I'm Looking For It

I was coming home from work and was pondering over the words of Asa in her songs Bibanke, the way I feel, and subway. I started having flashes of images that describes the scenery of those songs. Everything I saw and heard we're being used to accentuate the song. I began longing for home. I accelerated my pace. I couldn't wait to pour out my thoughts, I wanted to paint what I was seeing. 

My hands began to quirk as I slot in my key into the key hole, I knew I had to calm down. I left the key and took a deep breath, I felt my heart thumping, as if it was going to come out of my mouth. Finally, i opened the door as it squeaks. I turned on my TV, and opted that it reads from my drive, I dashed through the musics and selected to listen to Asa. I was intellectually famished, and Asa was my cuisine that could satisfy my hunger.

As the words began to splat out of the TV's speaker, the flashes began to emanate. I quickly rushed for my iPad, and sat in my couch, ad midst the soothing rhythm and was hoping for the words to flow. Once I get these flashes, I subsequently begin to have an ideation of words and thoughts, but this was not the case. I was getting the flashes but I couldn't coagulate the words together. 

I began to gawk at the cursor blinking with the hope that one sentence from any of Asa's song could resuscitate me. Before I knew it, I had spent almost half of the evening playing songs with no ideation. Where has my inspiration gone to? I asked myself. 

For the next few days I tried to wonder how I had always coordinated that transition from images to words. As much as I tried to work my way around it, i still couldn't write anything. Sincerely, I think I have lost my inspiration and I'm looking for it. I'm suspecting someone but don't want to say it to her face. I hope she realizes the harm she's done to me. 

She used to drive me inadvertently, she was a complete inspiration. Each time I wanted to write, all I needed to do is to convert the images into motion, in which I'm telling her the story, after which translating it into words becomes like writing a story I've heard before, the words so flow uninterruptedly. These days it isn't so. 

She's such a hard worker who loves what she does. Her passion easily exudes and affect those around her, she is the best person I have ever known. But now I can no longer picture her in my mind, and it has been the hardest time for me to write. I'm seriously searching for my inspiration. 

I'm also trying to avoid the dissuasion that, it might be within me, as Asa will say it in her song 360. Something could be within you, but a little drive could trigger it, and ho la la, here it springs up, like water from a dead spring. It's within me, but it needs to be triggered. Thank God we live in a world of varieties of preconceptions and persuasions, so everyone can see this from a totally different dimension. Here is it for me now.

I won't give up on it, even if the skies get rough, I'm giving it my all and still holding on. I don't want to be someone who walks away so easily, I'm here to find my drive and make the difference that I can make. In the end I know, even if I don't find it, I'll learn how to bend without the world caving in, and to learn what I'm not, what I've got and who I am.

Waiting For A Sign !!!

I woke up very early to do my chores so I could avoid the morning traffic that could keep one in it for hours. I had spent hours praying, and was sure filled with the Holy Spirit. I couldn't wait to get out of the house, it's was the day I was going to get registered for my national service at the service secretariat. I pressed my white shirt, and my faded jeans, I wanted something I could move in easily. I checked my time as I dash out of the house, it was 6am. I plugged my ear piece into my ears, and splatting into my ears were contemporary Christian music, that kept my spirit alive.

It took me about two hours to finally find the secretariat,somewhere in Tema community two. apparently I was arriving almost at the deadline for the service registration, and there were a lot of young people who were there. There was a long queue that I had to join and as you would expect from young graduates, there was this long conservation as to why we still have long processes and systems in this modern age. I couldn't spare myself from participating in such an exchange of ideas. Explaining with facts, how all these long processes could be cut short with simple applications that can be designed by national service computer science students. Moreover, I still kept my cool, as I often reflected on the prayer and the scripture I read in the morning. I intermittently looked through my Nokia E66, either reading an article or going through something I had written.

As I was engrossed with the activity of the day, moving along with the queue, a young sleekly dressed lady came to sit few meters away from where I was with her friends, in the same queue I was in. What caught my attention about her was when she brought out her phone, and it was the same as mine. I had hardly seen anyone use my kind of phone, and was quite fascinated about it. As the day progressed on, I kept stealing glances at her, of which she noticed, and from a mere glance, I often caught my self starring.  Since I was ahead in the queue, I had to leave into a room for another process. Whilst in the room, I stood by the window so I could keep close eye on her. She had notice my apparent disappearance, as I saw her turning left and right to find where I had vanished to. It then dawned on me that I was actually admiring the young girl and if I had no serious intention about her, then I better quit starring.

This became the war of the day, as my mind struggled to avoid being in the flesh and being consumed by the spirit. My morning prayers were very intense that I felt it even hours later. I found myself attracted to this girl, and believe that she also  felt the same. Should I go say something to her, or should I wait for a sign ?

This was the question that tried to put my piety to test. On one hand I felt so much in the spirit and didn't want to grieve the Holy Spirit, conversely, I was thinking a chemistry  had already started forming, each time we had an eye contact.

After four hours, I had still not made any choice, and she deliberately flaunting her self in a discreetly nuanced manner so I could notice. There I was unable to move, stock in my seat, and trying to discern from the Holy Spirit. I remember telling myself, If God is in this He'll surely give me a sign.

I had finished my registration and it was time for me to leave, but my instincts won't let me, so I sat on a bench close to the entrance, hoping to have an obscure view of her. Apparently, she had finished her's and was about leaving. She deliberately allowed her friends to leave and few minutes later, about half an hour, she began to walk to the gate. It was like a slow motion, and the slowest I have ever seen. She walked bit by bit hoping I would be loosed from my bondage and jump in front of her to say 'hello, how are you'. She must have imagined me being so shy, and the best way to help me was to delay the time for love at first sight. She spent quarter of an hour standing at the gate resting her shoulders on the pillar that held the gate, optimistically expecting that at least it would be so obvious for me, and the heavy POP over my mouth would be let loose. Whilst I was seriously contending in the spirit like Jacob had with the angel, saying unless you give me a sign I would not let you go.

She finally took a long gaze at me and began to go, my legs became so heavy, and my heart thumping as fast as possible, I began to inadvertently mumble tongues hoping that the holy spirit would show up quick before she vanishes into thin air. Right before my eyes, I saw her vanish, never to see her again, neither did I receive any sign from the Holy Spirit. All I told myself was, if she is mine, we'll meet again. It's been three and half years now and I'm yet to come across her shadow.

I'm literally laughing at myself now, what!, I mean what on earth could have overshadowed my mind to think like that. Seriously, did I really need a sign ?, what sign was more than all that she displayed. I wonder how I had become such a half or slow-witted person. This was one of those times I had come close to finding love, that I find myself contemplating between making the crowning move and the indecision of waiting for a sign. I'm sure the Holy Spirit was somewhere laughing out His head out, shaking his head, saying, I have given you... a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control. I just can't believe myself, that I needed a sign, hmm, this incident opens up my mind to other opportunities I have had in my life where I sat overtime trying to conjure some kind of sign that will give me the approval to take that leap.

My Ghana Story

I WAS WATCHING the evening news, being saturated with reports from business forums, educational symposium, with a highlight of an everyday ghanaian who is challenging the status quo. This was sometime in 2009. Each time I turned on the tv, there was something going on that had positivity etched in it.  My mind was triggered and aroused to the growing amplitude of positivity and change that was hovering through the media, into our country. Quite frankly, I was ecstatic and felt enraptured. I was optimistic that my country, will soon become like the world leading ones with suzerainty.

Coupled with the advent of the internet boom; technology, business, education and socialization were all readjusting to suit the transformation that was soon to spread like a wild fire. Every where I went there was a conversation on what to alter and what to bring in. My mind was stirred to the full. I reminisce those days when, I would spend hours on my laptop over night, fishing for information about new technology, new paradigms, new education, just about everything new. I had a lot of facts, to talk with. My classmates would secretly come to me, and tell me how they admire my vast knowledge in various themes.

Most churches were also involved in sensitizing their members to embrace the new culture of change. The old Ghanaian culture was on the verge of being crucified. Though a lot of people were embracing this paradigm, yet quite a huge number of people still wanted things to remain the same way they were. Such people gave me a run for my ideas.

As the days went by and gradually translating into years, everybody went on doing what they knew best, hoping that tomorrow, the change will happen. I can say for a fact that, most Ghanaians thought the change thing, was something that we would wake up one morning to realize.

Two years down the line, it seemed the so called change and positivity was phasing out...everybody was getting on as usual, but for the generation X and Y, they began to explore opportunities. I saw colleagues and friends develop sophisticated softwares and applications. Some were pioneering and venturing into business development, training, full time motivational speaking, authoring, and a whole lot. It was one of the times I was really happy to be a Ghanaian.

I participated in online forums, that discussed transformation, I joined teams to help create and develop solutions, I was a hot cake for technology ideas and development updates. Few thought I might become Africa's Zukerberg. ~If only my balls could hold it.

Somewhere in the middle of 2011, one morning, listening to the super morning show, on joy 99,7fm, with Kojo Oppong Nkrumah hosting the show. And as usual, on a Thursday morning, at 8:45, Uncle Ebow Whyte would come on with his inspiring food for thought article. On this Thursday, I'm sure something denigrating had happen in the social circles that required the response of government officials. Uncle Ebow before reading his article, made this assertion that I would say gave me a different perception about Ghana. Uncle Ebow retorted to Kojo, 'you see, I'm tired of this Ghana story', he continued, but I couldn't pay anymore attention, my mind felt the resounding effect of those words.

Well for me, life carved a new path for me, and I decided to give heed to it, though it wasn't something I really wanted to do, it was a different alternative, which I have been trained to work in, but I might seem to be foolish and a flibbertigibbet to walk away from an opportunity of a life time. That was to take a job in the engineering industry, quite different from what I wanted to do.

But for the whole of Ghana, I never heard anything again, as the whole country sunk into polarisation of the elections. This time it was becoming obvious that we aren't really going anywhere, as structures were not well maintained and government officials looted funds to engender their political interests.

Just after the elections,on the 26th of January, the only Ghanaian statesman I have respect for and hold in high repute, Dr. Otabil also confirmed this assertion in one of his speeches. He spoke as he was building a point, "Quite frankly, I'm tired of this Ghana story"...at this point, I could reconcile this recurring assertion with all his classic sermons that highlighted significant roadmap and cultural realities that spoke to our pertinent situations. Sermons like 'Go Borrow Vessels', 'Do you understand what you are reading ?', 'Dominion Mandate' and the likes, though with biblical connotations.

Along the year, I saw a drift, Ghana was indeed rising,but the government wasn't responsible. Few citizens had decided to take the responsibility of changing their world. Again, my hope sprang up like water from a dead spring. I knew there was going to be a change.

From where I sit now, March 2014, all I can see is complacency. Ghanaians have really disappointed me. I have my personal resolution and determination right. But all of a sudden I have been awakened by a cultural reality. This is not the Ghana I was envisaging. The culture is beginning to stifle me. Over the years, my mind was focused and fixed on the new Ghana. My thinking and lifestyle had began taking shape of what I perceived to be the new Ghana. But like a beggars wish, I can only ride the horse of the new Ghana, in my dreams.

You'll go all out, oh Ghana is rising, Ghana is changing, we are going somewhere, all the positive believe and blah blah blah...for me my dream of the Ghana I thought I would see by now has been shattered merely by the cultural reality that has dawned on me.

Few years ago, I dared to dream that one day, my culture would have gone through a massive transformation, and our complacent attitudes of 3ny3 hw3, 3be ye yie, and fa me Nyame would have been replaced with probing questions and refuse to "take things as they're".

Government officials have proven the more, that they can never make this new Ghana a reality. My peeve has nothing to do with taking my dream and future in my hands, rather the cultural disposition of everyday Ghanaian.

Ghanaian Christian music just don't amuse me, with lots of shouting and few words to ponder on. Only few of them do really aim at transforming lives. When I listen to my favourite singers, and watch their documentaries, i see effort at transforming lives, other than just making money out of their talent. That's the purpose in the first place. I wonder if any of these singers ever stopped to listen to the likes of Kari Jobe, Audrey Assad, Darlene zchech, Matt Maher, Mattew west, Benjamin Dube, or the countless others whose beautiful voices could entice the most hardened of eyes to shed a tear ?

I'm just so exasperated when Ghanaians who know well that our country is etched with different dialects, cry out for one of them to be used as an official language. We in the first place are in the dim, hoping to find light, now we want a dialect to be our language, for the French and British to learn, before doing business here, we had long lost in oblivion. It hurts me when the substandard media, become the leading voice of the nation.

I'm not tired with the Ghana story per se, but I feel being choked by our cultural perspective. The moment you begin to rattle the English language for more than a minute, you are considered as "too known", Haa...I feel as if suffocated when my colleagues at work think I have a problem, just for speaking English oh...

The little said about the mafia spirit the better. The "me ba aha ky3 faction", always wanting things to look like the way it has always been, yet they lack the courage to face it, given into chopping peoples back, while smiling at their faces.

I just need a cultural change, a place where we are not judged as a book by its cover. Where we pay attention to life transformation, impact and really affecting people's life. Sarcasm is so much on the rise, everything has to be ridiculously put. And should you avoid sarcasm, you'll be considered immature. The truth is that this culture is choking me.

I met a young lady, at an event last year, I was recounting my experience with a friend, who couldn't wait for me to land, but cut me abruptly, with the usual Ghanaian tone, 'eeei be careful oh, these kind of ladies ehh, hmm'. Apparently, I was fascinated by her disposition to the activity she was engrossed with. I couldn't stop watching her sync her note pad, with her laptop placed on her laps, referring to each one as she explains something to those who were with her. Her English articulation and her indepth flair in literature. This is what my friend has a problem with. Besides, I have watched him loose a relationship of 4years, ask me who was to be blamed, oh the lady of course, but to me he was the major cause. On his account to how they broke up, the girl was simply complaining about his stinginess and lack of progress on life.

He would rather pile his money wherever suits him, than to give a pin to her, the only thing he does is to take her out, that's all. Meanwhile, I saw the girl sacrificed her time, and few resources to helping him. So I'm to take caution for his mistake ?...of late I have been seeing him around with some local girl, who can't wait to be all over him, with that 'yes me wura' look. I have better moved him from friend to acquaintance.

To be exasperated is little to mention, of my mood, when after offering to give to the church, which to me is giving to God, two friends walk up to me at different times, saying, "eeei you have money oh", a sarcastic way of saying, you don't have anything to do with your money enh. I boiled up inside, though putting up a facading smile. All I would have expected was, oh Dan, God really bless you for that bold step you took, may God richly reward you and give us the courage to do so too. Instead, I'm seen through barbed lens, as if being deceived by the pastor, which for some time threw a doubt on my faith.

Seriously, I'm often befuddled, at these idiosyncrasies. I work with a guy, whom we got employed together. He being more stingy, -as I can best describe- thinks it's quite ostentatious for me to rent more than a single room. That's just by the way oh. He lives in his single room, wears the same clothes everyday, buys cheap shoes, and lament for even spending a dime on food. Yet, has a problem with me, as to why I have too much money. Let's juxtapose this. I just paid, GhC 4,800 cedis for the two bedroom self contain I live in, I live far away from work as opposed to him, who lives in the range of the work bus, and of late, gets a colleague to drop him off after work. He doesn't pay tithe, and I will dread to see him give more than Ghc10, to his church. Who is supposed to be more loaded? Yet he accuses me of being stingy and not buying a car. Just look at this. It took a divine revelation for me to understand why he sees me that way.

I don't know why God just place me in a world where I have to deal with these arrant nonsense. My pastor, will best describe this as, God makes all things work together for good to those who love Him.

I have been so silent about this place...all I do is watch in silence, while I burn inside, and my dream being shattered. Few weeks ago, I don't know what came upon me as if like the baptism of the holy spirt all over again, I just don't take it lightly with anyone who decides to urinate, or defecate, or sell fake products. That's just the least.

Ghana is rising, but our culture like a hook held on to our progress is pulling us back. When I listen to people reminisce about the good 'Ol days, I can't find any difference. We just haven't gone anywhere. I cry, bleed and suffocate inside. I don't feel as a Ghanaian.

Church to some extent these days is also joining the local bands of 'we are Ghanaians', and have decided to deprive me of my joy in The Lord. The local songs sang everyday at church just don't get to me...the only thing for me the song does to its audience is give them opportunity to shake their bodies. I need the words. The words break me, and transport me out of my mortal milieu, not to mention that I can't even sing most of the songs, I had to learn a few so as to sing along.

Enough of the ranting, I will do what I can do best, but in the meanwhile - no, in reality time, I'll stick to my world. I might loose friends, but I'll better be alone than with another person who will infect me with his cultural deficiency

I'm not complaining, but I'm recounting my shattered dream of the Ghana I once hoped for. I wonder what I can do to fix this dream as I continue in my war against the cultural reality that is dawning on me.

That's Life

'That's life'...this is fast becoming my mantra, as I say it to myself, each time I come face to face with reality. When I can't afford something, or I can't have someone, I quickly pass it with, that's life. When I say it, I don't feel consoled neither do I get pacified, but it makes me more aware of my life and it's opportunities and challenges. That's life

 How many times I have fallen in love and it being thrown back in my face leaving me empty and soul searching. At times, I would make myself believe that I've got a problem...later on I'll realize nothing is wrong with me, and that's life

I recently offered to give to my church, and whilst I was praying and preparing my heart, so that I could get my blessings in return, I heard a voice (it was the Holy Spirit) deep and loud inside of me, telling me that God is not a money doubler. Honestly, this wasn't easy for me. I kept praying and hoping to hear the voice clearer. But for days, the voice reverberated in my ears and head severally. I though learnt a lesson in dealing with God, yet in reality it was hard to come to terms with. All I could assure my self was...that's life

I was listening to an article being read on radio, the article talked about the fact that in this life, we may never see what we ever wish for, and they might forever be locked in our fantasies. We may never hear what we want from the people we wish they had said it. This is nothing about life being unfair, but how life is probably supposed to be....it all ends up in my head as...that's life

Early 2013, I learnt to say the serenity prayer. It's one of which everyone should recite every morning. I have often times heard Fiifi Banson of peace FM, reciting it each time, he begins his show. I like the line that says..." Oh lord teach me to know what is right and give me the courage to do it, help me to know what I can change and what I cannot, and the wisdom to know the difference". I believe that the wisdom of life lies in our ability to discern the distinction and variation in the things we can boldly do and that which our strength and courage can't suffice. 

Life is full of incongruities and vicissitudes. Like the tidal waves, the fluctuations in life can drain us of our passion and peace. Life till climax, will never be able to answer certain questions. Questions like why do bad things happen to good people? No sooner have we plunge in to the faith, do we come out choking, asking questions, as to why we were almost drowning. 

For me, this very moment of my life, happens to be a time I have just regained my faith after being shafted by doubt. Doubt that softly permeated in, in my quest to understand sacrifice. 

I think my whole life, has revolved around understanding sacrifice. In a chaffer with few colleagues, I was awakened with the reality, that sacrifice means, I won't get anything in return. It may happen that I may receive a reward some worth, but the cruel reality is that I might never get any, and might even be paid with evil...that's life.

I like to be loved, when I love. I like to be given back, when I give out. I like to be called back, when I call someone. I like mutual respect and relationship. But life doesn't guarantee that. The better I suss it out, the better it is for me. That's life. 

Though life has it's vicissitudes, yet it also has beautiful moments etched in it... Discovering those moments can at times be dissuading, yet it takes perseverance. Just to have peace, you have to fight for it. Quite ironic. This reminds me of a quote by Tao Te Ching, "One cannot understand one thing unless he or she understands its opposite"... To understand faith, you should understand doubt; to understand love, you should understand not being loved...that's life.

I don't know how you cool off, when the uncertainty of life hits you. I hope you find reflection in this. That's life.

I Hope: Letter to Abena

When I first heard the  words to  Rebecca Ferguson's I hope, I tried to ask myself obvious questions, but starring in the mirror, i couldn't find the missing pieces. I listened to the song several times at respite moments to decipher how i'm so related to this, because i knew that i was some-worth related.  Like we say, time tells, so i left the box unpacked and hoped that time will tell. I have this undying hope, that i try to define, but its meaning is much larger than i can clutch. Time finally came, and at a wrong click, a text unravels this whole agitation and meta-emotion.  Then all of a sudden, the message sunk deeper. In the words of the I hope song (paraphrased)

"I used to...Look into your eyes so eagerly

and where there was cold

I wouldn't walk away

'Cause...love is blind... so blind

But after a time

I realized that for me to grow

I've got to let go

I hope life treats you good

I hope, I hope, I hope, I hope, I hope, I hope

I hope life treats you well

I hope (s)he treats you well"

Its time for me to accept, and sink it deep through my skulls, that all i can do is but Hope for you.

This song resonates with that song i first heard from the stereo of a taxi driver, three years ago, people would ask, if you've hit a heartbreak if you were caught listening to the song, but today, i understand every single word in it, i meant, Adele's Someone Like you. Actually, what gets me trapped is the delusion of finding someone like you. I like the word you used yesterday, -to explore, it's not been a friendly word when this is concerned, because of the trap of finding someone like "you" -the you personified. Here's how Adele's words described my trap (so to say), exactly what happened; emphasis mine

"...I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it. 
I had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded
That for me it isn't over.

Never mind, I'll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you too
Don't forget me, I beg
I'll remember you said,
"Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead,
Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead"

No need in reiterating those words again. Now, i feel like being burnt, and feeling the aftermath pain, quite relieving, but has a distant displeasing sensation. On my my way back home, this morning, starring through the window of the bus, all of a sudden i began mumbling out the words to Asa's 360, I found some inspiration there, and in three weeks, i finally laugh out due to my own sense of humor. What did Asa say;

"We don't have to go

the 360 degrees,

Now it's time to go the 180 

You don't have to climb

The highest mountain

For all you're looking for

Is within you

Open the eyes of your mind

Your ears and mouth

As I sing my song

Open the eyes of your mind

Your ears and mouth

As you hear my words o o o"

In the moving vehicle, I felt there's something in me i'm ignoring and looking else where...This is just another time this is happening to me, and at first i spent all my time killing me, i felt so inappropriate, and tried working on myself. But late last year i learnt that it's nothing about me. But what it is, i just can't pin it. But I think Asa's words are doing me some favor, but don't forget those of Adele, -read that again. Thank you, so much, for your friendly care and how you weaned me off without harming my respect. Thank you. 

Letters To God

In the movie "letters to God", Tyler was a kid hit with an illness that won't just go away. He suffered from cancer. Dealing with such illness at that tender age was quite challenging for both himself and his mother. But his ailment brought a lot of morals. 

Like any other kid, Tyler didn't understand why he had to go through such ordeal that denied him of his rights to play and run around like other kids. He found solace in writing letters to God, which he delivers to the postman. In these letters which he wrote daily, was the revelation of whom Tyler trusted. His letters included prayers for people around him,his neighbours,parents, friends and even the post man. His letters also included situation report of his sickness to God.

I find this incredible and impressive that a little boy with such a challenge that grounded him, could still trust in God and make efforts to talk to him daily. There were times that seemed everything was going to be al-right. Tyler was going to be free from Kiemo, could go back to school and play football. But just in the middle of celebrations, Tyler's health sunk in. 

In the quest to save Tyler's life, the postman, his best friend Sam,and his brother all came to know God personally. 
Though Tyler didn't make it, His mother became refined through the ruffle. His grand mum and all his neighbours on finding about Tyler's letters to God, also began writing letters to God. One ailment and a whole community was transformed. What do you do with your challenges?

No one other than my self, typically, will rend and screech my thoughts out looking for attention. I'll rub my pain all over everyone around in order to be pitied and sympathised. Unlike me, Tyler in the movie, though young, took the advantage to affect every one with his faith in God. How best do we deal with our predicaments, our pains and our loss. Do we go looking for sympathy votes or affect others with our defeatist mindset and blame others for our conditions or like Tyler, we turn to the only person who knows why we are going through such an experience. 

Broke But Inspired

I just have a dislike for the sun rays. It burns so hard against my brunette skin, which is supposed to be adaptable to the condition. On a hot day, I sweat like I've been locked up in an oven. Besides, when I sweat, I feel uneasy and unpicturesque. To avoid the harsh intensity of the sun, I hop into a taxi, and off I go...that goes with an extra uncalled for expenses.

This morning, feeling quite calm and poised, I planned to check on my investment and few others important financials, I have put off for long. Leaving home in the mid-morning, enjoying the warm breeze that tranquillize my mind. I hoped for a calmer day. 
Unfortunately, it's a Friday and everybody is in town, the traffic is terrible, and as the warm breeze is being heated to saturation by the afternoon sun-rays, it becomes unbearable to be outside. Taking a transit walk in between where I'm going, I feel unease with myself. Running on empty stomach, my migraine begins to emanate, what obviously would come on my mind, is a place to calm myself down, with a good lunch. 

Still on my going green agenda, I checked in at Bonjour, ordered a salad mix without mayonnaise, with some strands of Chips. 

Whilst, engrossed with chewing the lettuce and tomatoes, that tasted bald in my mouth, a young dark-skinned skinny girl, walked up to me, to share a handbill about the world poetry day awareness campaign. I kept the conversation going, not to listen to her, but I was actually starring at her. 

I gawked at her as if she had something going on...hmmm....I think she had something going on, at least I noticed. Her dry pink lipstick plastered on lips, so dry as if being painted with a kindergarten color pencil. As she spoke, I continued to gawk, and notice how I could hardly differentiate her face from her dark top ladies t-shirt. Her dark face made the lipstick distinct, with her dry face and a month old corn roll, twirled to give her a big head. The truth is, she looks so broke. As she steals glances on my meal. 

Though the conversation lasted for just 2minutes, yet I noticed a lot. As we were jawing, she brought out her business card from a 'vieux jeu' bag. I could only but steal a glance. As she handed her card over to me, I was overwhelmed and fascinated at her mental ability. She was up to something. The card read, she was into voice overs, voice coaching and graphic designs. That's just the least to talk about when it comes to young enterprising females. But what struck me, was how I had had my mind all over her frazzling war paint, and about getting dissuaded by her sweat grinning face, whilst she being self assured, that she was branding herself right. The truth is that, it's hard to find a grin, on anybody's face, walking in this scorching sun. She was inspired, even though broke. She taught me one lesson; though the sun may be hot, it shouldn't  affect our grin, neither should it kill our passion. 

As I took my last sip, of the lemonade, I hope as I step out into this sun, my passion will rather be ignited.  

>>written on march 21 2014 By Danyl Oppong