Never date a journalist unless it’s urgent; From a distance, journalists look thrilling, always in the middle of action, stories, cameras, and breaking news.

But loving one up close is an entirely different assignment. It’s not romance as you imagined it; it’s survival training with deadlines.

For starters, their time does not belong to them. It belongs to the newsroom, the editor, the bulletin, and whatever just “broke” five minutes before your date.

You will get used to last-minute cancellations, rushed phone calls, and apologies typed at lightning speed.

Privacy is also a myth. Every story you tell becomes potential background research.

Nothing is ever just a story—you’re unknowingly giving an interview.

Food? Oh, they love food—with passion. Not the quiet dinner kind, but the loud, competitive, menu-analyzing, group-ordering chaos.

They will fight over nyama choma plates like it’s a national debate. And what do you mean we are almost fighting over few pieces of mutura???

Then there’s the noise. Journalists live in a world of constant chatter—arguments, phone calls, analyses, debates, and loud opinions.

Silence becomes a rare luxury. Even on a peaceful evening, someone is replaying an interview, rewriting a script, or arguing about a headline.

And let’s talk about curiosity. Nothing is private. Your childhood, your exes, your secrets, everything becomes potential “background context.”

Even a spoon! A journalist will write about you. About your ugly nose and big forehead.

Madam writer will be there having her favourite cocktail but creating an article in her mind, why you can’t correctly use the fork and knife.

And why don’t you even have a beard, at 37? Funny right? Fear these people. They’ll write bad things about you.

They don’t mean harm; their minds are just wired for investigation. “Scattered minds as my fellow Diana Makokha would put it, like yooh.

Then there’s the social life—or lack of it. Journalists operate on borrowed time.

Weekends, holidays, and even major life moments bow to assignments and bulletins. They are all flexible when a story demands attention.

You could plan a candlelit dinner only for it to be cancelled because “something just broke.” Again.

And yet, with all this chaos, journalists still manage to find love—mostly with each other.

At this point these people should just date each other buana, because what is this? Only someone living the same madness can fully understand it.

Only one who understands missed calls, emotional fatigue, and erratic schedules can survive the madness.

Just look around newsrooms and you won’t miss finding a couple.

Legal couple or otherwise, but yes – you’ve definitely come across one or two. And it’s pretty cool, no?

See, a writer, an editor, a camera person, and anyone in the media industry is always assumed to be an exciting human.

Lies. This is one fat lie that y’all out there believe or are made to believe. You haven’t met a very boring journalist!

Actually, a good number of these people are not as exciting as they sound behind the mics, in front of the cameras, and in newspapers.

A good number of them are just keyboards and mic warriors but very boring pieces of humans in real life.

You’ll be there seated with them waiting to hear interesting stories, and they’ll be staring at a bottle of wine wondering who in the name of alcohol just woke up and decided to brand a wine “Four Cousins”. Very boring humans Aisee.

These guyz are great boozers; Alcohol walks hand in hand with the trade.

After long hours of chasing tragedy and chaos, the bottle becomes the unofficial therapist in newsroom corridors.

So if you’re thinking of dating a journalist, do it only if your heart is brave, your patience endless, and your expectations adjustable by the hour. Because loving a journalist is not soft news—it’s breaking, continuous, and always on deadline.