Tracy Chapman got me through most of my exam years at high school. Through the reams of Biology blackboard sides filled with formulas and notes that were written in order to help me attempt the o’grade exam I was dreading the most. I cried, laughed and rejoiced along with Tracy as together we went through her song list from fast cars to getting tickets and knowing how to use them. She was the heroine in my tape-deck who’s soft caramel voice sent soothing vibes through the orange sponge of my head-phones straight into my teenage brain, calming the turbulence that rumbled within.
Fast forward thirty years and I still use the same method. I still listen to softly spoken but well thought-out words to help me when I write or when I study a subject I know I have to get right otherwise the whole premise of my book will be nonsense. I hope to pass this particular literary exam with flying colours as I like to think that I am older and wiser than I was back then. I intend to revise. I intend to take notes. I intend to pass.
A new year is just round the corner so instead of raising a glass while creating resolutions I know won’t be fulfilled, I raise a glass instead to the girl who sat at the back and didn’t put up her hand enough when it really mattered.
What’s for me, won’t pass me by if I just reach out and grab it.