Edwin's Corner

  There's a reason society is often shocked when a man suddenly ends his own life, harms his partner, or destroys his entire family in an unexpected act. A week ago, local media released suicide statistics, and everyone was asking the same question: “What is wrong with our men?” But here’s the truth we don’t want to face: most men are experts at appearing perfectly fine while internally falling apart . A kinkless front. A polished shield. A carefully curated identity held together with silence, pressure, and unprocessed emotion. I know this life very well. My own journey into self-awareness didn't start with a meditation retreat, a therapist’s office, or some significant turning point. It started as a confused, introverted boy, spending most of his free time alone, reading the Bible back and forth. Not once, not twice, but three times by age 12, hoping the world would begin to make sense. It didn’t. What I read and what I saw people doing were two different gospels. At ...

  Storms never truly announce themselves when they start. They don’t roar into existence. They begin quietly—almost innocently. A bit of warm air rises from the ocean, drifting into the open sky. The surface below looks peaceful, calm, and unbothered. Meanwhile, hidden from view, currents start to swirl and gain strength. In many ways, that is precisely how the human ego develops. It starts in childhood, during those small moments of confusion or hurt that go unnoticed. A parent dismisses a feeling. A teacher embarrasses you. A friend betrays you. Nothing drastic, just minor wounds, tiny fears, subtle humiliations that quietly settle into the mind. Among these early emotions, the one that surfaces most quickly and instinctively is anger. Anger is the first warm air that rises. Not the explosive kind we associate with shouting or fists. No—this one is softer, quieter. The kind that whispers inside: “They didn’t see me.” “They didn’t protect me.” “They didn’t care.” For a child,...

  I was sitting at Café AMKA in Lonrho House on a quiet Sunday morning — the kind of Sunday that slows you down, makes you turn inward, and encourages you to breathe deeply. I went there intentionally to reflect on some aspects of my life, to sit with my own thoughts without rushing to fix anything or distract myself. After a few hours, something unexpectedly beautiful happened. The live band came in — the same group that plays there every Sunday afternoon. They set up quietly, exchanged subtle smiles, and started to play. Not for a crowd, since the café was almost empty. Not for applause. Not for recognition. They played because the music had to come from their souls. And it reminded me of something powerful. Some of Kenya’s greatest bands once played to empty rooms and refused to stop. Sauti Sol , in their early days, performed at Alliance Française when only the sound technician was in the audience. H_art the Band once played at a corporate event where not a single guest ...

  There is a great misconception that we can somehow master time . If that were true, I would have personally paused at least a hundred times on Mondays in my career. Yet we all know the truth: you cannot master time; you can only master yourself within time . Time keeps moving. It does not negotiate. It doesn’t call a meeting. It doesn’t apologize when you are not ready. It simply marches on. And within that journey, something fascinating happens. You can observe two people starting in the same place, with the same opportunities, same age, same environment — yet twenty years later, one has gained impact and wisdom, while the other has drifted, risen, fallen, stagnated, or collapsed. The difference is not time. Time is neutral. The difference is how they navigated the ups and downs. Have you ever watched a heart monitor in the ICU? When the heart is pumping, the graph rises and falls, then rises and falls again. Movement. Turbulence. Life. But when the line stays flat — silent ...

  One of the most challenging things people struggle with is finding their purpose. I know because I’ve been there, tangled up in a thousand threads, unsure which one to pull. Growing up, I always knew one thing for sure: I loved people. I wanted to help, to make a difference. But the “how” was never clear. The paths before me looked like balls of yarn — messy, twisted, impossible to unravel. Still, I told myself, “Edwin, just do your best. Prove you’re good enough.” And so I did. Some things I excelled at. Others — well, let’s just say they were painful lessons in humility. Coding, for instance. My relationship with code began in 1997, when high school me tried to convince himself that Pascal and C++ were his destiny. They weren’t. I struggled, resented it, and at some point, believed that anything I wasn’t naturally good at wasn’t meant for me. But life, as it turns out, had other plans. I later realized that those “unwanted” experiences weren’t detours — they were d...

I once heard a man talk about his Lazarus — and how it opened doors for him. That phrase has stayed with me. Over time, it has influenced how I see purpose, struggle, and calling. Lazarus, as the story goes, was a close friend of Jesus. It is said that He loved him deeply. But when news reached Him that Lazarus was sick, He didn’t rush to his side. He stayed where He was — for two days. Imagine that. You’re sick, and your closest friend hears about it. Instead of showing up, they just go about their day. The people around Lazarus must have felt overlooked, unseen. Yet, when Jesus finally spoke, He said something that turned the whole situation inside out: “This sickness will not end in death. It is for God’s glory.” If this were a modern story, we might accuse Him of arrogance. Who uses another man’s pain for their own “glory”? And yet, looking deeper, that moment held something profound — a pattern that repeats in our own lives every day. Walking by Light: The Awareness of...

Let’s start with an old passage you may have heard many times, but perhaps never sat with deeply. In Exodus 20:5-6 , God says: “I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing mercy to thousands of those who love me and keep my commandments.” For generations, many people read that verse and thought, “That’s unfair. Why should children pay for what their fathers did?” But look a little closer, and you realize: God isn’t describing punishment ; He’s describing pattern . He’s saying, “What you refuse to heal, you will hand down.” You don’t have to be religious to understand this—our choices, habits, and emotional wounds ripple through our bloodlines. Modern science refers to it as epigenetics; the Bible calls it a generational curse . Different languages, same truth. How a Curse Looks in Modern Clothes Epigenetics studies how trauma and experience influence gene...