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Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. S defiance seemed to me now like Aunty Ifeoma. A freedom to be, to do. Was my first book for 2015. The first time I heard about Adichie was through her TED. Lecture titled The danger of the Single Story.
Maybe there is some justice after all as the American Attorney General Loretta Lynch is actually a woman! What are their promises to the people of Trinidad and Tobago? Use the media especially Murdochesque type e.
Tender Tuesday- My Word for 2017. My word for 2017 is Presence. I just knew what my word was in my head. But I also felt I am already engaged in that quite a lot. And then I saw the word PRESENCE.
Divine Direction and Glimpses of Pasts. It is funny how when you go looking for something, you do not find it but you stumble upon related things or ties from the past. This entry was posted on February 24, 2014, in Uncategorized. Night has reared it shady head. My mind begins to unwind. Aching muscles remind me the prices I paid along this journey. Eyes burn from visions flashing all around.
Every single day I learn a little more about this state called being human. I learn that struggles are part of our very existence. It can influence, shape, even manipulate. Struggle is only part of the story because from that resistance it can also create adaptation, design and purpose. Being sincere, being truthful can be good and it can be painful, but it is trustworthy.
Recording highlights, opportunities, successes. February Reading 2014 Book List Part 2. Quite a list of contrasts this month, some quite out of my normal favourite read. Police ; Jo Nesbo.
Tender Tuesday- My Word for 2017. My word for 2017 is Presence. I just knew what my word was in my head. But I also felt I am already engaged in that quite a lot. And then I saw the word PRESENCE.
Vex Vaudlain, writing for the Muse Impaired. Writing tips and tricks, short stories, poetry and serials. We Are - An Original Poem. Judge me not, my friend. Judge not the words from my tongue. Judge not the colour of my skin. Or the god I worship. Can you not see, my friend? Can you not see my history gone,. The loss my elders, my children, my kin,. All to your violent grip? Are we not one, my friend? Do we not bleed the same red? Is there no dream that we share? That much is true.
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