Ian's Blog

Someone once told me that the power in all relationships lies with whoever cares less. At first, it sounded harsh, but they were right. When you care less, you hold the upper hand. You’re less vulnerable. You can walk away without much loss. The other person, the one who cares more, feels the weight of uncertainty, the sting of dependency, the fear of rejection. But here’s the catch: power is not happiness. Caring less may give you leverage, but it also keeps you at a distance. It robs you of intimacy, of connection, of the joy that only vulnerability can bring. Power protects you, but it also isolates you. Happiness, I believe, comes not from caring less but from caring more. From showing up with open hands and an open heart. From investing in people deeply, even if it costs you something. From being the kind of friend, partner, or parent who leans in rather than pulls away. Yes, caring more means you risk hurt. But it also means you open yourself to love, to loyalty, to memories ...

  The Double-Edged Sword of Truth  Truth is one of the most powerful forces in human relationships and society. Without it, trust crumbles. Without it, justice becomes a mirage. Yet truth is not neutral; how it is delivered determines whether it heals or harms. A surgeon’s scalpel and a mugger’s knife are both sharp, but only one is used to save life. Similarly, truth can liberate when paired with kindness, or it can brutalize when thrown like a weapon. We live in a culture that often glorifies “telling it as it is.” Brutal honesty is praised as authenticity. “At least I’m real,” someone says after tearing another person down with words. But what if “realness” without compassion is simply cruelty dressed in virtue? Telling the truth is not just about accuracy; it is about intention. Do we speak truth to heal, to build, to guide — or do we speak it to dominate, humiliate, or win an argument? The Bible warns that “the tongue has the power of life and death.” Truth without kin...

  Kenya the Kiosk  “Somebody said Kenya is run like a kiosk.” It was a throwaway line on social media, but like all great satire, it stuck because it was painfully true. A kiosk is not a supermarket. It is not a store with a fixed price list, barcode scanners, receipts, or warranties. A kiosk is a place where prices are fluid, where the seller may look you up and down before deciding how much to charge. Sometimes you pay one thing, tomorrow you pay another, and if you ask why, the answer is always the same: “Bei imepanda” (the price has gone up). That’s exactly how Kenya feels today, especially when it comes to taxation. The tax regime is not a carefully designed system built on stability and predictability. Instead, it feels like a small kiosk where the shopkeeper changes prices at will and you, the customer, must either pay up or go home empty-handed. Every week brings a new announcement, a fresh “clarification,” or a circular from the Kenya Revenue Authority (KRA). You...