A New Beginning

I suck at first impressions. Or at least I think I do. I never know what to do with myself. Do I smile all the time or keep a straight face? Do I have to laugh at all the jokes or smile instead? Do I hold back or overshare? What does it mean to overshare anyway? Am I weird if they don’t like me? Or rather if they do like me? Should I be okay with whatever happens or do I need another introspection session? More importantly, which part of myself should I show?

Before I hop onto this never-ending train of thought. I would like to attempt an introduction. You know, first impressions and all.

Hi. My name is Nana Akua Agyeiwaa Nyameba (but you can call me Nana), and I am a writer. A long time ago, I had a blog (no, not this one). One day, I decided that it wasn’t entirely… Me. So I deleted it (Trust me, it made so much sense at the time). I wasn’t sure if I’d ever write again but I promised myself that if I did, I’d be honest and true to who I am.

I should not have done that.

The journey back to this moment has been full of self-doubt, and more self-doubt. I had no idea what to expect when I set out to find myself. But, it definitely wasn’t always feeling like the writer within me died one day when I wasn’t looking, and didn’t even give me the chance to say goodbye. I was angry.

But now, I am glad. You see, in the time that I’ve been ‘away’, I’ve had to face or deal with certain parts of myself I’d have otherwise avoided. I’ve found out about certain interests of mine and also, things I really don’t like.

I also found out last week that my neighbour is called Amel (and we’ve been neighbours for almost four years. Don’t judge!)

There are a lot of things about myself I still don’t know. And that’s okay (I learnt that recently). I just need to be kind to myself and realize that change is okay too.

I really don’t know what else to say. Introductions have never been my thing. But if you stick around long enough, you just might like me (I hope).

So welcome, Stranger-turning-Friend, to my bubble.

Please, like me!

I would like to hear your thoughts. On anything really. A part of this never-ending journey to self-discovery is keeping an open mind. If there’s anything you would like to see on this site or even talk about, kindly leave a comment and I will do my best to come through for you.

You can also find me on twitter or send me an email. (I’m new on social media so a follow will do wonders for my ego! No pressure. haha)

I’m going to go now.

See you same time next week!

Ciao! 😘

26th March


I never kept “important” dates.

I don’t know when I accepted Christ. I don’t know when I started speaking in tongues. I don’t know when I had my first kiss. I don’t know my first day in uni (both times).

Okay. I do know these days. I just don’t know the dates.

Today though. Today’s important. Today is my birthday.

I’ve had quite a number of those. Birthdays, I mean. Each one different from the next. But somehow, they are all so similar.

It starts a few days or weeks before. I’m quite excited but trying not to be because history has proven that they never quite cut it for me. Leaving me utterly disappointed at the end of the day, and reaffirming my theory about expectations leading to disappointments.

By the night before I’m truly anxious. I’m never quite sure whether the anxiety is because I’m right, or because every bone in me is hoping I’m wrong.

Then the first call. Usually a girl. I’m happy. At least someone stayed up for me. I might post something online that reminds people it’s my birthday and suddenly, the wishes come flooding in. Some very impersonal, others too personal. I’m glad I’m not spending it alone.

Then I begin to wonder, will I get gifts this year? Something edible? Something I’d have a year from now? Would it be a thoughtful gift? Something planned for weeks? Or something last minute? Would it be utterly impersonal? Would I spend the rest of my life wondering if they know me at all? Or rather they know me too well? Most of all, would I like it? Or perhaps, even love it?

I would chastise myself. Saying that the mere fact that some people remembered is enough. I would remind myself that the world does not revolve around me. I don’t “deserve” anything and should be grateful for whatever gesture or gift I receive.

I lose it.

I wonder if I’m allowing a gift, or the lack of it, define my self worth. Not everyone cares about these things. And that’s okay. Right?

It has to be okay. I can’t expect anything from anyone. They don’t owe me anything.

Then I receive a gift. Something I probably never wanted/needed or both. But I’m so happy. Happy that someone thought of me long enough to get me something. Happy that they gave me a gift to celebrate. Happy that there’s someone out there who thinks I deserve one of those.

Yet sad.

Sad that I didn’t really get much. It’s the realisation that I could’ve been showered with gifts from loved ones but wasn’t. That’s what knocks the wind out of my chest.

But that’s not fair to them. That’s an unfair expectation from people who have no idea I am expecting something.

So I blame myself.

For never being able to tell people exactly how I feel. And lying about how it’s no big deal.


It’s been a year and half since I lost my father. Not literally anyway. But people don’t need to know that.

People ask questions. And sometimes, most times, they are not ready for the answers. Even if they were, I am not. Not yet anyway. They don’t need to know that.

There were no goodbyes.

I left home one day, and when I tried to return, there wasn’t a home to return to.

I dealt with the new change like I deal with every major change in my life. I keep it moving. I move on, and keep going till it becomes normal. Then it hits me, hard. When it does, I ride the wave of depression… Or whatever comes with it.

It sounds like I throw the word depression around a bit too loosely to be taken seriously. Truth is, I never knew the name of everything I have been dealing with since childhood. And now that I do, I’m scared to accept it. Call it by its name. So I throw it around instead, hoping it loses balance and falls off the grid. Never to return.

Through some of those dark times, for all of his flaws, my father was there in his own way. Though most of the time, he was the trigger anyway.

There is something about losing someone that makes you remember them as better people than they really were. Perhaps it’s a coping mechanism. I’m not sure. I’m not particularly glad about that.

It’s been a year and a half since I lost my father.

I hope I don’t see him again.

Love out loud

You are the very best of me.

I always wanted to love out loud.

I wanted to kiss and laugh and hold hands

I wanted to fight about food and sports and cars

I wanted to endure at least one awkward moment, like the walk of shame or being walked in on by a family member

I wanted the late night drives and walks on the beach

I wanted to get arrested for whatever reason and make it out of the whole ordeal stronger, together

I wanted to cry for hours and call it allergies or a twig in my eye

I wanted to make a meal and forget to add salt or perhaps add too much salt and watch it being eaten in fake joy

I wanted to throw a surprise party and get frustrated because I almost messed it up

I wanted to…

Oh God, I wanted to do a lot of things

I still do

I’ve always wanted to love out loud

I’m actually looking forward to it

Home at last

I always thought that moving back home would be like in the novels I read growing up

I thought there’d be a party with all my friends and family present to say Welcome and We missed you

I thought we’d laugh and make jokes about the great times we shared before I left and perhaps hint on the future we might share

I thought my family might even male me drink a glass of champagne or two because I should live a little

I thought you’d be by my side, sharing jokes about how hard it was to keep the whole affair a secret from me

I thought you’d say that the reason why you went radio silent before I arrived was all part of the big surprise

I thought we’d dance through the night, finally together after all those cold nights of being apart

I thought we’d be so overwhelmed with happiness that all the fights that led up to that moment wouldn’t be relevant any more

I thought wrong

Moving home isn’t a scene from a movie where there’s a welcome home banner and smiles

Moving home is being picked up late from the airport and not knowing what to eat when I finally got home

It is everyone forgetting to say Welcome, but remembering to ask What did you get for me?

It is me not seeing you the night I got back nor the next day nor even thr day after that for a whole week

It is starting a job and realizing that I should have rested before relocating because you don’t get any break from home or family

It is coming to terms with the fact that all my hunches were right, and you truly do not care about me

It is about coming to terms with my new life and realizing that each day is a test of my pain threshold

Moving home is a jarring experience, and perhaps one day I’ll wake up and deal with it but not today

Today, I have to focus on getting through the day, and steering away from thoughts of you

It’s good to be home… At long last