Edwin's Corner

  He was seated on a curb outside the restaurant, crying his eyes out. Not the dignified kind of crying, where a single tear rolls down your cheek as you stare heroically into the distance. No. This was ugly crying. The kind where your nose gets involved. The kind where, if somebody takes a photo of you, they have acquired blackmail material for life. A watchman walking past looked at him, slowed slightly, then continued walking. Whatever was happening here was beyond the scope of his duties. Behind him, Nairobi carried on as though nothing had happened. Matatus blasted music so loudly it could be heard in neighboring countries. A boda boda rider narrowly missed a pedestrian and immediately blamed the pedestrian. Someone was selling smokies. Someone was shouting about avocado prices. Life went on. Yet for Mark, civilization had collapsed. Because inside that restaurant sat Cynthia, with another man, a white man. Before you accuse Mark of tribalism, racism, colonial trau...

  A few days ago, I watched a SpaceX rocket launch. Now, let us first appreciate the absurdity of human beings. We looked at Earth — a perfectly functional planet floating peacefully in space — and collectively decided: "You know what would improve this experience? Controlled explosions." And somehow, through caffeine, mathematics, sleep deprivation, and Elon Musk tweeting at 2:13 am, humanity has managed to make giant metallic skyscrapers leave Earth vertically. The rocket lifted beautifully. Employees screamed. People hugged. One man almost ascended spiritually. Another looked as if he had discovered purpose, meaning, and lower taxes all at once. Eventually, the rocket exploded over the Indian Ocean. Somehow, people still celebrated. Which honestly tells you two things: Engineers are emotionally different from the rest of us. Human beings can normalize almost anything if the company culture is strong enough. But while everyone was celeb...

Before you read: this story goes to some dark places — suicidal ideation, generational trauma, childhood pain, and the quiet despair that can live inside even the most successful lives. It is ultimately a story of healing and purpose, but it earns that light honestly. Take care of yourself first. Melvin stood at the edge of the building, hands buried deep in the pockets of an expensive coat that had never once succeeded at making him warm. The rooftop gave him a clean view into the lives of strangers—little illuminated aquariums of human existence. Across from him, in the apartment directly opposite, an introverted young man sat hunched over a glowing laptop, his face illuminated ghost-blue, fingers tapping with the desperation of someone trying to outrun himself through productivity. In another apartment, a couple sprawled across a massive sofa, laughing at something on television, the sort of laughter people carefully manufacture after years together so the silence doesn't be...

  There is a moment before every race begins that fascinates me. Not the running. Not the medals. Not even the finish line. It is the silence before the gun goes off. That moment when the athlete stands still at the blocks — muscles loaded, eyes narrowed, jaw tight, breathing controlled. Thousands of hours of repetition condensed into a few trembling seconds. The stadium may be roaring, but internally, there is tunnel vision. The body is waiting for one thing: the trigger. And the fascinating thing about elite athletes is that when the gun goes off, they do not pause to philosophize. They move. Instantly. The body responds before the conscious mind can negotiate. Years of conditioning take over. The race begins before thought fully catches up. Human beings are far more similar to that athlete than we care to admit. We imagine our lives are guided by conscious decisions — discipline, vision boards, motivational quotes, and the occasional "This is my year" speech ...

  The Life You Are Living, Did You Choose It? We have all heard this story. A wealthy man—burned out, exhausted, and carrying the invisible weight of success—arrives at a quiet beach resort. He has spent decades building, accumulating, and sacrificing, and now, finally, he has come to rest. And then he sees him. A fisherman. Relaxed. Still. Content. Not striving, not chasing, not checking his phone every five minutes, and just being. And something about that unsettles him. So, he does what most of us do when we are uncomfortable with someone else's peace—he questions it. “Why aren’t you fishing more?” he asks. The fisherman smiles. “I have enough.” The wealthy man insists—work harder, earn more, expand, build, grow, and one day, you, too, can retire and relax like this. The fisherman pauses. “And what do you think I am doing right now?” That question weighs heavier than most of us care to admit, because beneath it lies a truth we rarely confront. Many of us are chas...