If I Could Whisper to My Younger Self
“Some nights I lie awake and wonder if I am carrying too much-dreams, regrets, fears, and hopes all tangled together. But maybe that is what your late twenties and early thirties are meant to feel like: heavy enough to shape you, yet hopeful enough to keep you moving.
My name is Richard Busaka. I was born in Nakuru, Kenya, at Annex Hospital. My memory is sharp-elephant sharp-so childhood moments still feel close. I remember Christmas trips to Murang’a, where we would slaughter a goat and sit around my Kikuyu grandparents’ home, laughing and living simply. And from my Luhya side, I carry the sweetness of my grandmother’s welcome. She would cut sugarcane for us, her hands sure and steady, and the very first night we arrived she would always serve kuku kienyeji. Those rituals stitched together my sense of belonging.
Right now, the biggest weight on my mind is America itself. The country feels uncertain, unpredictable. We have placed someone in office whose decisions leave us guessing what tomorrow might hold, and with 2028 inching closer, I cannot help but wonder about the future we are handing to ourselves and the next generation. I look around and see too many people struggling to make ends meet, opportunities shrinking, families stretched thin. Yet in the same breath, I cling to hope My prayer is that we find a way forward-toward stability, prosperity, and opportunity-not just here in the U.S., but also back home in Kenya and in every corner of the world.
When I think of America, Europe, and Asia, I see powerhouses-regions thriving in technology, education, and sustainable living. They set the pace, almost like gatekeepers of progress, while the rest of the world scrambles to catch up. If real global change is ever going to happen, these giants must open the gates, not just guard them. Collaboration, not competition, is how countries often called “third world” will finally become thriving, self-sustaining societies.
My first job taught me the value of time. It was at Circuit City, earning $8.25 an hour, every late minute was money lost. That paycheck taught me punctuality, taught me never to play with time because once it slips, it never comes back.
My first relationship taught me the importance of honesty. At first, my girlfriend’s mother forced us apart. But I kept calling, explaining, showing my sincerity until she finally trusted me. From that, I learned that openness builds bridges even where walls exist.
If I could whisper to my younger self, I would start with the obvious: buy Apple stock. Buy a few others too. The kind that look expensive in the moment but will grow into giants. Financial wisdom matters. But I would also remind myself not to let my dream slip away.
I graduated with a degree in biology, pre-med, with every intention of becoming a doctor. I told myself I would take a short break before med school. That “short break” turned into promotions and leadership roles-five straight years of climbing the ladder. I do not resent it; leadership taught me how to lift others, especially friends and fellow Kenyans, by opening doors and giving them a fair chance. But still, if I could tell that younger version of me anything, it would be: stay the course, go to med school now, and do not trade your original dream for the comfort of success too soon.
As for what anchors me now, it is my values: integrity, accountability, discipline, compassion, growth, excellence, and family. These are not just words; they are the compass I try to follow. They remind me that success means nothing if you cannot stand on truth, care for others, or stay grounded with the people you love.
And yet-I am still carrying rocks I know I should set down. Perfectionism that keeps me from moving until everything is flawless. Fear of failure that whispers, “do not risk it.” Comparisons that make me question my worth. Regret that ties me to the past. Overcommitment that drains me. Negative self-talk that tells me I am not enough. Unforgiveness, impatience, the constant urge to please others. Control. Heavy, heavy rocks.
But maybe the journey of life is about learning to let them go. One by one. Until all that is left is a lighter, freer self-one who knows the value of time, the strength of honesty, the sweetness of home, and the hope that tomorrow can still be better than today.
May the day break!
If this story speaks to you, I would love to hear yours. “May The Day Break” is a series capturing real people, real moments, and the lessons that shape us. If you would like to be featured, send me a message to info@awmagazine.org