I am Kimbia Kahlamai, and my name is more than just a label—it's a legacy. My mother, a former marathon runner, named me Kimbia, which means "run" in Kiswahili. When she found out she was pregnant with me, she gave up the race to focus on me, but the name stuck. Kiswahili is spoken in Kenya, home to some of the world's greatest marathon runners. She loved the sound of it and thought it was fitting—a name that could carry the weight of her past achievements. She always told me that "Kimbia" wasn't just a name, it was a reminder to keep running, keep striving. But I never asked for that.
Now, at 18, I'm a biomedical engineering student. It's what I do, what I've always done—analyzing, solving, building. I chose this path because I want to save lives, fix broken things, make sense of the world around me. But there's one thing I can never fix—my fear of commitment.
You see, I'm not scared of much. I'm outspoken, not socially anxious. Infact social anxiety is afraid of me. I'm just selectively social. But commitment? That's a different story. It's like this invisible wall I can't break through, no matter how much I want to.
I've never talked about my father—he left when I was five. That's all I need to say about him. My mother and I have always been enough.
And yet, here I am. I just had my first breakup.
It all started innocently enough. We met online through a debate in a group about artificial intelligence and its effect on human creativity. I argued that AI was a threat to creativity, while he—Alvin—believed it could enhance it. His arguments were compelling, and honestly, I found his passion for the subject intriguing. We couldn't just leave it at that, so he slid into my DMs, and we started talking. What started as a discussion about technology turned into late-night chats, and before I knew it, I was talking to him every day.
I'm a flirt. I admit it. I enjoy the attention, enjoy keeping things light, never letting it go too far. But with Alvin, something shifted. I liked him in a way I hadn't liked anyone before. He was different. He was persistent, and his words had weight. They weren't just compliments—they were promises.
So when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I hesitated. I didn't know if I was ready for this, but part of me wanted to try. I said yes. Two weeks in, I started to feel the pressure—my walls began to close in. I was overthinking everything. What if this went too far? What if I couldn't escape? What if it got real? So, I tried to break up with him.
But Alvin didn't let me go that easily. He convinced me to stay, told me we could take things slow. I agreed. And for a while, things were great. He wasn't like the others, each one had shown interest, each one I had pushed away, not because I didn't care, but because I was too scared. But with Alvin, I allowed myself to believe that maybe this time could be different. Maybe this time, it would work.
He'd text me every night, moments I always looked forward to. "I might not be your dad, but I would like to support you in any way I can," he would say when I turned down his help. I liked how intentional he was about us, about building a future. For the first time, I could see myself in a relationship without running.
But about a month after that first breakup attempt, the doubts returned. I began overthinking again. The texts were slower, and I convinced myself that maybe I wasn't ready. Maybe he wasn't the one. The fear hit me hard. And this time, I wasn't going to let him talk me out of it.
A few days later, I finally did it. I sent the real breakup message. The one I had been avoiding. I told him I felt like he didn't love me anymore. I blamed it on his lack of communication, the way he had stopped texting as frequently because of his project. I said it was the lack of effort on his part that made me feel distant, that made me believe that maybe we weren't meant to be. The truth was, I was scared. I wasn't ready for commitment.
And in my typical fashion, I deleted my WhatsApp account after sending the message. I didn't want him to convince me to stay. I knew he deserved better than an on-off girlfriend, someone who couldn't commit and was constantly running away. He deserved stability, something I couldn't offer.
But as soon as I hit send, I felt this rush of emptiness.
I sat on my bed, the silence of the room pressing in around me. My heart ached, but I convinced myself it was the right thing to do. I had to let him go. He deserved someone who could give him what he needed, and I just couldn't.
I thought about all the boys I had rejected in high school—Daniel, James, Caleb. Each one had been different, but each one had shown me affection, and each time, I had run. I told myself it was because I was focused on my studies, that I was too young for relationships. But deep down, I knew the truth. I was scared. Scared of love. Scared of what it would mean to open up and trust someone. Scared that, once I did, I wouldn't be able to get out.
Tears slipped down my cheeks as I sat there, asking myself why I was so afraid. Why couldn't I just let go and let myself fall? Maybe one day, I'd figure it out. But for now, I was alone, the ties I had formed with Alvin slipping away into nothing.
And I ran. Again!