It’s a lovely Sunday evening. My tea tastes great, and I’m feeling calm. I love feeling calm. How are you? I really hope you’re okay.

I’ve just finished reading Liz Gilbert’s ‘Letter from Love’, and today’s message? Wildly similar to what Love told me yesterday. Funny how God keeps confirming things through other people.

Liz writes these letters daily. I do mine weekly, usually on Sabbath afternoons when everything slows down; no/less work, no/less noise, just stillness and my journal. I always start with the same question:
‘Dear Love, what would you have me know today?’

And, chile, the answers? Sometimes it’s comfort. Sometimes it’s conviction. Yesterday, Love said something that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about: ‘You’re here to learn, enjoy, expand your scope, travel, meet, and help people. You’re here to be, our child, and that’s not in any way tied to productivity...’

That line stopped me in my tracks. Because so many of us, especially those of us with ‘main character’ tendencies (with vision boards and to-do lists and to-achieve lists and year compasses and all), have built our sense of worth around output. You’re not thriving if you’re not doing. You’re not valuable if you’re not producing. But God, through Love, keeps reminding me that just being is sacred too.

Now, Liz’s letter today? Same frequency. She asked Love, ‘Why am I here?‘ And Love, in the most gentle but gangster way, said: ‘You’re here because we wanted to be.’

Not to change the world. Not to win some cosmic award for good behavior. Just to experience it; the mess, the joy, the boredom, the heartbreak, the laughter, the wonder.

And doesn’t that just make you exhale a little? Because sometimes I get tired of chasing meaning. Of trying to justify my existence by achievements or activism or applause. But what if life isn’t about proving anything? What if it’s just about being here, showing up, feeling things deeply, and letting God, who is Love, express Himself through that?

One thing I’ve realized is that God speaks differently to all of us. Some hear Him through prayer, others through meditation, others through movement, or even through writing. (And yes, sometimes through Liz Gilbert’s Substack, let’s not lie.)

We may call Him by different names, or show up through different traditions, but the essence is the same. He’s that gentle voice inside saying, ‘You’re doing fine. You don’t have to earn my love. Just live.‘

And I think that’s what Liz means when she says we’re ‘open-hearted visitors.’ We came here to live, not to hustle for divine approval, not to fix everyone, or to change the world, but to be here fully.

So tonight, I’m grateful. For the stillness, for Love’s letters, for the reminder that being alive is the point.

And if you’re reading this, maybe this is your reminder too:
You don’t have to do more to deserve your place on this planet. You’re already a masterpiece in progress. And no, God, Love isn’t asking you to be lazy. You’ll still show up, still build, still do your part, just without the panic and punishment. There’s a way to move with grace instead of grind. To work with life, not against it.

Ask yourself, ‘Dear Love, what would you have me know today?’ Then listen. The answers are softer than you think, always.

May this new week be great! Thanks for being here.

Yours lovingly,

Njoks.

If I could summarize this Sabbath in one sentence: my trinity (body, mind, and spirit) finally agreed to stop fighting and just vibe. I feel good; I feel soooo good and calm (zensational), and I hope you do too.

Today, I read the book of Micah, and whew, what a book! It’s only seven chapters long but reads like a poetic punch to the gut; part courtroom drama, part love letter, part reality check.

Micah was a prophet during a messy time for both Samaria (the capital of Israel) and Jerusalem (the capital of Judah). The rich were exploiting the poor, leaders were corrupt, judges were accepting bribes, and prophets were twisting God’s word for personal gain (sounds exactly like the world we’re living in today, right?). It was a societal circus, and not the fun kind with popcorn. Micah called it out boldly, reminding them that no nation, no matter how ‘chosen’, could escape God’s justice. But even in his rebukes, there was hope. He spoke of a coming restoration, and in that prophecy, he mentioned the birth of Jesus, born in Bethlehem, the one who’d bring true peace and righteousness.

Micah’s message, though ancient, still feels like a word for our times: God isn’t moved by performance; He’s moved by our posture. Do justice. Love mercy. Walk humbly with your God (Micah 6:8). Simple, direct, yet somehow the hardest thing for us, humanity, to get right since… forever. I mean, look at what’s going on around the world: Sudan, Palestine, Congo…it’s all insane. There’s no justice, mercy, or humility in the way we’re treating each other, especially those who cannot defend themselves. *sighs*

Anyhoo, it reminded me of Jonah, the previous book. Remember how Jonah was sent to Nineveh to tell people to repent, and he was like, ‘Nah, they don’t deserve mercy’? And then God goes ahead and shows mercy anyway? Micah feels like the continuation of that theme. Justice and mercy aren’t opposites; they’re dance partners. You can’t do one without the other.

What stood out to me is that humility isn’t weakness; it’s power under control. It’s knowing that you don’t have to shout or perform rituals (like sacrificing children) to be heard by God. It’s in the quiet trust that He sees, He knows, and He’ll handle it. Justice isn’t about playing saviour; it’s about doing what’s right where you are, with what you have. And mercy? It’s giving grace to others (and yourself) when it’s not deserved but desperately needed.

I closed my Bible and just sat there thinking, ‘This is it. This is the assignment. Do justice. Love mercy. Walk humbly!’ That’s all God asks; not perfection, not performance, just presence.

So, as we step into November, maybe that’s what we should carry with us. The quiet knowing that we can still be kind in a cruel world. That we can still choose to do right, even when it’s unpopular. That we can still be soft and strong and human.

What about you? What are you walking into this new month as? Maybe bolder, calmer, or more merciful? Whatever it is, be whatever you need to be, to do whatever you’re called to do. That’s the advice I’m giving myself, too.

I hope you have a restful weekend, and a great November. Be well, and thanks for being here.

Talk soon!

Yours mercifully, with orange toe nails that I’m obsessed with,

Njoks.

So, it’s Halloween, and while everyone’s out there being vampires, angels, or pumpkins, I’ve just finished reviewing my vision board. I try to do that monthly: it’s my little check-in with myself: ‘What’s working? What’s giving delulu?…’ (Of course we really don’t have a heavy Halloween culture on this side side of the world, being Christians and all, but I see it like any other holiday. I mean, we celebrate Christmas even though Jesus wasn’t actually born on 25th December, right?).

Sooooo, I have eleven items on my board. Eleven. And honestly, I think I’ve done pretty well. My most recent one was being a speaker at an international conference, which still feels a bit surreal. That was on my vision board: ‘Have my voice heard.’ A few months ago, my article was published by Packaging Europe: https://packagingeurope.com/comment/the-green-divide-why-sustainability-leaves-the-global-south-behind/13237.article. So yeah, some dreams have put on their big-girl shoes and gone out into the world. I haven’t achieved everything on my ‘To-Achieve’ list, but this makes me really happy, and hopeful.

Some of the ‘eleven’ aren’t things you achieve, though. They’re things you become. One of mine was ‘be calmer’, and while I can’t exactly measure that with a yardstick, my body seems to know. I’ve had my menses every single month this year (and that’s a miracle, because I was diagnosed with PCOS a few years ago). The calmer I am, the better my body behaves. It’s like my wellness clock. When I’m peaceful, it’s peaceful, and I’ve been mostly peaceful this year, which is another miracle cos my brain usually has twenty tabs open at a time; busy and anxious.

Anyway, as I was reviewing the board today, I was thinking about the things I still want to tick off, and the kind of person I need to be to get there. Not in a pressure kind of way, just in that ‘Alright babe, what’s next?‘ kind of way.

And maybe that’s why I like the idea of Halloween; not the scary bits or the costumes that look like infections waiting to happen, but the idea of becoming. That for one night, you can be whatever you want. A pumpkin. A warrior. A cat. A goddess. You just… put it on.

So, today, I’m deciding who I want to be, and what I need to ‘wear’ to become her. Bolder. Calmer. More curious. Unafraid. More grateful. I’m putting on all of that.

Because maybe life’s a little like Halloween; you don’t wait to become the thing. You dress the part. You walk in it. You speak like her. You act like him. You become the thing.

Now your turn.
Who do you need to be, to do the things you’ve been dreaming about?
Put it on, babe. The costume’s already yours.

Wishing you a lovely and restful weekend, reader. Be well, and let’s talk again very soon.

Yours, with a lovely costume,

Njoks.

So apparently, Duolingo now has an energy bar instead of hearts. And honestly, I don’t know how to feel about that yet. Maybe it’s growth. Maybe it’s chaos disguised as innovation. Either way, my green owl and I are still in this situationship, 800+ days strong, baby. French and Spanish, both. (If I ever start throwing ‘bonjour’ and ‘¿qué tal?’ in one sentence, mind your business.)

Now, if you’re a Duolingo learner, you know the real thrill isn’t just ‘learning languages.’ No. It’s surviving that last heart. The anxiety of submitting your answer when you only have one left; heart pounding, palms sweating, questioning every conjugation. It’s not a game; it’s a battle for dignity.

The stories section? Always so sweet. ‘Fallstaff’s Guide to Humans’ is my fav; pure genius. And ‘Lucy Is Listening’? 10/10 chaos. But let’s not lie, the actual lessons are sometimes straight from the ninth circle of hell. I’ll be doing so well, then suddenly, I spell ‘beaucoup‘ wrong and get punished like I just insulted the French Ministry of Education, or my phone’s autocorrect changes my ‘comemos‘ to ‘comments’, and I’m like, ‘What the heeeelll!?’

And don’t get me started on leagues. The rush of being top three? The trauma of seeing ‘You’re about to be demoted’? Why does it feel like high school exams all over again? Duolingo will have you doing lessons at midnight just to stay ahead of a random user called ‘LindaFromCanada’.

Still, there’s something nice about it; that daily little hit of discipline, joy, and mild panic. I love the friend streaks too. There’s something so comforting about knowing your people are also out there whispering ‘La mujer come pan’ into their microphones at 11 PM.

And yeah, I’ve seen the Preply ads (another language tutor) on YouTube, all smug and mocking our poor owl like they’re not jealous of his chokehold on us. But please. Duolingo forever. He may be unhinged, but he’s our unhinged.

I love Duolingo.

Give it a try too. Learn some French, or Dutch or German or Hawaiian, if you like, yeah? Yeah! Thanks for being here. Stay well.

Yours,

Njoks.

It’s been a heavy few weeks. My friend died on 26th September, and we buried her five days ago. I’ve been grieving in a way that’s both loud and quiet; heavy denial, anger, guilt, sadness that sits in my chest like a rock, headaches that refuse to go away, sleeping too much or not at all. I keep rereading our chats like she might reply this time.

My Google tabs have also been wild: Is death the body shutting down? Do people know when they’re about to die? Is it painful? I don’t even know what I’m looking for; maybe logic, maybe peace, maybe a way to understand something that simply doesn’t make sense.

But between all that crying, Googling, and staring at walls, grief has been teaching me a few things:

1. Life is the blessing.
Not success, not productivity, not the next big thing. Just life. It’s the reason you get to dream, laugh, worry, and complain about slow Wi-Fi. Life is the foundation of everything else, and it’s so easy to forget that until it’s taken away.

2. Love the ones you love, loudly.
Tell your people you love them. Hug them long. Forgive when you can. Good relationships make this hard, confusing life softer. I think about my friend and how often we laughed, and that’s what I’ll hold on to.

3. Do the thing.
That thing you’ve been postponing; the class, the trip, the message, the risk… do it. Don’t wait for perfect conditions or a sign from heaven. You’re going to die anyway, and so are the people whose opinions you’re worried about.

4. Ask for help.
Even Jesus had Simon help him carry the cross, and yet we’re here pretending to be strong and self-sufficient. It’s okay to say “I’m not okay.”

5. Life is fickle.
And that’s not pessimism; it’s truth. One moment everything is fine, and the next, you’re Googling what death feels like. But maybe that’s the point; to live while you’re alive.

6. If you believe in God, talk to Him.
Even when you don’t feel like it. Even when you’re mad. Especially then. Faith doesn’t always make sense, but it keeps us standing.

7. Make life feel good.
Wear the nice dress. Sleep on yummm sheets. Buy the shoes. Eat the food. Light the candle. Decorate your life, not for anyone, but because you’re here, and that alone is reason enough.

Grief changes things; the way you see people, the way you breathe, the way you exist. But it also clears the fog. It kinda makes you see what matters.

And right now, what matters to me is this: to live. I want to live well. I want a gooooood, loooongg life! Oh, Heaven knows I do.

Yours, grateful for life,

Njoks.

I just finished watching ‘Wolf King’ on Netflix, and honestly, I’m obsessed. You know how sometimes you start a show expecting light entertainment, and by episode three, you’re emotionally invested like it’s your real family on screen? That’s me right now.

The story follows Drew Ferran, a teenager who discovers he’s not just anyone; he’s the rightful heir to a kingdom divided by humans and shape-shifters. He’s awkward, stubborn, brave in the messy, teenage way; the kind of protagonist you want to roll your eyes at and hug at the same time. But what really got me wasn’t just the plot or the world-building; it was the heart of the story.

And Whitley.
Oh, Whitley.

If I could bottle up that girl’s courage and sprinkle it over the world, I would. She’s clever, strong, and refuses to fit into the ‘sit still and smile’ box the world tries to force her into. While everyone expects her to be delicate and agreeable, mostly her dad Duke Bergan, she’s out here strategizing, training, and fighting alongside Drew. She’s proof that women can swing swords and have soft hearts; that strength and tenderness aren’t opposites, they’re siblings.

One of my favourite things about ‘Wolf King’ is how it subtly explores identity and leadership. Drew isn’t born ready. He grows into who he’s meant to be, fumbling through self-doubt, loyalty tests, and moral decisions. And isn’t that all of us? None of us just are what we’re supposed to be; we become.

By the final episode, I realized that what I loved most about ‘Wolf King’ wasn’t the fantasy; it was how real it felt.
The loyalty of friends who fight beside you.
The power of a woman who chooses her own path.
The beauty of someone finding their purpose, even when they were scared to look for it.

So yeah, maybe it’s ‘just a show.’ But also, maybe it’s a reminder that bravery is learned, love can be fierce, and sometimes, the wolf you’re afraid of becoming is exactly who you were meant to be.

I RECOMMEND THE SHOW HIGHLY. GO YE, WATCH, AND ENJOY.

Yours, wishing I could meet up with Whitley for tea at 4 pm tomorrow,

Njoks.

I haven’t eaten eggs since 1st September.

That’s a whole month of no omelettes, no boiled eggs with salt and pepper, no sneaky bites of chapati mayai. It wasn’t even supposed to be this dramatic; I just decided to (try to) quit things that aren’t good for my body. And guess what? My arms are smoother, the tiny allergic bumps have disappeared, and my skin finally looks like it’s breathing again. The only thing left now is hyperpigmentation from the chaos that once was.

But today? Whew. I woke up craving eggs so bad. Like, I could smell scrambled eggs from my imagination. Same thing happened on Saturday. And yet, I found myself asking, ;At what cost?; Because yes, I could eat them, enjoy the momentary joy, but I know exactly what would follow. The itching, the breakouts, the discomfort.

So I made other food instead. Less exciting, maybe. But peaceful.

And that’s the thing about life, isn’t it? Sometimes the things that bring us discomfort don’t arrive disguised as enemies. They come as little indulgences; the convenient, familiar, easy things. The ‘harmless’ eggs. The person you keep texting even though your nervous system begs you not to. The job that pays well but quietly kills your creativity and makes you question your worth. The friend who ‘means well’ but leaves you doubting yourself after every conversation.

We keep going back because we crave comfort. But comfort isn’t always peace. Sometimes, it’s just the familiar pain we’ve learned to tolerate.

So this week, I’m asking myself, and maybe you should too, what’s my version of eggs?
What small thing do I keep choosing even though it keeps choosing chaos for me?

It’s not always about big, life-altering decisions. Sometimes peace is as simple as saying, ‘No, I’ll pass on that.‘

Even if it’s just breakfast.

I hope you have a great day, and if you’re not allergic to eggs, please enjoy them on my behalf. Heck, I feel like eating four, alongside cetirizine tablets. Irresponsible? I don’t know.

Yours, with cravings,

Njoks.

I enjoy scratching litu dandruff from my scalp onto a white sheet of paper when I’m working. It’s oddly satisfying, like a mini ASMR session I perform for one. The irony? I barely have dandruff. I just enjoy the act. It’s soothing. Some people suck their thumbs. Others pull their hair. I… exfoliate my scalp gently and dramatically.

Life’s been a bit heavier lately. I’m navigating grief after a friend’s sudden death, and honestly, it sucks. There’s no poetic way to say it. One moment you’re texting the living loved ones, video-calling nephews, and the next, you’re scrolling through old photos, re-listening to voice notes, trying to make sense of the new reality, that your friend, is actually not alive anymore.

Yesterday, I cooked lentils, veggies, and ugali. It wasn’t the plan. I’d prepped everything thinking I had rice, only to realize the container was empty; classic me. I had two options: go to the shop or borrow rice from a neighbour. But because the spirit of ‘I’m not leaving this house’ was strong, I settled for maize flour. Honestly? It slapped. Balanced meal. 10/10. Would ‘accidentally’ do it again.

I hope you’re well; eating what you have, grieving gently if you need to, and finding tiny joys in the strangest of places. Like scratching your scalp.

I’m gonna buy rice later today. And coffee too. I feel like I needs lots of it, to mix with chocolate, for the sweetness and stimulation.

Be well, be graceful with yourself and others, always.

Yours, with an empty rice container,

Njoks.

It’s a beautiiiiful morning; the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and I’m feeling Zen. Zensational! I hope you are too, and by the way, if you’re still using Harpic, I don’t know what to tell you. The blue Hurricane is where it’s at, I swear. It cleans the toilet bowl, leaving it as white as snow… or as white as my teeth, you know? Haha.

Now, about this whole ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ business… I don’t fully buy it. Sometimes, a cover does say a lot. That’s why books have covers. Otherwise, publishers would be out here dropping coverless paperbacks on us like surprise packets of unga. They’d just sell us stacks of paper like we’re buying chapati wraps at the kiosk, right?

Covers are branding. They’re a snapshot. They’re meant to give you an idea of what’s inside. Of course, you can’t know everything from the outside, but often, what you see is what it is. A romance novel with a half-naked man on the cover? Chances are, the story inside isn’t about corporate finance. A cookbook with a giant chocolate cake on the cover? Trust me, it’s not teaching you how to grill tilapia.

Same with life. Sometimes the packaging tells you a truth. Sometimes people really do show you who they are in the way they show up, the things they say, how they treat waitstaff, or even the state of their shoes. (Yes, I judge a man by his shoes. Sue me.)

Like in jobs, if a company’s interview process is chaotic, the emails are riddled with errors, and everyone seems rushed, that’s not just ‘a bad day.’ That’s the culture. Same with dating, if someone cancels three times in a row before you’ve even met, you don’t need a prophet to tell you reliability isn’t their strong suit. Sometimes the cover is already the story.

So, proceed to judge a book by its cover, with wisdom, of course. This is where discernment kicks in; pay attention to first impressions, small details, and leave room for curiosity/exploration if it feels right.

But also, switch to Hurricane. Because if your toilet bowl is the cover, best believe I’m judging the story inside.

I almost said, ‘Have a great weekend’ cos today feels a lot like a Friday, for some reason.

Anyhoooo, happy Thursdaaaay. Stay well.

Yours, with a clean toilet bowl,

Njoks.

You ever notice how quick we are to pick ourselves apart?
‘My lips are too thin.’
‘My thighs touch.’
‘I hate my fingers because they look weird. My thumb is crooked…’

But here’s the thing, you have lips. You have lips to complain about. And they’re not cracked, or sore, or bleeding. Well, they may be cracked, or a little chapped (apply some jelly, honey), but you have them, right? At least you have thighs, strong enough to carry you through life. At least you have fingers to complain about. You can hold a pen, type out rants on WhatsApp, scroll Instagram reels and YouTube shorts at midnight (don’t lie, we all do it ).

That, my friends, is body privilege.

We complain so much about how our bodies look that we forget the privilege of what they do. Your heart keeps pumping when you’re not even thinking about it. Your lungs just… breathe. Your feet carry you from Naivas to church to your neighbor’s house to gossip over hibiscus tea. Your stomach digests carrot cake with nuts (yes, I’m guilty). And still, we look in the mirror and go, ‘Ugh!’

The truth? Your body doesn’t owe the world ‘perfection.’ It already shows up for you every single day. That’s a privilege many people wish they had.

So today, instead of nitpicking, try gratitude. Thank your lips for smiling. Thank your fingers for working. Thank your thighs for walking you into rooms where God’s favor already waits.

And please, love the body you’re in. It’s the only one you’ve got, and trust me, it deserves kinder words than the ones you’ve been throwing at it. I hope you believe me. Be well, and see you soon.

Yours, sweetly,

Njoks.