Not Really a Blog (But Maybe It Is)
Proof of life… I guess.
I felt like starting this piece with something iconic, like the beginning of A Tale of Two Cities (for the not-so-cultured, you might confuse it with that random line from The Dark Knight Rises movie)… but nah.
Iconic openings are for people who need validation from their readers. I’m just trying to answer a question a friend asked me a few days ago.
I’m writing this on my way back home after meeting my lawyer friend of 10 years last night in the Big Apple.
We left his Manhattan apartment, got on the disgusting subway, and headed up to East Harlem, straight to Accra Express Restaurant, for fufu and a soup full of a few creatures that nigga Noah allowed on his big ass boat.
If fufu in my opening paragraph isn’t enough for you, then maybe you clicked on the wrong link. I wouldn’t say you should leave, but I also wouldn’t be mad if you did. Cause really, I don’t negotiate with terrorists.
I looked at a Snapchat memory from 8 years ago, at Bloom Bar when life was much simpler: good friends, good music, pretty girls with their knock-off designer bags, and string bulbs that lit the night skies.
There aren’t many feelings in life comparable to being young, wild, and free.
Can’t show you the memory so here is a random picture of Maame Ama she hates so much
I mean, I’m still young now, but I’m wild only on public holidays and free when my girl says I’m free. Do I cherish those memories and am I glad I lived a little “recklessly” (if you wanna be a killjoy about it)? Hell fuckin’ yeah.
Would I trade my life right now for that period if I could? Oh God, no!
Forever Young, like that nigga Hov said
Some things are fun only when you did them before you had to pay taxes, lmao.
Anyway, I started writing again because a good friend asked me why I don’t write anymore… and honestly, I didn’t have an answer. Maybe working a job where I get paid to write made the whole concept of writing feel less fun than it did back in my Guggisberg House dormitory. Back then, I’d wait for the last bell telling us we had to leave the house, then finally get off my bed to take a shower.
A random painting I guess
So somewhere between the last song I wrote and recorded with my school son (who went on to produce for some of the biggest artists in Ghana) and this very moment where I just got off FaceTime with Lord Alexander about his London creative agency Pyrex House… the answer to why I stopped writing is moonwalking around in there.
Until I find it, I’ll be dropping these little pieces from time to time.
If you’ve read all the way to this point…you’re far too kind. You could’ve been reading anything else in the world, but you chose this. And I appreciate that.
See you again in a bit.