Here’s a top top top (enough?) secrete for all my readers: if, for whatever reason, you feel you must embarrass me, here’s the easiest way to go about it: simply hand me a gift! Yeah, I know that sounds weird… but ’tis true nonetheless. This is one of the last few bits of my past life that still lingers on.

Growing up, I really lived in my own little world. I was completely all to myself, always deeply stuck in my own little world full of fantasies. I wouldn’t hurt a soul, not even the killer ants that often invaded our bedrooms at night.

And I wouldn’t let people go out of their way to give me stuff that, at the time, meant absolutely nothing to me. Indeed, my first real gift I ever accepted was a hand-crafted booklet, The Book of Love, given by my sister on my twenty-something-th birthday — way back at college.

I don’t know about you, but for me, if I had my way, I’d give it all… and take nothing back. But I understand I can’t always have it my way. To live is to let help live. So why must I prevent others from living?

Thank you Richard Matovu — my good friend from Uganda.