Assault · black girl magic · Inspiration · jamaica · Life · Uncategorized

The Truth. – The Battle of Life & Debt (Trigger warning)

life n debtThe Truth. is a new blog series I’m starting. It gets personal, it gets raw, it gets heavy. This is a series that some may have to pass by, and understandably so. I’m not offended if you do. This series is therapy for me, but I really do hope I can help shed some light on what sometimes happens in the thoughts of survivors and why coming forward isn’t always as simple as outsiders would like to make it seem.

These are my wild thoughts…

There came a moment when I was very aware of the hundreds of contradicting thoughts that bombarded my mind daily. One of the many thoughts that managed to force itself to the front of my mind was “Do I owe him?”

A strange question, I know, but a very real one that plagued my mind.

This was my reasoning – if I fully turn to drugs or prostitution or become promiscuous as a result of what happened, then I become a part of a certain statistic. (I’ll explain this further in another blog). But if I decide I’m not going to sink any further into my depression and my own tormenting thoughts and I somehow manage to rise above this… do I owe him for extra motivation? Are my achievements now his? Do I now accredit my success to the trauma? Do I now become one of the many amazing people who’ve risen above their circumstances despite what life has thrown at them? Are my drive and my achievements any less authentic now?

I guess my question really was would I be who I am without this thing happening to me?

And so, for years I just wallowed between doing just enough and not pushing to my full potential… because I didn’t want him to be able to accredit anything I ever did to himself. It’s a very confusing conversation to have with yourself, and even more so to try and explain to others.

The truth is being violated changed me. I experienced things I wouldn’t have had I not gone through that traumatic event. I was emotionally and mentally flipped upside down. It was unlike anything I could ever compare it to and nothing I would want my worst enemy to experience.

In the midst of that, I was able to view things from a different lens. My compassion for those who experience mental illnesses grew. I was able to relate and wasn’t so quick to judge. My surge for justice became more powerful, and my need for activism was activated.

The simple fact of life is our experiences shape us – they shape our beliefs and our drive, but at the end of the day it’s what you do with these beliefs and this drive that matters. YOUR decisions are evidently what matters.

So, after years of struggling with wondering about my authenticity, I was able to finally let myself off the hook, knowing with confidence that I owed him absolutely nothing. I was able to reclaim that portion of myself without the heaviness of guilt weighing me down. I am who I am because of my own reactions to my circumstances and the grace of God.

There’s no debt to be paid.

Assault · christianity · jamaica · Life · Uncategorized

The Truth. – Aftermath (Trigger warning)

The Truth. is a new blog series I’m starting. It gets personal, it gets raw, it gets heavy. This is a series that some may have to pass by, and understandably so. I’m not offended if you do. This series is therapy for me, but I really do hope I can help shed some light on what sometimes happens in the thoughts of survivors and why coming forward isn’t always as simple as outsiders would like to make it seem.
This is part 2.

That’s how I felt. Nightmares haunted my rest, memories haunted my wake. There was no break, no pause, no sigh. If I could scream to make it all stop I would. Just to slow everything down. Just to turn it off…
But there was no escape. This was my new normal.
There was no real way to accept this as truth. There were still days when I would wake up wondering if I had imagined it all. But there was no way to escape how I felt. There was no way to escape the feeling of wanting to unzip my own skin and climb out. That very tangible feeling of being coated in something slimy. Now anyone/anything that touched me felt gross…wrong. I couldn’t wash it off enough in the shower because it wasn’t physically there. It felt like something was tacked on to my skin and was slowly weaving itself beyond the surface. How do you escape being touched in a high school of 1600 students?
What if it happens again? Why does it feel like it’s always happening? Why does it feel like it’s still happening? A hand brushes me accidentally and I’m back in that room, stuck, suffocating, needing to scream but frozen.
A push, a shove? I’m back in real time temporarily, but with the sudden need to cry, run, throw up, disappear?
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
A war disease, as most refer to it. They were right. I felt like I was in the middle of a war zone and my mind was a landmine. My body was a crime scene and my thoughts were a courtroom – and I was judge, jury, witness, and executioner.
How long will it take for me to get over this? When will I be able to move on? When will I be normal again?
Never? I could almost hear my own voice respond to the silent questions of my mind. This is you now, remember? You’re one of them. They’ll never be free so neither will you.
But he’s free. He had his fun and he walked away scot-free… How is this fair? Where is God in all of this?
In those moments I couldn’t recognise God within my friends who tried to be there for me. Or God in those short moments of quick release that kept me from going completely crazy. He felt distant, silent…nonchalant. And I was …
Nobody around me understood. I guess there was a small blessing in that – in knowing no one else understood the trauma and the suffering I endured. However, it meant I was alone, and no one else could understand the trauma or the suffering I endured… there was no use in trying to explain how I felt or what I was battling. There weren’t enough words to scale down what I was going through. Words felt insufficient, like a mockery of my distress. So, I had to figure out how else to cope.
Where did I ever learn that this was an answer to my emotional problems? Maybe a TV show? Maybe the internet? I can only recall that less than two months post incident, this was my new revelation. And so, I quickly became best friends with a razor. At first, I would only do it when I was home. Then that wasn’t enough and I started hiding it in my purse so I could do it when the environment at school became too overwhelming. It was a temporary release, but in those moments temporary fixes were enough to keep me afloat. It was as addictive as any drug and it was my little secret weapon against my emotional turmoil. But I quickly learned that my little secret couldn’t keep quiet enough, as the bright red marks on my skin screamed the truth to those closest to me.
How I felt. How my friends felt.
“Why are you doing this?” I can’t tell you. “Just talk about it.” No. “It hurts me to see you do this.” Sorry? “Are you gothic now?” lol… “Christians don’t cut.” Hmm…Please stop.” I can’t.
I couldn’t.
I was already sinking and these words weren’t enough to catch me.

Art · entrepreneur · film making · Inspiration · jamaica · Life · Literature · Music · photography · Uncategorized · Videography

#GasThemUp – Yannick Reid

It’s my absolute joy to see people you once shared similar spaces with really just stand out and completely own their space. Though he was several grades above me, Yannick and I often crossed paths in high school because we shared mutual friends. I have followed along with his amazing journey for quite some time and was elated when he accepted my proposal for an interview.

**This is a part of an ongoing series called “#GasThemUp” where I interview my friends who are entrepreneurs. The answers to the questions are 100% theirs but the setting of the interview is completely from my imagination. Enjoy!**



I glanced down at my backstage media pass, feeling beyond grateful to even be in the crowd. As I watched Protoje finish his final number “Blood Money”, my eyes shifted to the far left of the stage where Yannick Reid discreetly stepped out for the perfect closing shot. He glanced down at his camera’s viewfinder and approving of the photo, walked over to where I stood. He was my target for tonight’s interview. 

               “What was your first introduction to photography?” I asked as soon as he reached me.

        “My dad. My dad is a professional PR photographer and he’s been one for as long as I can remember, he first put a camera in my hands.” He smiled at the memory.

       “Did you always want to follow in his footsteps?”

He thought for a moment, “No actually. I was really interested in cameras but I was more curious about video initially than photography. Regardless, he taught me photography and after doing a couple stage shows like Reggae Sumfest, I developed an interest in it.”

        “Oh nice, so you were always into the arts?”

He motioned for me to follow him as he went towards the artist lounge behind the stage.

        “I’d say yes. I was really into cartoons and animations as a kid so I would entertain myself with drawing and colouring. There was also healthy competition from peers as a kid too so there was a motivation to be better for fun. Those times till maybe the end of high school art was more about leisure for me, it wasn’t something I thought of as work or had to even think about. I’d either be watching tv, playing a video game or drawing. All those things just influenced me and drove me deeper into the craft.”

       “That’s really cool seeing that transition throughout the years,” I said as we sat in one of the lounge couches.

Protoje, along with his band and backup singers all filed in, still hyped from the performance.

Yannick stood to greet Protoje and the band, commending the performance. When he took his seat again I took a moment to admire the fact that I was surrounded by amazing authentic Jamaican talent, before jumping into the next question.

          “Did you ever feel pressure from your parents or peers to go the more traditional career route?” I asked, thinking of the creative tragedy it would have been.

           “Never. Both my parents are self-employed artists. I was fortunate to grow up not even knowing that some children were discouraged from pursuing a non-traditional career. It wasn’t until college that I realized that was a thing. My parents supported me in all my endeavours, traditional or non-traditional.”

       “Wow, extremely fortunate, especially considering how Jamaican parents are.”

          “Yeah, I’m really lucky and I really am grateful for it. Realizing how many talented young Jamaicans are discouraged by their families.”

Yannick checked his camera again, going back through the shots of the night. I watched as he scanned through the reel, appreciating his amazing eye and ability to capture the moment at just the right time.

               “The world is grateful to your parents allowing your gifts to shine. What’s been the proudest/coolest moment in your career thus far?”

               “Hmmmm That’s a hard one. Really tough. I think maybe the first time I did a music video for Protoje and it premiered on Complex, I was really proud of that. Also, I was featured in The Gleaner, not so much a big deal to me personally but it made my parents feel really proud and seeing them proud makes me really happy. And I think the coolest moment is probably just getting to see the world from photography. Always amazes me when I take a moment somewhere new and realize how I managed to get there and I feel pretty blessed.”

               “Aye! I love it!”

Maybe this was a form of inception… artist-ception maybe? Being an artist that was able to appreciate another artist’s appreciation of their work and achievements. It’s what I believe helps the creative community to grow. I felt a tinge of sadness knowing the interview was winding down, but happy I was even afforded the amazing opportunity.

I knew it was a typical interview question, but curiosity won and I had to ask, “where do u see yourself in 5 years?”

He sat back in the couch and tilted his head to the ceiling before replying, “Five years? Hopefully successfully travelled to every continent – I have Australia and Antarctica left, hopefully still working with Protoje, but also other artists that I’m fans of, enjoying my life with my craft and my loved ones.”

Satisfied with the answer, I continued, “What’s your advice to young artists just starting out, especially if they don’t have the support of family?”

“In life, a lot of people will not understand what you are trying to do until you do it. Some will come around and some will never come around. But everyone gets to live their own life, and your family has lived theirs, don’t throw away your passion for someone else living their life. Have a talk with them tell them you love them but you respectfully don’t need their opinion, you’re determined and it would mean the world to me to have your support, but with or without it I’m gonna do what I feel is right.”


And that was the damn truth. I echo Yannick’s advice 100% and encourage everyone to take that stand. At the end of the day, you have to live with you, even if no one else does. Will you be able to look back at your life knowing you lived and made your contribution to earth based on your passion or someone else’s?

Follow Yannick on his social media accounts:

IG: @thetherapistsol

Twitter: @thetherapistsol


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Art · food blog · Inspiration · jamaica · Life · Literature · Uncategorized

#GasThemUP – Cakes N’ Bakes By Mel

I’ve been sitting on this blog for quite a while, partially because I couldn’t quite figure out how to do this in an original, but still interesting enough way, in that it wasn’t like a typical interview. Then the idea came to me to merge my love of storytelling along with the captivating interview, so that’s what I did!


I interviewed my friend and amazing pastry chef Melissa Cunningham about her business “Cakes N’ Bakes by Melissa”. This is a part of an ongoing series called “Gas Them Up” where I interview my friends who are entrepreneurs. The answers to the questions are 100% theirs but the setting of the interview is completely from my imagination. Enjoy!

Please follow CakesNBakesByMelissa on Instagram!


The Life

Starting the weekend right is the perfect remedy for ensuring your Monday doesn’t suck. This was the thought that went through Ali’s mind on Friday evening as she sat and glanced around, completely surrounded by friends she considered family, with amazing food and wine at her fingertips. Ali, Rach, Ash, Mel and Yan all grew up in the same neighbourhood, and while life had been wonderful to them, they no longer lived in close proximity to each other. It had since become a tradition for these five ladies to meet and de-stress at least once a month, and she had to admit it was one of their best ideas yet.

She scanned the table filled with a pastry junkie’s dream – key lime pie, strawberry shortcake, Bailey’s cheesecake and a chocolate Ganache Drip Cake, and whispered to herself as she swirled her wine, “This is the life.”

“Right?” Her friend, Rach agreed. Ali nodded and smiled. She hadn’t realised anyone would have heard her.

“I’m going leave here fat but totally satisfied, so I don’t care.” Ash, chimed in.

Mel joined them on the deck, carrying a bottle of Moscato.

“Girl, I must ask what would you be wasting your amazing talent on if you weren’t a pastry chef?” Ali asked, as she bit into another slice her key lime pie. She closed her eyes savouring the incredible taste and the flavours that made her taste buds dance.

Mel unscrewed the bottle and poured herself a glass. “While I always loved being in the kitchen, I actually thought about dentistry then I got braces and considered becoming Orthodontist.” She laughed as the memory resurfaced. “Then I realized the sciences weren’t for me and focused on what I thought would just be a hobby: cooking. I began pursuing an Executive Chef future but along the way it still didn’t feel right. I guess it came to me one night that I was in the right place doing the wrong job. Then I went fully into baking after I graduated University.”

She took a small sip of the wine and reached for the strawberry shortcake. She took special care to ensure she caught a slice that was filled with actual strawberries in the middle.

“The world would seriously be missing out.” Yan agreed, while cutting into the cheesecake.

The ladies all nodded in agreement.

Ash sat back in her chair and pondered. “Was your family always supportive of your career choice?”

Mel licked strawberry frosting from her index finger before replying. “More or less. They encouraged me to do what I loved always, but also saw the downside: long hours, underpaid et cetera and so they encouraged me to keep my options open, in terms of maybe not working in the kitchen, but in the food & beverage department. I’d still be in the food service industry but not doing the physical work.”

“Oh, understandable,” Ash replied.

“What has been your proudest moment thus far?” Rach asked.

Mel smiled as she reached for her phone and pulled up her Instagram page to show her friends. “Having my work photographed by Dwayne Watkins and having a feature in Indulge magazine.”

“Oh my gosh, yaaaas girl!” Ali exclaimed.

Yan reached for her wine glass. “I think this is a perfect opportunity to toast.”

“You just want a reason to get more wine.” Ash rolled her eyes and laughed at her friend.

“I never need a reason.” Yan replied, topping up her glass.

They all laughed and clinked their glasses together. “To Mel.” They said in unison.

“Tell me something though, what’s your secret ingredient?” Rach inquired.

“If I tell you it won’t be a secret.” Mel swirled her wine and winked.

“True, true.” Rach agreed.

Ali leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest as she watched Ash pull a game of Taboo from her bag.

“The more things change, the more they stay the same.” She said.

They all laughed together. This was truly The Life.

black girl magic · Inspiration · jamaica · Life · money · relationships · school · Uncategorized

Rich & Switch – The Ultimate Jamaican Betrayal?

Black people, I love you. We are the most creative, hilarious, hardworking set of people to exist (don’t debate me). But, we have some of the strangest mindsets that we hang onto for dear life, for fear of losing our identity. Today, I’m speaking directly to my black Jamaican community.

We need to release this weird false sense of entitlement we have to being addicted to the struggle. We’re so averse to being successful that when people get the opportunity to upgrade out of their dismal surroundings we refer to them as “rich and switch”. I’ve been a part of multiple conversations (some turn arguments) where I’ve been TEASED for being “uptown” or not being able to relate to certain struggles in life. There have been times when I literally felt ashamed of being raised in what is considered an “upper middle class” community, going to a prep school, and only ever having turkey neck once in my entire life after begging my mother to cook it just so I could see what all the noise was about. (My mother doesn’t cook turkey neck, not because it is considered “poor people oxtail” but because she genuinely isn’t a fan).

And then one day it hit me like an Audi S3: I would be doing my parents the ultimate disservice if I continued to let people make me feel ashamed, less black or less Jamaican for being raised the way I was.

And here’s why – Both my parents came from harsh beginnings and worked especially hard to get us where we are today.

Here’s a bit of background on my father: (In the interest of not making this blog too long I’ll focus mostly on his story.) Daddy grew up in the small rural community of Top Hill, Manchester. If you’ve ever been to Top Hill, you’d know that he grew up in the definition of “the struggle”. Even to this day, electricity is a luxury, there’s barely running water, and black and white TVs are still a staple in most homes. Poverty, yeah hey! (QQ Voice).

He was the first of 12 children and he left Top Hill at age 14 to escape the hardships of the community, and an abusive (and slightly psychotic) father to come to Kingston to live with his aunt and uncle. He didn’t have much to begin with, but he decided there had to be more to life than his current circumstances, and so he went in pursuit of it. He barely went to primary school, and thus didn’t qualify to attend high school, but being the brilliant mind he was, he was able to learn “a trade” in masonry and building construction. From there he literally built his life from the ground up, from being the “likkle man” on the construction sites to becoming a building contractor for the government and the private sector (and the MANY odd jobs in between that I can’t even begin to list). And dad learned early on that making connections was important in climbing the ladder (anti-social as he was), and soon he was driving around the governor general and shaking hands with the prime minister. (Random cool fact: Dad was a part of the promotion team that brought THE Michael Jackson to Jamaica in the 70’s). I don’t care what Beyonce says, Gerald Dawkins was the definition of a hustler.

Things didn’t always work out the way he wanted, but my father was always determined to make it work in order to provide a good life for his family. It is because of the hard work and support of my parents why I was able to attend a prep school, and why I went to university without having to apply for student loans, and for that I am forever grateful. (FYI, there is NOTHING wrong with primary schools and NO SHAME in student loans).

It would not only be disrespectful but an absolute waste if I was to settle for any quality of life lower than that which my father worked super hard to ensure that I was able to enjoy. Were there hard times in the past? Absolutely! Especially after he became ill and was unable to work like he used to. But those aren’t the times I want to meditate on. Honestly, if I could just forget all the times that we were so broke that mom had to use coins to buy groceries at the supermarket, or the times when they had to borrow cash from family and amazing neighbours (big up unuh self) to clear medical expenses, I gladly would. If that makes me a “rich and switch” then so be it.


My point is, we should never be ashamed of where we come from, but we should also never feel comfortable to settle where we are. We must ALWAYS be aiming higher, pushing further and evolving from our current situation. And more importantly we must learn to support the people around us that are making moves. Encourage your friends to be winners. Encourage your friends never to settle. And GAS THEM UP when they’re doing great! Stop being hateful and jealous. Use their success to fuel you to want to become more successful. It’s time we stopped apologising for being prosperous, especially when we come from harsh upbringing. And please, stop brainwashing children into believing that escaping poverty is the ultimate betrayal to their past or their “blackness”.

Best believe I intend to spend some Sunday mornings out on my yacht, being boujie as hell, drinking orange juice (not mimosas) from a champagne flute and sunbathing to improve my melanin.


Will there be hard times? I suspect there will. But to stay there because I’m afraid of people seeing me as “uptown” or not true to my “culture” would be beyond ridiculous. In honour of my father (RIP dad), black girl magic, my name, Jesus’ life death and Resurrection, and my future family, I WILL be successful and I WILL be stunting like nobody’s business.