Storytelling

A beautiful awakening

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As a child, long before any diagnosis of clinical depression, I felt its claws digging its way into parts of me hidden from the world.

And as with any problem, we cannot treat what we do not know, or understand.

But I found unlikely help and great encouragement from stories.

In the pages of the many books my dad bought me, I found solace and inspiration. But these were also to be found in the multitude of stories my grandfather and grandmother told me and my cousins.

My grandad in particular loved telling us about his time growing up in colonial Trinidad; and defying the limitations set upon him as a mixed race man of colour.

This communal sharing of stories in my family fostered trust, loyalty and respect. It was almost sacred – esoteric knowledge known only to those within our family walls. (more…)

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To Dad with love

Photo by me :)

Photo by me 🙂

On the other end of the phone Dad was rummaging through storage boxes.

“Oh look, I found one of your old drawings. You drew me a mermaid and it says ‘Happy Birthday Dad” he said bursting into laughter.

I chuckled as nostalgia overcame me.

Dad had migrated when I was three to make a better life for us. Like most families, our stories were complex.

I grew up mostly without his physical presence but he was always there.

He phoned as often as he could, sent me whatever I needed and ensured my library was ever growing. There was always a new storybook or some crafty device to harness my creativity. (more…)