soft places for me.

[I write for me first. Just felt I should say that, because in consuming things others share on the Internet, sometimes we forget and don't fully honour or give attention to what a person — who is being vulnerable in a respectful way — is really saying, going through or in need of. One of…Read more soft places for me.

gratitude. 30/10/18

Wrote this last year and left it as a draft. Just found it and it's pretty sobering to read it again. I do struggle with gratitude. (Ghana also makes it a bit harder to practice 😅...) I realized at the time that I didn't have a practice for gratitude and decided to just write something…Read more gratitude. 30/10/18


If anything is overdue, it’s definitely something like this. Been waiting to blog about my own experiences and education about mental health, both of which really took shape this year. Will do that as soon as I’m ready. Thank you for the post and initiating the discussion, Ms. Anarfi.


Ghana ha deɛ yɛnni time for saa nneɛma no o. Deɛn ne depression ne saa deɛ ɛkekakeka ho no?? Aborɔfo na wɔnnom wɔ saa adaagyeɛ for things like that o. Nti gyae gyimie no koraa na pɛ nsuo bi nom. Kɔm de wo a wose depression!

The first time I had a lengthy conversation with Becky, we talked about choral music. We were in Secondary School, form three. She’d raise the song in her powerful soprano, and I’d back her with my alto. That day, we had the whole class silent and listening, till one of the house mistresses came in and well, yes, we were ‘disturbing’, so she punished us. The punishment was to present ourselves to the school choir director and sign up, so we did. We had fun rehearsing, and anytime I hear the anthem ‘How Excellent’ or the hymn ‘Fight the Good Fight,’ I remember Becky…

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