew I wasted time for both of us and at the moment God sent Angel was sent from above to give me comfort during that period. Angel wanted something that I could have offered but I needed time to warm up to her. The way she talked, walked, the way she wanted other people to address her was royalty. Elegance best describes her way of life. For once,, I knew someone who went to the Netherlands because of music. She played the violin. My odds of that happening again are next to none. Poised by nature, she had a firm grip on her mantra. She was everything I admired but never thought I deserved. Her love felt like a calm walk in a storm, I felt like i would have put her on the rocks with whatever was going in my life. She showed effort in ways I couldn't reciprocate, made sacrifices I was too lazy to recognize, and she cared for me when I was not ready to care for her. I wasn't prepared for the depth of her love, and by the time I realized it, she had already slipped away. This is a tale of lost opportunities, regret, and the painful realization that sometimes we lose the people who love us the most because we are not brave enough to love them back.
Growing up affection was symbiotic. To understand where I come from, love wasn't given for free it felt like you had to purchase it. I formed a sort of an anxious attachment. It is like a roll of dice, I became more anxious waiting for love rather than being patient of the love I should be getting. Hence, the introduction of trust issues. Every girl I doubted, I ended up ignoring their output for my short term happiness.
Chapter :An Ode to Friends
"Someday, I want to lay down on a Sunday, Like how God did"
Friendship has always been a constant in my life, a thread weaving through my experiences, grounding me through the highs and lows. Looking back, the people I've called my friends have shaped me in ways I could never have anticipated. Each one brought something different, something unique that added to the mosaic of my life. Some friendships were brief, others long-lasting, but all of them left their mark.
The first friend I ever made was Barvin Michael Songa. I met Barvin when I was just a kid, and he became my anchor in a world that was often confusing and overwhelming. We were inseparable, two boys navigating the early stages of life together. Barvin had this infectious energy, always ready with a joke or a crazy idea that somehow, we’d always end up going along with. Whether it was running around the neighborhood, playing video games, or simply talking about life, Barvin was my first true companion, the one who showed me what it meant to have a friend.
Then came Greg James Orondo and Ian Kariuki, friends who redefined loyalty for me. Greg was the kind of person who would stand by you no matter what and Ian was always the silent one filled with passion i admired. Ian had this calm demeanor, the kind of energy that made everything seem like it was going to be okay, even when things got tough. Greg was always there. He was a steady presence, someone who never wavered in his support, and I learned the value of having someone in your corner no matter what life threw at you.
Mohit Luthra Kumar, my Indian friend, brought a completely different dimension into my life. Mohit and I bonded over our curiosity about the world, and our conversations always left me with new perspectives. Coming from different cultural backgrounds, Mohit opened my eyes to a world I hadn’t fully understood. He was always the intellectual, pushing me to question things, to think deeper, and to never settle for surface-level understanding.
Jacob Molla was the friend who taught me how to truly love myself, encouraging me to embrace my flaws and strengths alike. He constantly challenged my way of thinking, pushing me to question the world and my place in it. No matter how chaotic or uncertain life became, Jacob was always there, offering unwavering support and a fresh perspective. His presence made difficult times easier, and through his influence, I learned the importance of self-acceptance.
Finally, there was Brian Maina. Brian was, in many ways, the friend who challenged me the most. He pushed me out of my comfort zone, introduced me to new experiences, and showed me the world through a lens I had never considered before. Brian wasn’t afraid to call me out on my flaws, and our friendship had its fair share of ups and downs. But through it all, he remained one of the most significant influences in my life. He had a free spirit, an open mind, and a perspective on life that was raw and unfiltered. Brian introduced me to parts of myself that I had never acknowledged, and for that, I will always be grateful.
These friends; Barvin, Greg, Ian, Mohit, Jacob, and Brian, each shaped different aspects of who I am today. From childhood through the confusing teenage years and into adulthood, these friendships became my foundation. Together, they make up the tapestry of my journey, reminding me that we are, in many ways, the sum of the people we choose to keep in our lives. Each friend brought something unique, something irreplaceable, and in their own ways, they have all left a lasting impact on my life. One by one I will take you to on a journey through how each friend left a mark on my soul.
Brian Maina
I met Brian Maina during my second year in university. I wasn’t looking for any new friends—I was comfortable in my own little world, juggling studies, my social life, and all the chaos that comes with campus life. But life has a way of bringing people into your path when you least expect it. Brian came into mine through a mutual friend. We didn’t go to the same school—he was attending a different institution a few kilometers away—but somehow, that didn’t seem to matter. It was as if the universe had its own plans, pulling us together at just the right moment.
Our first meeting was casual. I remember thinking how different he was. Brian had this effortless charm, the kind that makes people gravitate toward him without him even trying. He was tall, lean, with a perpetual smirk that made you think he was always in on some inside joke. But beneath that carefree exterior, there was something deeper—a complexity that took time to fully understand.
We hit it off pretty quickly, and before I knew it, Brian had become a constant presence in my life. He wasn’t the kind of friend who would simply be there for the good times—though there were plenty of those—but also the bad ones. We’d have nights where we’d stay up talking about life, dissecting everything from our childhood traumas to our dreams for the future. I remember feeling like I had found someone who genuinely saw me, not just the version of myself that I presented to the world.
The First Girlfriend
Brian introduced me to a lot of things—some good, some not so good. One of the first things he did was introduce me to my first-ever girlfriend. I still remember that day like it was yesterday. Her name was Nancy. She was older, more experienced, and I had no idea what I was getting into. Brian always seemed to have connections, and when he introduced us, I was both nervous and excited. I had never dated anyone older before. For three weeks, Nancy and I were inseparable, and it was a whirlwind romance. I felt like I was living in a movie, swept off my feet by someone who seemed to know exactly what she wanted from life.
But like all intense relationships that start too fast, it burned out just as quickly. After those three weeks, it was over as suddenly as it had begun. I was left with a mixture of heartbreak and confusion, wondering if it had all been real or just a dream. Brian, ever the pragmatist, shrugged it off. "It was bound to end," he told me. "You’re young, and there will be others." He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t make the sting any less painful.
The World Through His Eyes
Brian had a way of broadening my perspective. He wasn’t just a friend; he was a guide into a world I hadn’t known existed. He introduced me to new ideas, new experiences, and, quite frankly, new vices. It was Brian who introduced me to Adderall, Xanax, and Paxil. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. He made it sound casual, like it was just something everyone did to get through the stress of life. Adderall helped me focus during exams, Xanax calmed me down when anxiety hit, and Paxil… well, I never quite understood what Paxil was for, but I took it anyway because Brian said it helped.
Looking back now, I see how dangerous it was, but in the moment, it felt like we were invincible. We would stay up all night, popping pills and talking about everything—life, death, the meaning of it all. Brian had this way of making everything seem less scary. He had an open mind and a free spirit that was contagious. When you were with him, the world didn’t feel so heavy.
The Therapist
At some point, Brian suggested I see a therapist. I remember laughing at the idea. Therapy? For what? I wasn’t depressed. I didn’t have anxiety—at least not the kind that needed professional help. I was too "ghetto" for that, or so I thought. But Brian was insistent. He kept telling me that I might have ADHD or that I was battling something I didn’t even realize. I dismissed him at first, but eventually, I gave in. I sat in front of a therapist for the first time, and it was one of the strangest experiences of my life.
The therapist asked me questions I didn’t have answers to. She made me think about things I had buried deep down, things I wasn’t ready to confront. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but Brian was right—I needed it. As much as I hated to admit it, there were parts of me that were broken, and therapy was the first step toward figuring out how to put them back together.
Highs and Lows
Our friendship wasn’t perfect. Like any relationship, we had our highs and lows. We fought—sometimes about stupid things, other times about deeper issues. Brian was stubborn, and so was I. We were both headstrong, and sometimes that led to explosive arguments. There were times when we wouldn’t speak for days, but we always found our way back to each other. That’s the thing about true friendship—it can withstand the storms.
There was one fight in particular that stands out. It was during a particularly dark time for both of us. I don’t remember what sparked the argument, but I remember the words we hurled at each other. They were sharp, meant to hurt, and they did. For weeks, we didn’t speak, and I thought that might be the end of our friendship. But then, one day, Brian showed up at my door, as if nothing had happened. "Let’s go grab a drink," he said. And just like that, everything was back to normal.
The Diagnosis
Brian’s insistence that I might have ADHD always stuck with me. At first, I didn’t take it seriously. I thought he was just overanalyzing things, as he often did. But the more time I spent with him, the more I started to wonder if he was right. I had always struggled with focus, and my moods could swing from one extreme to the other without warning. Brian saw things in me that I couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see in myself. He had a way of holding up a mirror to my soul, showing me the parts I was too afraid to confront.
It wasn’t until years later, long after we had both graduated and gone our separate ways, that I finally got the diagnosis. ADHD. It explained so much, but it also made me realize how much Brian had understood me, even when I didn’t understand myself.
The Void
Brian and I eventually drifted apart,
It's time to silence the voice within, the one that once filled blank pages with stories, hopes, and dreams. The writer who came in many forms; the poems and the stories that poured out raw emotion, passion, and vulnerability, must be laid to rest.
This part of me, the one who found solace in words, is now a ghost of what it used to be. The ink has dried, the pages have yellowed, and the fire has dimmed. I hope you understand, I hope in doing so I have not let down my brothers who cheered every single success of my journey. Mentored and encourage me through my highs and my lows. I dedicate this book in honor of Jacob Mola and the late Brian Maina; you have always been the quiet force behind every step I have taken, pushing me forward when I could not find peace within. Yet, as I look back, there is a sadness in knowing that you gave so much of yourself, while I could never repay the weight of your sacrifice. In killing this version of myself, I bury the dreams that once defined me, acknowledging that not all parts of us are meant to survive. Some are sacrificed to make room for who we must become.
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