It is raining heavily outside, the kind of rain that soaks the earth and fills the air with the intoxicating scent of petrichor. He stands on the balcony, his arms outstretched, face tilted upwards as if welcoming every drop. I on the other hand, I’m buried under the duvet, cocooned in warmth and unwilling to surrender to the moment.
“Come dance with me,” he calls out gently, his voice laced with excitement. I peek from under the covers, shaking my head as I watch him lazily. His excitement is palpable like a little child’ – almost tangible. “It’s cold,” I protest, going deeper into the beddings.
He laughs then, that wholesome genuine laughter of his, head tilted even further back. He steps closer into the bedroom as his hand reaches out to me. “Feel the rain, feel life. Just this once.” But I refuse, unaware that these are the moments that would linger long after he is gone.
Paradoxically, it’s the little things that I remember the most. Not the lavish birthday parties he threw for me, or the insanely expensive perfumes and hair he bought for me. No, those I don’t remember with fondness. I just wish I had danced when he begged me to, sang with him when we were both drunk, allowed him to carry me on his back after a drunken night out….its those moments he asked me to watch a newly released movie with him while I chose to sleep away instead.
I remember the music that filled our small space—Les Wanyika, the rhythm of nostalgia, of love that felt infinite. We would sway together, lost in the melody, in each other. How I wish I had held onto those moments tighter, had danced a little longer, laughed a little louder.
God knows how much I wish I had appreciated those gestures more. But I was young. They say youth is not an excuse, but over the years I’ve come to find that genuine people are hard to come by and that young, free and wild comes but once in a lifetime.
“To love is to live” – Anonymous
But life……life moves forward and now, it is all about paying bills, navigating superficial connections and yearning for something real. “Don’t apologize for how you love,” wrote Mahmoud Darwish, and I crave a love that sees me, that embraces my flaws—the hip dips, the mood swings, the unfiltered me. A love that feels like home, not a transaction. But I also realize now that love isn’t just about another person. It’s about embracing the present, relishing the little joys and not letting moments slip away unappreciated.
I have come to the gradual realisation now that happiness is a state of the mind. The moments I was the happiest had nothing to do with money. Money does help, but if that’s all you need to be happy, then I’ve got news for you. I want to be happy so bad. I want to look at my reflection in the mirror and acknowledge the fact that I truly am a happy girl. Right now my own reflection scares me…I am terrified I’ll look into my eyes and realise how hard I’ve let myself down.
I am only now beginning to love myself, to appreciate myself without fear of letting anyone down. It’s a man eat man society…everyone Is looking out for themselves, might as well join the party.
Happiness, I realize, is found in the little things: dancing in the rain with zero cares in the world, feeling the cold droplets wash away the weight of life. It’s in exploring new places, getting lost in unfamiliar streets, tasting foods that make my daughter and me burst with joy. It’s in the simple act of brewing the best Kenyan tea in the morning, letting its warmth seep into my soul and in watching the sunset with a glass of wine, holding my own hand, knowing I am enough.
“Love is not about how many days, months, or years you have been together. Love is about how much you love each other every single day.” And love, I am learning, starts with loving the moment I am in, embracing the now, and understanding that the future is uncertain, but happiness is always within reach if only I let myself feel it.
