Example Entry (1/2): A Suitcase Full of Dreams
She clutched the worn suitcase tight - the only thing her grandmother brought from the island. Inside lay faded letters, a single photograph, and a handful of seeds. Seeds, her grandmother whispered, “to grow new life in a strange land.”
Decades later, the garden blooms wildly, colors brighter than any painting. Each flower tells a story of struggle and hope, rooted deep in the soil of sacrifice.
And as she plants the last seed, she smiles, knowing her roots are strong - because her grandmother’s dreams took root long before she ever arrived.
Example Entry (2/2): My Journey: From Trinidad to Telling Our Stories
A story told of Floella Benjamin's life (as told):
I was born in Trinidad in 1949, a beautiful island full of color, music, and life. When I was five years old, my parents made a brave decision that would change all of our lives—we moved to England. It was 1954, and the country was rebuilding after the war. They called it the Windrush generation, though I didn’t know that name then. For us, it was just a new beginning.
Arriving in England was both exciting and scary. Everything was so different—the weather was colder, the food was strange, and the people... well, not everyone welcomed us with open arms. I remember feeling caught between two worlds—carrying the warmth of Trinidad in my heart, while trying to fit into a place that sometimes seemed to push me away.
At school, I was one of the few Black children, and I could see the surprise in teachers’ eyes when I spoke well or excelled in class. It was clear that people had ideas about who I should be, but I wanted to write my own story.
I found my voice in storytelling. As a young woman, I worked as an actress and presenter, and I was lucky to be on television at a time when there were very few Black faces on screen. I knew it was important—not just for me, but for every child who watched and needed to see themselves reflected on TV.
But it wasn’t just about visibility; it was about sharing stories that celebrated who we are, our cultures, our histories. Stories have the power to heal, to teach, and to connect us across generations. That’s why I began writing children’s books—stories inspired by my Caribbean heritage, stories about courage, family, and belonging.
I want every young person to know that their story matters. Whether you come from a place like Trinidad or anywhere else in the world, your experiences, your voice, and your history are part of a larger tapestry. They deserve to be heard.
Later in life, I was honored to become a member of the House of Lords. In that role, I speak about education, diversity, and the importance of understanding our shared history. I tell my story not for myself, but so others feel inspired to tell theirs.
Because telling your story is powerful. It’s a way to remember where you came from, to honor those who came before you, and to light the path for those who come after.
If I could give one piece of advice, it would be this: don’t be afraid to share your story. It may seem small or ordinary to you, but it has the power to change lives. Your story is a seed that can grow into understanding, pride, and hope.
So I invite you—write, speak, paint, sing—express who you are. Because our stories together build a history that is rich, complex, and full of life. And that history belongs to all of us.
Remember, from that little girl stepping off a ship in a strange land, to now, I am still telling stories—and I’m proud to be part of a generation that keeps the flame alive.
