What makes a man a man, a friend once wondered.
Is it his origins, the way he comes to life?
I don’t think so.
It’s the choices he makes; not how he starts things but how he decides to end things.
"Sailfish with Sardine Baitball - Isla Mujeres, Mexico by James R.D. Scott
Wealth to me is the way my Grandmother made the steps
at Elm Park station magic,
climbing the willow in our backyard as a child and looking forward to doing it and thinking about it all the way home in the back of the car,
listening to a new tune on the train,
writing music and being excited about a bass beat,
calling Jennie and saying two random words and have her understand a sentence,
walking up the road and understanding Bengali and Twi and hearing a wealth of languages
just on the way to the train,
the feeling of being nominated for teacher of the year,
the satisfaction of a breakthrough with one of our most difficult pupils,
the heartbreak when it is difficult and you give up but your colleagues keep you hoping,
going to the most shitty club in the area but having the best time with what you feel are the best friends anyone could have,
the way my Nana could find happiness in being given a cup of tea,
finally dropping in and standing on a surf board,
finding peace in the sea,
playing charades at the airport in a massive queue,
Rich putting petrol in the diesel tank and having a party in the forecourt of the petrol station whilst missing Newton Faulkner and no one even vaguely stressing,
mastering rice and peas,
thinking of his face just before sleep,
late night conversations,
band arguments which we enjoyed really,
being on stage having played a massive gig and the expression on D and Kofi’s faces,
being lost in a drawing,
believing in something with no question,
Writing this.