The Art of healing and grieving

They will tell you that time heals every scar and not hand you a ‘second’ shaped bandaid to patch it up.

They will tell you to take it a day at time and not tell how much of it you should take. When you take too much, it will start to eat up your joy and sanity.

And then the worst happens, you lose your mind hoping that they will understand that its just part of the phase instead, they judge you. Because they have set a standard on how everyone should grieve and we, are expected to follow it. However, that isn’t how the act of grieving and healing works. The processes might be the same but for each heart there is a different melody to which it plays. Others heal quickly while others take longer. In the end we all get somewhere with our pain.

Grieving is an art that can not be taught to us by anybody but ourselves. Take as time as you want to master it.

Show me a sign

I bowed to my knees and kept my eyes up to heaven, waiting to hear you speak to me. Down in an old town church hearing nothing but my tears hit the ground. While my head leaned against the pews, I felt a surge of stillness and then I felt it slice through my soul like a sharp double edged sword, my conviction.


Promise me,

That on the day that all doesn’t go well you will come back home to me. To my arms waiting to embrace your fears, to trade them for an abdance of peace.

Promise me,

That you and I will keep loving each other the way we do. That nothing will change what we have going on. Promise me that even things don’t go according to your plan, you still trust me to lead you to the dream you see.

I promise to be your eternal friend, to love you as I always have, to carry you not only in my arms but in my heart. I promise to always believe in you especially when you do not have the strength to believe in yourself. I will be here and there, for you forever ♥️.

I loved you first.

1 John 4:19

Home is a feeling

Home was once stranger an empty building without any memories. It’s walls were intact, doors and windows too. As time went by, home became a friend, it started to fill up with laughter and wine stains on the carpet. Finally home became a part of me I never knew I had. It reflected my insight and wit, I was in love with the feeling…it was like a warm piece of pie on a cold Sunday morning. Like an episode of my favourite series I could have playing on and on.

My heart didn’t skip a beat instead every bit of the rhythm it played told a story to the walls of my house. They say home is where the heart is, however I feel home is a piece of heart that you can open to the rest of the world. Sometimes it can be the only shadow of peace you have left and in that case, you’ll find it a little harder to open your doors to everyone else.Whatever it is, home we’ll always be where love lives, a warm fire to melt away your anxiety and a light to keep away the evening fright.

You are my home, my happy place.

To read, to write (A poem by Phanuel Ayelum)

Literacy is a gift;

Often not realised,

Literacy literally-

Gives access to other minds.

To read is to think;

Through another minds thought,

An acquisition of perspective,

A way to be taught.

To write is to share oneself;

Across minds and across time,

To be transposed into script,

To be indelible in time…

By : Phanuel Ayelum


the temptress

You could see the anger through her eyes. It was a look that could haunt anyone for the rest of their lives. The purple detail in her iris screamed out how desperate she was for power.

Fear her!

Fear her for her heart carries no mercy and her soul doesn’t fear death. She will draw her dagger to strike your neck and will smile as you bleed to your death.

She is the desire of all men and a friend of many women. You will find her when you search for her, she will come to you.

Signs and wonders an article by Tessie Strawberry

The preacher man with a gun in one hand and the holy word in the other…

He’s plan was simple: divide then conquer. Firstly, he preached the message of devoting to one supreme being who adores the entire human race more than anything else and would move mountains to keep it a float. The crowd was blown away, never had they heard of such love.

Secondly he emphasised that they love their neighbours as much as they love their mothers.

That was it, he had loaded two bullets into his revolver and played Russian roulette with their hearts.

The preacher man spoke with the voice of cheetah. The words bolted over his tongue and out of his mouth, it was utterly impossible to catch up with all his cheat. Once the crowd tooks their sits in those dirty pews, stained with blood and infidelity, their desire to harm cause harm to one another grew stronger.

Brothers turned against brothers, they raised their fist against, desecrated the house of their father and stripped the crown of honor off their mothers. The preacher man took a glance over his shoulder to see just what he had done. He gave a satisfying smirk and run away with their gold.

The preacher man came with a gun in one hand and the holy word in the other, he played a game of Russian roulette with a silver Revolver that he called ‘the gospel’. He left them in the hands of his victims in exchange for their fortune.

This is a very controversial topic and I have been completing all day whether or not I should publish this article. But then I thought, “why not try something completely out of my comfort zone and see the world from a different perspective?”

So here is ‘signs and wonders’ an article based on the veiw of the impact of religion on the African continent.

I appreciate your support and respect your opinions. Please let me know those thoughts in comments section or you can contact me via email at Like the article if you liked it and feel free to share it and see what others think about it too ❤️

Writ – fully Tessie.


My little feet carried me far away from home, from safety and comfort. A gush of wind blew and shut my ears, all I could hear was my foolish heart straying me to the valley of misery. The grass grew thicker and taller, the air around me was as cold as the hand of death the further down I went. The darkness was so intense that I could not tell morning from night, however I kept walking despite the blisters on my feet and how much my eyes begged for rest. Moreover, I was unable to get any sleep as I was kept awake by the voices of lonely vagrant souls trapped in the winds of valley. However, it wasn’t how loud they wailed that kept me awake instead it was the dreadful thought that I might end up just like them, a lonely soul clothed in misery and heartache roaming the spaces of eternity looking for a way out. It was this same thought that kept me going, I needed to find my peace again.

Alas! A light shone through in the distance, I could feel my hope being restored once again just when I was at the brink of giving up. A zephyr cooled off my anxiety and I could hear my breath speak the name of my father once again (Ya-weh). My ears were open to his voice that called out so gently and yet authoritively. my heart beat to the sound of his voice. “I home”, I said to my soul, “I am well”.

It’s a new month and I am still trusting God for more and more beautiful days ❤️. It’s never too late to come back home because it was always be the same.

Psalm 73:24

I’m on a lifetime journey of discovery and it will be a great privilege to have you join me by letting me know your thoughts in the comments section or you can contact via at nandi.tessy@tessiestrawberry. Like this story if you liked it and feel free to share too❤️

Happy September 😊


The master artist molded numerous vessels, each with a unique shape, colour and pattern. He carefully and neatly placed every detail so that it could tell a beautiful story about him. And on each of his creations he placed his appendage, making it is to identify his work. Many other artists tried to imitate his creation but they were never half as brilliant as his. Even though each of this vessels he made were different and each one with a specific purpose, pieced together they reflected who he is in his fulness, magnificent.

“we may be in the light as God is in the light for quality, not for equality” – John Trapp.

The month of August for me brought about a wind of, change, reevaluation and reconstruction. I spent most of my time understanding and accepting the characteristics that make me different from others. It was after that, that I learnt that being people of different cultures and beliefs we are one human race at the end of the day and placed together we form a magnificent piece of art.

Like this post if you liked it, share it and let me know if you would like to read more short thoughtful in the comments. I appreciate your support. Keep being awesome 😊

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