Edwin's Corner

  I’ve been hurt many times in my life. Not in a dramatic, soap-opera way. No background music. No slow-motion collapse to the floor. Just the quiet, ordinary kind of hurt that sneaks up on you when you’re human and paying attention. The kind that appears when you expect something small—acknowledgment, inclusion, a reply—and reality shrugs it off. Like opening the fridge and already tasting yesterday’s leftovers, only to find an empty container and cold air rushing out to greet you, you stand there, staring, doing quick mental math. Who ate my food? No one answers. Everyone suddenly becomes very busy. You close the fridge a little too forcefully. It shouldn’t be an issue. But it is. Or when you message a group of friends, suggest a plan, maybe even phrase it casually so it doesn’t sound like you care too much. And then, nothing. No confirmation. No decline. Just silence. The digital equivalent of being left standing with your hand extended. Both moments hurt. One is abou...

The question was simple, almost playful. “What is the gift you hope to give the world in 2026?” The setting made it easy to overlook how profound what was about to happen truly was . Sema Toastmasters Club , the final meeting of the year. Cake on the table. Laughter filled the room. A gift exchange that showed we were among friends. I was there as the Games Master, which meant my role was to keep things light. Life, however, had other plans. Then Teresa Njoroge walked in, founder and CEO of Clean Start Africa . She has an unmistakable stillness—the kind that says, "This person has survived something." I believe in intentionally choosing difficult experiences. Cold showers. Tough conversations. Inner work that most people put off. But as Teresa started to speak, I realized there are levels of hardship beyond what we would willingly accept. And yet—those are often the very experiences that clarify purpose. When a Perfect Life Collapses Without Warning In her twe...

Here’s a truth most of us don’t like to face: one of the biggest challenges in life isn’t that we’re lazy, dumb, or unlucky. No, the real issue is quieter, sneakier—and much more insidious. It’s the gap between who we want to become and how we actually live . We claim to value discipline, respect, and integrity. However, our daily choices often tell a different story. We desire honor and reputation, but hesitate when sacrifice is needed. We want to lead—yet only if it costs us nothing. This gap isn’t accidental. It’s engineered. Psychologists and systems thinkers refer to it as the double bind : a situation where every choice involves conflicting demands, and no matter what you choose, you’re punished or at least judged. And once you recognize it? You can’t unsee it. The Double Bind Is Everywhere (And You’ve Been Living Inside It) The double bind isn’t hiding under your bed—it’s present in your office, school, family group chat, and even your dating life. Society sustains this...

I am sitting somewhere quiet, listening to one of my favorite music genres as it gently drifts through the air. There’s a cold drink beside me. My fingers are moving across the keyboard leisurely. In a few minutes, I’ll pick up a book and read. There was a time when this would have felt impossible. Stillness used to make me uncomfortable. If I wasn’t moving, surrounded by people, and doing something visible, I felt like I was falling behind. I confused motion with meaning. Presence with productivity. Noise with life. Looking back, I can clearly identify it now: FOMO. Fear of missing out didn’t just influence my schedule; it influenced my identity. And I now realize how many of us are quietly living lives driven by fear rather than by the values we consciously choose. That is the core message of this piece: If you don’t lead your inner life deliberately, FOMO will happily do it for you. And it will cost you your energy, your joy, your health, and—eventually—your sense of sel...

  Toastmasters Series: My Reflection on a Speech by Prudence Sembua When I first met her, she had a sparkle in her eye. Not the loud kind. Not the kind that scans a room demanding recognition. This was a quieter brilliance—an intellect muted by observation, patience, and an almost disciplined reading of the room before she ever chose to speak. There was a humility about her, almost demure, the kind that shows someone is listening deeply long before they decide to be heard. That was Prudence Sembua. Before I place her story in context, a few things matter for you as a reader. Prudence is a Toastmaster, and a relatively new member—a cub—at Simba Toastmasters. But don’t let the word new fool you. Prudence is an exceptional achiever. In 2018, she was the Best Lady Graduate in the CPA program in Kenya. She has received multiple excellence awards in her workplace, a blue-chip organization. Her track record stretches back years, and comments from those who’ve worked closely with ...

Toastmasters Series: My Reflection on a Speech by Ebenezer Makori Why is logic so tricky to understand? It’s a question I often ask myself. Not because logic is abstract or complex, but because true logic demands something very uncomfortable from us: humility. It requires us to differentiate what feels true from what is actually true. For most of us, that separation challenges our identity, our coping mechanisms, and the stories we’ve been telling ourselves for years. As a young boy, I often wondered why my parents had to be away. I was left to face a world that asked too many questions at every turn. On the surface, my life seemed normal. I was sheltered, fed, clothed, and protected by parents who were almost obsessively determined to escape poverty. And I later realized that obsession was not accidental; it was inherited. My father was the son of a widow who raised twelve children during one of the harshest droughts of the 1950s. Poverty wasn’t a phase; it was the air they ...