My name is Christopher Nii Laryea Tawiah-Mensah; a melancholic and a Taurean. I am 23 years of age and I aspire to be a scientist and a writer. I was born and nurtured in Teshie, and have lived there all my life. I lost my mum to an illness at age 15 and my dad never understands and agrees with anything I do. He's a good man though. I have an elder brother, a younger step brother, an older step brother, a younger step sister and a kid sister, who I love dearly. I have a step mum who can never replace my mum.
My name is Christopher Nii Laryea Tawiah-Mensah, I enjoy banku and okro stew with mutton and crabs, and it's been long since I last had such delicacy at home. I enjoy star gazing at night and speaking to buildings my pockets are too shy to say Hi. People say I have a big heart and can tolerate much nonsense from others. Truth is, I hurt every time people abuse my loyalty for weakness. I want to travel the world just so I can leave home, but I don't have a passport yet. Sometimes I lose my way home because I thought home was supposed to be a resort of comfort, peace and love. But now I realise that home is just a beating heart and a breath to spare; Ticia and Francis, my best friends who I love dearly. I am too young to be depressed. I can't cook in my own house. I can't strike a conversation with my dad that won't become one-sided. I have to explain why I breathe, why I cough; I can't be a youth in my own youthful age. I can't spend my own money. I can't sleep peacefully at night without several bangs on my door. I have missed a good night sleep with the butterflies and the bees. Those nights when the angels never ceased to flap their wings and music never shuddered to jazz my nights. But thank God, I woke up the next morning.
With a hallelujah in my mouth, I suck up a new breath and decide that I am gonna make the day count. I am going to greet everyone I meet on the road to work. I am going to smile at my drunk uncle and fly a greeting. Who am I to judge him? I am off to a work I don't deserve. How I got there, I have no idea. If no one knows my name, if I won't be recognised in my own home, at least the doors at work have a clue. Welcome CHRISTOP that's close enough.. I'm most grateful, thank you, you electronic thingy. I need to put up my best at work, the wrestle from home can wait; chin up, heads low, I perform diligently whatever I am asked to do without complain. I am always glad I pass by the security post without they stopping me to explain my existence. Sometimes I go back to double check if they really just let me in without query. Sometimes I am not too sure it's me the doors open for; my eyes get wet anytime I see my key card with my name on it, and a photo which looks like me.
My name is Christopher Nii Laryea Tawiah-Mensah, I love arts, music and writing; that's my best proof of God. I write to give details to the things we find minuscule, irrelevant and intangible; to offer people an opportunity to be grateful for these things one more time, so they appreciate and live life fully, rather than just exist; the journey of life, the smile from a crush, the sound of music and the flutes of pain. The heartbreaks, the drama, the maddening laughter of a friend and the rice porridge which was supposed to be boiled rice..... these are the moments we live for. They make us who we are and chisel our beliefs to shape. So if your chorus be mar and your verse, weird, don't hold back the song. And if your dance is as crooked as the crooked story, swing a leg and bend a knee; call it 'The crooked dance' and watch it bleed the headlines. Whatever you are, whoever you are, be a good one. Stand for something. Write your honest truth.
My name is Christopher Nii Laryea Tawiah-Mensah, I enjoy banku and okro stew with mutton and crabs, and it's been long since I last had such delicacy at home. I enjoy star gazing at night and speaking to buildings my pockets are too shy to say Hi. People say I have a big heart and can tolerate much nonsense from others. Truth is, I hurt every time people abuse my loyalty for weakness. I want to travel the world just so I can leave home, but I don't have a passport yet. Sometimes I lose my way home because I thought home was supposed to be a resort of comfort, peace and love. But now I realise that home is just a beating heart and a breath to spare; Ticia and Francis, my best friends who I love dearly. I am too young to be depressed. I can't cook in my own house. I can't strike a conversation with my dad that won't become one-sided. I have to explain why I breathe, why I cough; I can't be a youth in my own youthful age. I can't spend my own money. I can't sleep peacefully at night without several bangs on my door. I have missed a good night sleep with the butterflies and the bees. Those nights when the angels never ceased to flap their wings and music never shuddered to jazz my nights. But thank God, I woke up the next morning.
With a hallelujah in my mouth, I suck up a new breath and decide that I am gonna make the day count. I am going to greet everyone I meet on the road to work. I am going to smile at my drunk uncle and fly a greeting. Who am I to judge him? I am off to a work I don't deserve. How I got there, I have no idea. If no one knows my name, if I won't be recognised in my own home, at least the doors at work have a clue. Welcome CHRISTOP that's close enough.. I'm most grateful, thank you, you electronic thingy. I need to put up my best at work, the wrestle from home can wait; chin up, heads low, I perform diligently whatever I am asked to do without complain. I am always glad I pass by the security post without they stopping me to explain my existence. Sometimes I go back to double check if they really just let me in without query. Sometimes I am not too sure it's me the doors open for; my eyes get wet anytime I see my key card with my name on it, and a photo which looks like me.
My name is Christopher Nii Laryea Tawiah-Mensah, I love arts, music and writing; that's my best proof of God. I write to give details to the things we find minuscule, irrelevant and intangible; to offer people an opportunity to be grateful for these things one more time, so they appreciate and live life fully, rather than just exist; the journey of life, the smile from a crush, the sound of music and the flutes of pain. The heartbreaks, the drama, the maddening laughter of a friend and the rice porridge which was supposed to be boiled rice..... these are the moments we live for. They make us who we are and chisel our beliefs to shape. So if your chorus be mar and your verse, weird, don't hold back the song. And if your dance is as crooked as the crooked story, swing a leg and bend a knee; call it 'The crooked dance' and watch it bleed the headlines. Whatever you are, whoever you are, be a good one. Stand for something. Write your honest truth.
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