by Emil Rem | Apr 9, 2024 | Analects
“Son,” she said. “Stop dreaming of becoming a writer. Be an accountant. You’ll always have a job and pay your bills.” At the tender age of 60, I decided to rebel. Now I’m miserable and broke. Why? Because I allowed writing to possess me. It’s a woeful addiction. And...
by Emil Rem | Apr 9, 2024 | Analects
Joel died today of a drug overdose. Or, to be politically correct, from “substance abuse”. How can you remain “politically correct” over the death of a twenty-six-year-old due to horrendous choices? Joel was Filipino, a close friend of our son Chris, and was known to...
by Emil Rem | Apr 9, 2024 | Analects
As a child in England, every Sunday afternoon, I was sat at a table by my foster mum to pen a letter to my divorced dad in Africa. “Dear Father, I hope this letter finds you in good health.” In return, I would receive a typewritten answer from him. The flimsy paper...
by Emil Rem | Apr 9, 2024 | Analects
As a teenager, I once accompanied a family friend on a dhow to Zanzibar. We stayed with locals at their home in Stone Town. The town was built by Omani Arabs on their conquest of the island, centuries ago. Narrow, unlit, labyrinthine streets, the width of alleyways,...
by Emil Rem | Apr 9, 2024 | Analects
A restaurant review led me to The Indian Tearoom in Calgary, enticing me with “the best East Indian snacks and tea in town.” To my surprise, the food wasn’t East Indian but East African, from Dar-es-Salaam where I was born. The tearoom reacquainted me with all my...
