inspiration · sketch · the daily post


I was content
Then I was content with my contentment
And then when I thought I couldn’t be more content I was
Then I read a book on how to be even more content
And I realized I hadn’t reached the pinnacle of contentment
Then I wasn’t content anymore


sketch · the daily post

drunk descending a staircase, in high heels



skipped steps
in your descent

lost time

oops, oh
there you go

he’s alright
she’s alright

we’re all alright
but down you come

down we
all come


Inspired by Kijo from

african stories · the daily post

Not lost in translation

I have never been one to jump into a fight. I generally eschew pain and bruises. Some may see that as cowardly but from a very young age I learned that there were two other options diplomacy or flight. You know, live to fight another day and so on and so forth.

Now for the most epic battle ever. Not even. I was nine years old running around in the sand filled playground at my Schule in the Berlin one brisk morning. We would line up at the foot of the ladder and climb up then slide down shrieking in delight. I remember that day I was wearing my favorite bright orange parka trimmed with brown fur. I run around the slide to the ladder and waited as my classmate climbed up to the top. I followed suit and started the climb.

Just as I reached halfway up the ladder, I felt a tug on the hood of my parka. It was so hard and abrupt I was disoriented for a moment. I barely broke my fall with my elbows when I hit the sand. The entire playground froze. They waited to see my reaction, would I let out a loud cry? My eyes started to well up with tears as I scanned the playground looking for a sympathetic face. Then I saw him out of the corner of my eyes, snickering with the other boys. The culprit. The author of my humiliation. I would show him. I sprang up and landed the hardest punch I could muster squarely on the side of his head. He yelled out and started to cry while his friends stared in horror. I too was shocked at his reaction, he was the one who always made others cry.

To my surprise I was not reprimanded by the teacher. My fellow classmates told me how grateful they were that I had stood up to the bully. It wasn’t something I was proud of since I was typically an agreeable and quiet child. I was also afraid that he would retaliate one day. So I was quite shocked when I was invited to his birthday party a few weeks later. And from that day onward we became good friend.


african stories · sketch · the daily post

Fairies girls, not elephants

When I was in primary school my father signed me up for every after school activity available. He abhorred the idea of me lollygagging with my cohorts. It is something I was grateful for only many years later. I remember standing in my very first ballet class in a pink leotard, pink tights and pink ballet shoes that pinched like hell. As we followed the teacher in the various movements she came around and critiqued our efforts. The smirk on her face as she approached me was a dead giveaway that I was not doing so well. ‘Ungraceful’. That was her remark. It upset me so much I wanted to quit but my father would not allow it. Having no choice I decided to make the most of it, enjoying every class while ignoring her displeasure whenever her eyes rested on me. My friends and I snickered every time she yelled ‘Fairies girls, not elephants’. Well who said elephants can’t be graceful?