We’re often told to cling to our heritage — to never forget our roots. Culture, tradition and values which are all deeply embedded in how we’re raised, especially in African homes. But when holding on to heritage means silencing important conversations, we have to ask: Are we also holding on to ignorance? One of the…
Some letters bring closure. Others bring clarity. And some… just bring me back to myself. So no, I won’t send these letters. But I’ll keep them. Not as evidence of pain—but as proof of growth.
I wear my brave face like a uniform—not because I’m unbothered, but because I’m learning the cost of constantly bleeding where there is no bandage. The smile may be tired, the eyes not as bright, but the backbone? Steadier.
Beautifully packaged, emotionally distant, sometimes-intense, sometimes-absent. It doesn’t just hurt when it ends. It hurts while it lives.
So yes, I cry. But don’t mistake those tears for weakness. They are the quiet defiance of a heart refusing to harden, a soul that chooses to feel deeply even when it hurts. Because in a world that demands toughness, sometimes the bravest thing we can do is be fragile—and still stand tall.
She might seem delicate, like fine glass catching the light—beautiful, easily broken. But look closer. Beneath that softness is the quiet shimmer of gold, a strength born not of noise, but of stillness. This is not fragility. It’s resilience, wrapped in silk.
We were in a rush to arrive.To be chosen. To be exceptional.To prove that we could do it all — and do it flawlessly. We wore our exhaustion like a badge of honour.We mistook performance for purpose,noise for progress,validation for value.We thought if we just ran faster, said yes louder, smiled longer — we’d make…
They call her crazy. I call her free. She’s too much. Always has been. Too loud, too bold, too unapologetic. But what’s wrong with being too much? Maybe it’s time to redefine what that phrase means. After all, who needs sanity when you can have a Netflix binge-watching marathon, a bag of crisps, and a…
Raise your hand if you’ve ever felt the weight of your own ambition like it’s a guilty secret.Like you’re standing at the edge of a crowded room, wanting to shout your dreams out loud, but instead whisper them behind a “sorry”—as if your desires are a crime, a loud noise in a silent library.Who decided…
“The tree that leans on another will never grow straight.” — African Proverb Have you ever noticed how women are expected to be soft, agreeable, and adored—but never too sure of themselves? We’re encouraged to be kind, but not proud. To shine, but not outshine. To speak, but only if we’ve been spoken to. But…
