The Summer of 35

This week has felt hopeful  and generous with love, grace, and possibility. I feel deeply in love with the journey I’m on. I’m excited about it, empowered to move with its flow, and accepting of its curves and unexpected turns. There’s a certain beauty in surrendering to the process, trusting that even the detours are part of the design. Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the story of Joseph in the Bible, a narrative so layered with pain, perseverance, and divine purpose that it always moves me. Joseph was his father Jacob’s beloved son, gifted with dreams that foretold his destiny. But his own brothers, driven by jealousy, sold him into slavery. Imagine the betrayal being torn away from family and everything familiar, all because of the very gift that God had placed inside him. From there, Joseph’s life seemed to move from one trial to another. In Egypt, he served faithfully in Potiphar’s house, only to be falsely accused and imprisoned. For over a decade, Joseph’s life was defin...

A Mother's Love, My Anchor I love God. I love my mother. She is my visible strength, my comforter. In her beautiful humanness, I see the evidence of unconditional love. These days, she says “I love you” out loud and every time she does, it melts something in me. I remember when she didn’t know how to say those words. Perhaps because she had never heard them enough herself. For years, I said, “I love you, Mom,” whether I felt it or not. Not out of pretense, but in faith so that God would soften her heart to receive and understand the impact of love expressed in words. That intention, that prayer, has come full circle. Her strength, resilience, and sacrifices have shaped me in ways I can never fully articulate. Our relationship wasn’t always sweet, but it was real, and her presence in my life is still felt, still needed. She has been there, and because of that I am. The Absent Father, The Lingering Echoes God reflects both the mother and father presence in our lives. But if I’m...

These past few weeks have been deeply reflective and healing for me. I made the intentional decision to step back from posting content—not because I lacked ideas, but because I needed to catch up with myself. Sometimes we get so caught up in producing, performing, and showing up for others that we forget to show up for ourselves . That’s where I’ve been—realizing that I was pouring from an almost empty cup. So instead of forcing the flow, I surrendered. The pause wasn’t failure. It was fuel. It was a quiet reminder that growth still happens in silence, and that healing doesn’t always need an audience. Rest is not laziness—it is strategy. It is grace. I used this time to reflect on who I’ve been, who I’m becoming, and what I want to carry forward. This journey isn’t easy, but I’m learning to trust the process and love the softer, slower moments too. I’m grateful for the clarity, and I’m grateful for you—my community, my readers, my mirror. We’re growing, even when we’re still. I l...

There’s something I realized this week. Something about myself that’s both uncomfortable and undeniably true . Food has become my best friend. Not in a “foodie” way, or because I love cooking, or because I’m exploring new flavors. No. This feels… different. It’s the way I turn to food even when I’m not hungry. It’s the way I eat when I’m anxious. When I’m bored. When I’m celebrating. When I’m just existing. Sometimes, food is just there , and that’s reason enough. A Quiet Realization It hit me, one quiet day at home. I was watching movies. Nothing intense, just relaxing. But for some reason, I couldn’t stop eating . Not snacks. Full meals. One after another. I wasn’t hungry—but I kept eating. Like a compulsion. As if chewing and swallowing would distract me from… something. By the end of the night, I was full. Not just satisfied. Stuffed. And still—I went for two slices of bread. Not because I needed them, but because I thought: What if I wake up at night and feel h...

Not Just Survival—But Passionate Living The kind of love you develop for the process is different from just tolerating your circumstances or “hanging in there.” It’s not the same as survival or showing up simply because you have to. It’s a deep, rich, intoxicating commitment to growth—and to yourself. I’ve always desired more than just existence. More than just getting through the day or checking things off a list. I want to be purposefully aligned with my goals. I want to look at my life and feel like, yes, this is mine, and I love it. I live for the days when I’m completely overwhelmed—not by chaos, but by the dreams I once longed for finally becoming my reality. That pressure to show up… it would be exhilarating. Scary? Sure. But deeply fulfilling. Because even with the weight of responsibility, I know I’d still go. I’d still show up. I’d still honor that version of myself. More Than A Paycheck Working just to make a living has never been a remedy that worked for me. There’...

A deep reflection on place, purpose, and the lie of the savior complex. The Hood Is Heavy There’s something deeply unsettling about the “hood”—not just the geography of it, but the spirit it carries. I live in the hood. It’s loud. It’s bitter. It’s angry. And more often than not, it’s dangerous—not only to the body, but to the soul. The fruits are the same, over and over again: scarcity, jealousy, gossip, violence, and trauma dressed up as toughness. You feel it in the streets. You hear it in the casual cruelty of neighbors. And somehow, you’re just expected to adapt . But I can’t romanticize the hood. Not today. Because what I see is a system that was engineered to break people down—and sadly, it's doing just that. A Short History: How the Townships Were Designed Let’s be clear: black people didn’t choose the hood— the system chose it for us. South African townships, where the majority of black communities still reside, were a product of apartheid’s violent spatial pl...