The Musings of a 32-Year-Old Single Woman in Nairobi

I have a good job, no debt, no husband, and no children. By all accounts, I am happy—truly, I am.

But some nights, when the city quiets and the world slows, my inner self whispers: We were not made to be alone.

I have so much to give, but no one to receive.
So many stories to tell, but no one to listen.

If you ask why I am single at this age, I will tell you the truth—I had work to do. On myself. On healing. On growing.

I am a firstborn who carried the weight of responsibility too soon. I stepped up when life demanded it, and gave parts of myself before I even understood who I was. But now? Now, all of that is behind me.

I live for me.
I chase dreams for me.
I feed only my mouth.

And suddenly, the world is beautiful. Open. Full of choices. For the first time, I feel free.

Yet in those fleeting moments of bliss, a quiet longing tugs at my sleeve. A gentle tap on my shoulder, a whisper in my ear—Companionship. Love. A shared life.

And so, a sigh escapes me.

I know my person will come. Someday. But tonight… tonight, I just wish he were already here.

This is not a desperate plea. It is simply a voice, hoping the world is listening.