The Summer of 35

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...