hong kong, you’re beautiful

Wednesday, 17 June 

Hong Kong has exceeded my expectations in so many different ways. the first way was when I expected it to not be as hot and humid as it is. to correctly explain the weather situation in Hong Kong, my mother said to me, “congratulations, you’ve brought us to hell.”

it’s HOT. and it’s HUMID. like you walk up a mountain and you’re drenched. it’s a beautiful thing. 

but in all reality, Hong Kong is amazing. it’s this huge city surrounding a mountain on an island. I honestly don’t know how to explain it better than that. the food is delicious, the people are so nice, and everything is in English, which makes it so much easier for me to understand my surroundings. 
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ethiopia and other things

 a year ago in February, my mother went to Ethiopia on a missions trip and fell in love with a community of people so desperately in need of food, water and supplies. because of their desperation, many parents send their children off to Arab countries to be “domestic servants,” in hopes of giving them a better life and making some money. little do they know, their children are turned into sex slaves and are trafficked throughout the countries, never to return home or to see their families again. my mother, with such a huge heart and love for these people, has gone back to Ethiopia four (4) times now, leading teams through the villages to inform and warn the villagers of the trafficking recruiters. she and her teams also bring some really awesome chickens with such amazing egg-laying capabilities to try to help with their poverty. 
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Being Brown

This is a story all about how my life got flip-turned upside down…

Well, not really. But kind of.

Let me start with this. I don’t like to talk about the color of my skin. I don’t like to talk about the politics and civil movements that I am affected by because of the color of my skin. And I really don’t like to talk about racism.

There was a time when I desperately wished I wasn’t black, or as my sister says, brown.

Usually this is when people gasp and say, “What? I would kill to have your coloring.” or “Your skin tone is beautiful.” And I know it is. But it doesn’t change the facts. Being a black girl in a white society is hard.
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A Letter to the Man on Market Street

Dear Sir,

I don’t know if you remember me, but on Friday, you became a memorable part of my day. I was walking down Market Street on my way to Hayes Valley, and you were with your friends just hanging out at 1pm. I had just gotten done with an interview, and had changed into jeans, but because I didn’t bring an extra pair of shoes, I was wearing the black Vince Camuto pointed-toe pumps that I bought this past week. They aren’t the cutest, but they’re comfortable enough to wear and walk in all day. I’m sure you were wearing clothes, but I didn’t pay attention to that as I walked on by, with my earphones in, trying to enjoy my hot dog on the sunny day.
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twenty 14. twenty 15.

It’s crazy how a year can come and go, and when you look back over it you feel many different emotions.

That was 2014 to me in a nutshell.

If you asked me how my 2014 was, my immediate response would be that it sucked and I was so ready to leave it in the past. And part of that was true. 2014 was a hard year for me and my family. We lost one of the greatest men to ever walk the earth in the blink of an eye. And if I’m being honest, I still cry once a week because of it. I miss my Boppy more than words could ever explain and I am constantly reminded of him every day. And while it seems to be a bit of a nuisance, I’m constantly reminded of all the goodness that my Boppy was. I’m so grateful that I had a grandfather that loved me as much as he did, and even though he’s gone, I still can feel his love as I write this post.
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Have you ever just stopped and took the time to notice your breath? The length of it, the air you intake and the release. Each breath different than the one before. The calmness that you feel after taking a couple slow, deep breaths is one of my favorite feelings in the world.

Have you ever had to gasp for air? Waiting for the next one to come save you? Sometimes when I drink soda, it miraculously goes “down the wrong pipe”. It is my least favorite feeling in the entire world. My eyes brim with tears and I do everything that I possibly can to get in a tiny breath of air.
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where is the love?

One late Friday night, I thought that it would be fun to watch a documentary on Netflix.

The one I chose was called Bully.

You’d think that I would realize that I was going to cry that night… but I foolishly jumped into the film with NO tissues, NO chocolate and NO shoulder to cry on.

Halfway in, with mascara lines streaming down my face, a runny nose, and a wet computer screen, I shut my laptop, and jumped in my bed trying to erase what I had seen.
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I am a dreamer. I daydream constantly throughout the day. I dream all night long.

In my dreams, I am whatever I choose to be. A princess, a rockstar, a pig-owner.

To be honest, I’m day-dreaming right now. I’m dreaming about how awesome it would be if someone in this coffee shop would buy me coffee, sweep me off my feet and then we’d go to Thailand just in time for the floating lantern festival. In my dreams, I don’t have any responsibilities… so I can run off to Thailand at a moment’s notice and it’s totally okay.

Ever since I was 12, I’ve dreamed about moving to New York, having a great career in fashion, falling in love, and moving to the trendiest loft apartment in SoHo.
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