On being 25 …

Just two weeks ago, on Thursday, my clock ticked a quarter century old. I remember looking at the mirror expecting 25 to stare back; or traces of man-wrinkles beneath my eyelids and other fragile pieces of me. So it’s no fairy tale after all? Being 25? We all feel this way in our early twenties; that no one else feels this way.

I was not even interested in being surprised by party-animals this year. I preferred to quietly contemplate that I’m halfway through my 20’s. As birthdays come and go, it’s like climbing an endless mountain not even knowing if there’s a top. Birthday night, a fortnight ago, I was having my ritualistic coffee cleanse while swiping fork in a plate of pasta at an outlet in downtown and that old grizzly at the counter told me (after I claimed a birthday discount), “No one your age has a clue what they want to do with their life. And if they do, they’re lying.” I laughed because social media has been throwing all these ‘accidentally-made’ babies’ photos and engagement announcements to my face.


There’s nothing new at twenty-five though. Just my puppy wag-tail excitement and the same little habits. The defining parts of me. Those are the little tokens I give to people. Fictional characters are still real, and actually becoming realer to me. I’m expecting to find my Hogwarts acceptance letter today in my mail, and I will officially reply in the affirmative. Vanilla is still a perfectly respectable flavor. I still love words, music and nature. I love simplicity and the beginning of things. I still see a lot when taking the trash outside. I still drink milk from the carton. Quench my thirst directly from the tap. Love my mangoes sliced in their peels. My bread is always brown and unsliced. I hate rushing my duvet from the couch to the bed when I have company over. Or pretending the stool is for novels and cool magazines yet that’s where I place my feet for cool-my-heels sake. I’m 25 but that scalding hot food is still considered worthy of a tongue burn. 25 but there’re 25 constructive things you could be doing while waiting for me to text back. 25 and hates cats! 25 and introverted.

Maybe much isn’t meant to change. Maybe it does. I’m surprised that people still ask me if I want to hold their baby, given the number of times I’ve dropped and broken my phone. Oops, where’s my phone right now? The size of my heart has increased though. I’ve become more vulnerable by giving my all to someone; and making people ‘feel’ through my words. I know I look amazing, but friends, I’m a zombie inside. True. Just recently, I had to wrestle with the idea of what I thought my job would be at 25. Explains why I do have fantasies about moving to a foreign country without telling anyone, and becoming a contented farmer.

So, this post is more about the glass being half-empty.

As it dawned on me that this is the youngest I’m ever going to be, I’ve noted down tidbits that are going down very well with every seep of the herbal froth I’m drinking right now:

  • I’m God’s child. Yeah, I’m still a child.
  • Lol, still single? 😀
  • My parents were married when they were my age.
  • Being single is good. You get to sleep around; left, right middle, wherever part of that bed you want to.
  • Sometimes I pretend to be normal and adult, then it gets boring so I go back to being me.
  • There’s this lady who thinks I’m a magician.
  • I also think I’m a magician sometimes. The things I do when ladies are around?!?!
I also think I’m a magician too. The things I do when ladies are around …
  • It’s a wonder that many people believe me when I’m not even sure of myself.
  • Like my readers. I really cherish them. So very. I’ll do a shout-out post soon.


  • It’s not all about being too factored into the equation of people’s aspirations and pre-conceived life routes. There’s always a small window that people want you to fit through. But here’s to having own goals.
  • I admit, I don’t know how to do this. It’s a very wild venture. It’s like finding your way in the dark. And I know what that means to small toes when they hit the chairs.
  • Doing 25 push-ups right after I finish this line.


*i should see a doc*

*what happened to the fitter me?*


  • Screw life-hack articles on how not to suck and better your life and be happier. I just want to work hard, enjoy sunsets and maybe pet anything four-legged this year.
  • What are stuffed animals still doing in the house at 25?
  • If when I get to your house, first thing I say is, “Dude where’s the food!”, we are friends.
  • Two-five is about discovering who I truly am. People think I’m a clown, others think I’m a carefree unconcerned freak, others think I’m next of kin. However, playing ‘dress-up’ to make people happy is for teens in social media. Not too late to live and breathe my youth.
  • I’m learning to love without ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’. Without conditions. Without exit clauses. Without third-party approvals. Starts by loving myself, then I can love my neighbor.
  • At 25, I’m actually allowed to be spontaneous and unpredictable. Sometimes people want certainty, but I’m Nairobi weather.


  • At times I didn’t know I could handle what’s been thrown my way. Then miraculously, I did. I’ve known never to give up just because … hopeless. At twenty-five, there’s much to do in thunderstorms; to search for and embrace the hilarity of all times. Growth comes by looking at fear straight in the face and working through.
  • I’ve embraced living in a way that makes me truly happy. I don’t focus on what and how people label me. They eventually get tired and shut up; and I continue making a mystery of my 20-something self.
  • This is the last age I’m allowed to hop on whichever bandwagon looks the most glamorous. ‘Bandwagon’ here means everything, except girls, am I right? Being two-five in fact feels like I jumped into the most glamorous bandwagon. Whatever, I just love the word ‘bandwagon’!Bandwagon!
  • By the way, I just hopped on board the veges craze. Not that I quit meat, I only decided to sample more of what my ‘prey’ eats.



  • Twenty-five is finding joy in the simplest moments of life. It’s curious and easy-going. It’s thirsting for adventure and randomly checking on old flames. While early twenties are complicated fun zones to match up with peers while making mountains of minor life events, two-five is going for that walk, writing and listening to music. It’s painting the town black on Saturday mornings. It’s surprise visits and gifts.
  • There’re mornings when my room looks exactly like the middle of the woods. (Yeah, with animals in it too). There’re days when you all help me embrace my inner weirdness. There’re weeks people laugh with me and even at me. There’re times I disappear for good. I retreat to my corner like a dog nursing its wounds. There’re days I’m up there while there’re nights I’m down at the bottom of the barrel of humanity. Not all days turn up the same. It’s good I already know this at twenty-five. Everyone does. So here’s to letting go of the scraps and the old shriveled memories.
  • Everyone wants to be around when you’re successful. It’s natural. However, the people who really matter are the ones genuinely by your side when things ain’t fun. When it’s complicated and all downright sucks. Everyone matters, but these take a special place in the heart. The people who appreciate you with every fiber inside their beings; these people do exist. Yet, they’re much harder to find.


  • Rearrange and restrategise when nothing works. Change course of action to achieve the same goals. Things don’t always turn out as expected. I won’t say much about my college academic life. I should’ve been over and done over a year ago. However, 25 happened and still … doing school. I missed a chapter somewhere, and somehow, I’m crafting my own story. Never mind; it’s a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. Two-five is for going through it all without owing everyone an explanation.
  • Lucky for me, the ready-made social infrastructures, college and grad school aren’t dunzo.
  • After this post, everyone 20 years of age and younger will see me as old, while slightly older buddies are silently cursing me, “Cut the crap! You blurt out too much, it’s not like you’re turning 26, OMG OMG SHADDUP.”
  • Continue talking to myself more often and smiling at the inner idiot.
  • I should write more and more. I’ve realized the world is never the same once a good story has been added to it. Or even a sad tale .



Know what? The first 25 years of childhood are normally the hardest. Well. One thing I have in plenty is time. Time to try. Fail. Pick myself back up as many times as I need to. Find new sky to get lost in. Lose myself in the labyrinth I create inside my head. Wake up inside my head again.

Bottling up emotions at this point. Here’s to getting into a grove. Here’s to being in the zone. Here’s to finding my flow. Here’s to a Happy New Year! Killing 25 like a boss!


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