essays

For years, I believed that progress demanded a price. Every time I reached for something I wanted, something else slipped through my fingers. But survival is a fragile kind of victory.

In the bruise colored hour before night fully arrives, an eagle drags itself through the wind not to survive, but to defy the sky that keeps daring it to break.

I grew up believing the world was simple: the people with the least should be the ones who complain the most. Then I left home, traveled, returned, and realized how wrong that assumption was.

Somewhere along the way, someone lied. They sold us the wrong dream — that success means screens, schedules, and status. That to matter, we have to constantly do more, own more, post more.

There was a time when the internet felt pure — a place of curiosity, creativity, and community. You could search for something, learn, and move on. No one followed you with ads.

I've lived half my life in Zimbabwe and half around the world, and that contrast has taught me one thing: life is easy if we make it that way.

I didn't learn about success from a textbook — I learned it from experience. From college and scholarship applications, to job rejections, to reaching out to investors, I began to see a pattern: success isn't magic, it's mathematics.

There is a quiet war being fought every day — not with weapons, but with trends. A war where originality dies not by censorship, but by assimilation.