The image of my father reading to me still runs vivid in my mind’s eye.
I remember all the times, he’ll come home from work and right after supper he’ll ask me to take out the books Mrs. Kwame gave out today, Mrs. Kwame was my class one teacher, so I guess I was about six then. Together we read the short stories on Janet and John_ I must confess I can’t recall the exact details, but I’m sure it went like the rhyme in Jack and Jill going up the hill, simple everyday English for my young developing brain.
When I was much older, between classes four and six, I spent almost all my Saturdays, in “Ashaleybotwe”_ I’m sure the spelling is so wrong heheheh….
Mrs. Mensah managed a reading club, in her home. Never had I seen so many books in one place, which was not a library. Each Saturday, we were to borrow a book, read and present a review the following week, she required that we make a list of all the new vocabularies we’d come across and look up synonyms and antonyms for each.
My father drove me religiously to and fro, every Saturday_ sweet man, that man.
I kept my first journal in JHS, form one. It started out with normal every day activities in school and at home. By form two, it contained writings about my first crush. From there on, I mostly wrote about him; I used a code name for him, just in case my journal fell in the wrong hands. By form three, point of interest had changed, my crush was a rather clam and shy guy, he never gathered the guts to approach me, I on the other hand was afraid of rejection_ I destroyed my journal before senior high school, it wasn’t as though it had deep dark secrets or anything, but during that era, my writing was meant just for me.
In SHS, I mostly wrote to release stress, I wrote about my life, my dreams, my friends, my family and of course new points of interest (wink), but mostly I wrote when something, or someone hurt me, it was my own way of dealing with things that bothered me, a way to try and understand why_ yes my school was an all girls, but believe me, it was full of drama.
In varsity I started to write poetry, I was never a literature student, but I loved the way poets played on words and rhyme schemes, in the simplest of ways, but yet with so much depth and meaning. I’m still trying to pick up on the skill, so do excuse me for all the times my poems sucked lol.
One thing remains clear to me, I love to write yes, but I love writing because it helps me deal with things, It makes me feel lighter, once I put it down ,it’s out of my system, perhaps then I’m able to look at it, whatever it is, that is eating me up, objectively_ yeah right, objectively my foot hehehe….
But seriously, I think its therapy for my soul.