There’s a thread running through the majority of these memories, bear with me, you’ll see.

First memory I’ll mention: my bike from my father. It had state-of-the-art spokes, the brand was Skyway, and it is, remarkably, the only gift from him I can remember. Someone in the neighbourhood was so jealous of that bike it basically came to blows, but that’s another story. We’re talking happy memories only here 😅.

When my grandfather was teaching me Guadeloupean Creole. It was a playful, happy time. It’s something special being handed a language by someone you love, not in a classroom, but in the natural rhythm of everyday life, when you feel ready for it. (Beforehand I resisted learning Creole because my mum mainly used it when angry. In my mind it was synonymous with trouble.)

When the French Caribbean band called Kassav was all the rage and I fell in love with Zouk music. That irresistible pulse, its variety, the way it moved me. I was hooked. Some music I listen to; Zouk I feel in my soul.

When I got my very first keyboard, still have it(recent picture above), and started composing, tiny thing that it is. It didn’t matter that it had barely enough keys to be taken seriously. Something in me had found its outlet, and there was no going back.

The smell of ink from the fountain pens we used in primary school, and the sharp scent of alcohol from the duplicated sheets we got back then, the ancestor of the photocopy. Strange how certain smells can take you back to a moment.

The chicken on the flight to Guadeloupe when we moved there when I was 5. I was notoriously a fussy eater, but I distinctly remember being ravenous and absolutely ready to destroy that chicken. Destroying my food is very much what I do now, let’s just say I’ve made up for lost time. 😁

A few years later came a realisation that shifted something in me: that God isn’t to blame for the challenges in my life, and that He has it in mind to bring about the conditions we all dream of, and strive to bring about, openly or not. That quiet understanding has been one of the steadiest anchors I’ve known and one of the best gifts I’ve received.

A few more years on, and I went to the studio for the first time to record a song professionally. The headphones pressing warm against my ears. Hearing myself played back and not quite recognising the voice, because it was much crispier than I was used to. It was awesome. I was convinced that was it, I was going to blow up, guaranteed. 😁

More years still, and I wrote my first collection of short stories. I wasn’t sure I could manage it, after four unfinished writing projects staring back at me like the broken promises they were. But I did. And honestly, technology helps far too much these days, there’s really no excuse anymore.

There are many more memories where these came from. But these are the ones that rise to the surface when I think about who I am, and who I’ve always been becoming.

So did you find a common thread?

The majority of these memories are tied to creativity, because creativity is part of my core. More than a passion, it’s a lens through which I’ve experienced some of the most defining moments of my life.

But looking closer, there’s something else also running through these memories: Gifts. A bike. A language. Music. And then, years later, a song recorded, stories written. What was handed to me, I made my own, and eventually handed something back.

It’s the circle of life: we receive, it produces something in us, we transform it, give it back.

Now. Let’s see what other bloggers dare to share.

Agape.

R.