I don’t know how to write, I would not pretend that I do, but I know how to speak. Now, I have heard writing is not like speaking and you cannot ‘wing it’. But I am here, on a Sunday morning, with a slight headache, attempting to do just that.

What do I write on? I know I want to talk about books, food and money. I want to talk about investing, and finding time for love. But then, I also want to talk about selflessness, selfishness too, and finding the right balance in these things.

So I’ll talk about books.

Everyone who knows me, knows that I’m constantly reading a book. In fact, I’m having the first half of my final exams in a few days and all I can think of is how to get my hardcover version of Elnathan John’s ‘Becoming Nigerian’.

I am also holding on for when Patrick Rothfuss will finish his Kingkiller chronicles. It’s been 8 years since his last book, and frankly, I am beginning to worry. My fear is that I may never read the final book, but he has promised to finish it before he dies and if its any consolation, I am a lot younger than him.

I could go on about books, about stories and authors I have on my bucket list, but no need. If there is a memoir, that would be in it.

I have to go now, I have to prepare for the exams. Or at least try to, in between periods of reading Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi’s ‘Kintu’. A story I find refreshingly African.

You know, maybe they were right, maybe you really cannot ‘wing’ writing.

But what sort of life would this be if we all didn’t attempt stupid stunts once in a while.

Later then.

Thank you for straying here.

Or just to put one more book title in:

“So long and thanks for all the fish.”