Anointed Simon

Kenya in the Valley of Fractures Kenya stands today as a nation walking through a valley of fractures—cracks not only in roads and systems, but in trust, conscience, and hope. Security has thinned, and fear now moves freely in places where safety once lived. People lock their doors earlier, walk faster, speak softer, and sleep lighter. Theft has become ordinary—not always because hearts are evil, but because desperation has been normalized. Hunger has learned how to justify crime, and survival has been allowed to excuse wrongdoing. Fraud has matured into an industry. Intelligence, once meant to solve problems, is now often used to exploit them. Fake tenders, ghost projects, digital scams, forged documents, and manipulated systems thrive behind polished language and official stamps. Corruption no longer hides; it explains itself fluently. It wears suits, quotes policy, invokes procedure, and signs contracts. Justice feels delayed, selective, or purchasable—and when justice delays too ...

A Parable of Shadows In the land beyond the veiled mountains, there was a nation known only as Nocturnia, where the sun’s gaze faltered, and twilight lingered like a heavy sigh. Its people did not rise with light but with the hush of whispers that crawled between rooftops and cobblestones. They believed the darkness was a cloak of freedom, yet it was a mirror, reflecting not their power but their submission. Children were taught of the Moon Keeper, a figure whose favor glimmered in silver shadows, rewarding obedience and punishing inquiry. Unseen entities danced in every corner of the night, hungry for devotion, feeding silently on the pulse of fear. Each ritual, each silent procession beneath the fog, was a thread in a web they could not untangle. And thus, Nocturnia breathed in rhythm with the night, a pulse the day could never imitate. At the hour when the first moonlight kissed the stones, murmurs and bells intertwined, forming an unseen symphony. Streets emptied, doors locked th...

My Unknown Life Partner The sun rose gently, casting a soft golden glow across the sky as if God Himself was painting the world with hope. I stood by my window, watching the morning breeze dance through the trees. My heart felt heavy, yet hopeful—like a flower waiting to bloom. I had always believed in destiny, but I had also grown tired of waiting for something I could not see. My name is Amina , and for as long as I can remember, I have wondered about the person God had chosen for me. Who is he? What does he look like? Does he think of me? Does he pray for me? The questions always seemed endless. As a child, I listened to stories of love that felt like a fairytale. Friends would talk about their partners, their dreams, and the way they felt complete in each other’s presence. I was happy for them, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was missing a piece of myself. My family would often tease me, “You are too serious. Just relax, God will send him.” But deep inside, I knew it wasn’t abou...

🌿 A Long Journey of Love and Reunion 🌿 When they first met, it felt like the world had suddenly become quieter — as if everything else was background noise and only their hearts were speaking. She was different from anyone he had ever known. Not because she was perfect, but because she made him feel seen in a way no one else had. They started with small moments that became big memories: late-night conversations, laughter that echoed in the silence, and dreams shared under the same sky. It was a love that grew quietly but strongly — like a tree that had been waiting its whole life to be planted. They didn’t know it then, but their love was about to be tested in a way that would change them forever. 🚶🏽‍♂️ The Journey Begins Soon after they fell in love, life began to pull them in different directions. He had responsibilities, dreams, and a path that required him to move far away. She, too, had her own calling — a future she was building with dedication and passion. The distance was...

  Dancing on the Edge of Becoming He stood on the rock as if the earth itself had paused to watch him. Beneath his feet, the stone was old—older than fear, older than doubt—etched with the patience of time. Behind him stretched a wide valley, green and scattered with life, villages breathing quietly in the distance. Ahead of him was open sky, pale and endless, carrying the promise of what comes next. His body leaned forward, one foot lifted, one arm bent mid-motion. It looked like a dance, but it was more than rhythm. It was decision. A moment caught between staying still and moving forward. The kind of moment life offers when you’ve climbed far enough to see clearly but not far enough to feel finished. The climb here had not been easy. Every step upward had demanded breath, focus, and the courage to keep going even when the path was unclear. Along the way, there were voices—some from the valley below, some from within—asking why he was trying, why he couldn’t just remain where it ...

When the Birds Taught Me How to Live Every morning, just before the world fully wakes up, the birds begin their work. Their songs rise softly at first, then grow bold, filling the air with a confidence that feels effortless. They do not wait for permission. They do not check the weather twice. They simply sing—because it is morning, and that is what they were created to do. I used to watch them from a distance, thinking their lives were simple. Fly, sing, eat, rest. But the longer I observed, the more I realized how much wisdom lived in those small wings. Birds face storms without shelters, long journeys without maps, and predators without guarantees. Yet each day, they rise again, trusting the sky that once frightened them. There is a certain freedom in how birds let go. They do not cling to yesterday’s winds or worry about tomorrow’s clouds. When a branch breaks, they find another. When the season changes, they move. There is no bitterness in their leaving, no fear in their arrival. ...

  Battery Low but Recharged Mind, Soul, and Spirit My body was tired long before I admitted it. Each day felt heavier than the last, like I was moving through life on a blinking red warning— battery low . I woke up exhausted, went to bed exhausted, and somehow still felt behind. From the outside, everything looked fine, but inside I was running on fumes, stretching strength that no longer replenished itself. The fatigue wasn’t just physical. My mind was cluttered with unfinished thoughts, worries stacked on worries, expectations I carried that were never really mine. I kept pushing, telling myself rest could wait, that slowing down meant falling behind. But the more I ignored the warning signs, the dimmer everything became. Even things I loved started to feel like obligations. One evening, my body finally forced a pause. Nothing dramatic happened—I just couldn’t keep going. Sitting in the quiet, I realized how long I had been pouring out without being refilled. My body was low, yes...

A Broken Heart but a Healing Mind They say the heart is what breaks first, and I believe that now. Mine didn’t shatter loudly or all at once. It cracked slowly, quietly, like something fragile giving up under pressure it was never meant to carry. One moment I was full of hope, building dreams with someone I trusted. The next, I was standing alone in the ruins of promises that no longer had owners. Nothing prepares you for the moment you realize love has left, but the pain has decided to stay. The loss did not come with shouting or dramatic endings. It arrived in silence. Messages that stopped coming. Calls that were never returned. Effort that slowly disappeared until I was the only one still holding on. My heart kept replaying memories, searching for where things went wrong, believing that if I understood the mistake, I could undo the ending. At night, the pain grew heavier, sitting with me in the dark, reminding me of everything I gave and everything I lost. For a long time, my heart...

 In the village bathed in golden sunlight, Simon moved quietly among the cobblestone streets, carrying his basket of bread, a scarf around his neck, and a smile that never faltered. To any outsider—or even to the villagers themselves—he seemed like the heart of the town, the epitome of generosity and kindness. The baker, the painter, the elderly woman with flowers, even the little girl with bright eyes—all seemed to mirror his warmth. They smiled, they thanked him, they bowed with apparent gratitude. But appearances, Simon had quietly learned, were treacherous. Behind the smiles and cheerful nods lurked a different truth. The baker grumbled under her breath every time Simon left a loaf on her doorstep, seeing it as a reminder of her own laziness. The painter’s cheerful brushstrokes hid the irritation that Simon had “shown her up” with his thoughtful deeds. Even the little girl’s excitement was tinged with a kind of impatience, as if she were waiting for the praise Simon naturally ...

There once was a quiet little town tucked between rolling hills and silver rivers, where the days passed slowly and people knew each other by name. In this town lived a man named Arin. For many years, Arin had carried a weight in his heart that few understood. Whenever someone celebrated even the smallest success—a new crop, a bright painting, or a song sung on the street—Arin felt a pang of envy. It wasn’t that he wanted harm to come to anyone; he simply felt that joy in others’ lives reminded him of what he did not have. Over time, his jealousy became quiet walls, and people began to keep their victories to themselves, afraid of his sharp gaze or the small sigh that seemed to follow every good news. Arin lived alone in a small, ivy-covered house at the edge of town. He had a garden, but he tended it with bare hands and silent resentment, convinced that the flowers bloomed only to mock him. His neighbors would wave or smile, but he would nod stiffly, and the warmth in their greetings...

  There was a season in my life when confusion wrapped itself around everything I did. I woke up tired even after sleeping, yet when night came, sleep refused to find me. Studying felt impossible because my mind wandered endlessly. Eating became a routine without pleasure, and even playing or laughing with others felt forced, like I was pretending to be alive while something inside me was slowly fading. I was busy every day, but deep down I knew I was not moving forward. I was existing, not living. The noise around me was overwhelming—voices, opinions, expectations, and distractions pulling me in every direction. Friends talked, days passed, and life continued, but inside me there was a growing emptiness. I avoided silence because silence asked questions I was not ready to answer. Yet the more I avoided it, the heavier my confusion became. Eventually, exhaustion caught up with me. I realized that if I did not stop, I would keep running in circles for the rest of my life. One nig...

  The Space Between Words I once spoke a name out loud, not knowing it carried more weight than silence. It was just a name to me—unguarded, familiar—but to her, it was a door I opened without knocking. After that day, the air between us changed. Conversations shortened. Smiles vanished. Distance learned my name. I apologized. Not once—many times. But apologies sometimes arrive too late, like rain after the house has already burned. She chose hatred, or at least something close enough to it that it hurt the same. That’s when my mind began its work. I tried to think, but I found I was thinking. When I tried to stop thinking, I thought even more—imagining conversations that never happened, explanations she would never hear, forgiveness that did not come. My thoughts-built futures where we laughed again, even though the present refused me eye contact. Time passed. Life, stubborn and generous, brought new company into my days. New voices. New laughter. Nothing loud, nothing deliber...