Berlin: First Impressions. First Solo Travel.

When I look back at my time in Berlin, it’s hard to not look back through rose tinted glasses (and beer goggles). Especially considering that when I first arrived, I felt a great wave of uneasiness burdening my soul.
“How the hell did we end up deciding on Berlin?”
That was my main thought as I made my way down Französische Straße, alone and now tired of dragging a suitcase with a defected wheel down what felt like a never ending street. I’d memorised the route, and was familiar with the Google maps version of the Mitte area closest to Brandenburger Tor, although I’d never been to Berlin before. Thank God for Google Street View, hey?
Everything had gone well so far – I’d made it safely from the airport to the city centre on public transport on my own. I’d memorised the U-bahn route, and had screenshots on my phone for back up. I’d been okay so far except for moments when my overactive imagination ran off with me. Yet, somehow I still felt uneasy, even in broad daylight.
It was just before midday, and I was on the wide Behrenstraße. It looked safe, however, it wasn’t busy and that added to my nerves. The one or two curious stares didn’t help either. “Maybe it’s my head of curls” I though. They had been puffed out by the ravenous wind.
It was the first time I’d travelled to a new country completely alone. I wasn’t going to experience the entrie trip alone, but at that moment I was on guard. Alone and feeling very aware of my shade of brown skin, and painfully dragging that god awful suitcase.
 It’s no secret that a lot of people of colour do feel that slight heightened cautious anxiety when travelling anywhere in we are a super minority. I guess you reaise then how much you truly stand out. Travelling to a country that led a mass genocide within our century doesn’t particularly ease one’s nerves. However, I wasn’t going to persecute a generation that had not been involved. Besides, nothing had happened to make me feel uneasy.
The tall, stone buildings that lined the wide streets shaded the streets from the sun. They felt like huge guards. Huge, wide, stone guards made of huge slabs of stone. Practical yet good to look at, but still huge and bearing down on me. All 177cm of me felt really small at once.
The wind tore down the street, unobstructed – through my hair and my clothes. And that f***ing suitcase – it felt heavier as it resisted being dragged down the street. That f***ing suitcase.
Finally, I made it onto Wilhelmstraße, and now tall, red-roofed communist-era apartment blocks towered above me. I almost felt as though I’d stepped into another time – into a time of hardship and strife. Perhaps it was the product of images I’d been unconsciouslfy fed on television over the last 25 years..
I was only too glad to reach the apartment where my friends were waiting for me to check them in. I’d done all the booking you see, and it was nearly the time of reckoning. Did the listing pictures match with the apartment? I was surrounded by smiles and warmth, both familiar and unfamiliar, both non-German and German, but those tower blocks made me uneasy.
Our apartment sat on Wilhelmstraße, a stone’s throw away from the British and American embassies – No wonder why the streets were not busy.
The apartment was good and was as advertised. However, from our bedroom windows we could see the large grey concrete columns of the Holocaust Memorial. Again, we were reminded of what had once happened here. The cavity in my chest felt thick again and I turned away.
I stood outside on our balcony window instead and stared curiously at my new surroundings. The sun had welcomed us, but the stoic buildings surrounding us were unimpressed. There was nothing gay or frilly about the buildings around us. They were practical and purpose-built, and that was it. There was an air of seriousness around us, even though we had come to explore like excited teens.
“How did we end up choosing Berlin?” I asked out loud to my friends who had started to settle in the adjacent living room.
A tired laugh came from M, “I don’t know man. Amsterdam…” Amsterdam – that explained everything.
“I’m so hungover,” A groaned from her curled up position on the sofa.
I looked out again from the 5th floor balcony onto the not-so-busy street below. “Well..” I thought, “Let’s see if our random Amsterdam musings will prove themselves fun and exciting…”



Stars and Eternity.


I feel a part of you in me, and as if there is a part of me in you. My thoughts, wishes, dreams, and the perspectives that make up the little important parts of me reflect brilliantly in you as if they were your own.

Mirrored brilliantly and brightly as they would if I looked into the depths of my soul.

Somewhere in eternity, where we are life giving masses waiting to exist in time and space-  we were – no, we are particles of the same eternal life giving star.

And even on this earth, in this time, and in this space, we are but pieces of the same star. Dimming and brightening our glow as we pass and near each other.

We set alight when our energies near and we are connected through intensely vibrating atoms. Our spectrum of light fiercely bright and burning holes in space and time that even our naive time bound consciousness takes note.

Consciously unknowing and intrinsically certain without the shadow of a doubt – We were – we are a part of the same star outside of space and time. A part of the same life giving beginning and full of life even as mere pieces of a star on this time bound planet.



A very insightful piece from someone who, from the outside looking in, looks like he truly has it together.

It’s been a pretty uneventful week; well, uneventful as far as writing goes for me anyway. I’ve had a crazy case of the writer’s block, its kind of like chlamydia, but worse. Instead of feeling like I’m pissing razor blades, my mind feels like I’ve been listening to Plies speak on loop all day. I don’t think I have enough RAM up there for all that. Not that I would know what pissing with the clap feels like by the way. Chlamydia is the clap right? Or is it syphilis? Wikipedia says that it’s gonorrhoea, who cares what Wikipedia has to say when I can ask my friend Vi…, you know what, lets forget about that one.

omar-snitches-in-court-throwback.jpgAfter a long day of watching Omar (The Wire) testify and talk about shooting the boy Mike Mike in his hind parts, and looking after my little brother and his annoying little friend…

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I Will NOT Nurture Your Insecurities.

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As a girl who stands at a majestic 5’10, I have encountered people who are threatened by my height even when I am barefoot.
It is almost as if I am something that must be conquered and brought down to a comfortable level. I refuse to nurture those insecurities.
I am unconventional in my build, in the smallness of my waist, and in the width of my hips, and the way that my glutes swell.
I am uniquely formed. Created to stand out, because treasures the treasures of the universe were not made to be unrecognisable.
Inspired by the work of  Imani Cezanne:


I would have travelled half the world merely to spend time with you – literally. Spent hundreds of Great British Pounds and 14 to 19 hours flying through continents, over seas, through deserts, over jungles, and snow covered mountain tops. Through time zones and seasons – just to lay eyes on you.

You. A mere you.

I would have made excuses to justify 3 weeks spent in a different country, reacquainting with a language, just to probably end up spending a crappy total 5 days with you. Justify time away from money to take time to spend money to buy time to be with you.

Silly, isn’t it. All of this, just for you.

Silly, really, in a real world that provides us with a virtual world that brings you closer to me, and me closer to you. With Skype, and Viber, and Whatsapp, and Instagram, and Twitter..! You would think that’s more than enough you to me.

Not for me. That wouldn’t do.

I want your undistorted voice, your unfiltered face, your uncensored and grammatically imperfect thoughts. I want that connection that’s unachievable over wi-fi. That mental and spiritual sync. The kind that synced you and I before the frothy beer spilt out of my glass, and before the shared taxi ride home.

I want to teach you how to kiss me. Properly, this time.

Maybe it’s the oceans and millions of trees between us. Maybe that’s what it is that makes it hard to feel how much you actually do care. I mean, like you say you do. I want to feel how much you miss me, like when you say you do. You know, prove it, like that saying about actions and words..

I would have travelled the world to be with you. Literally, physically, romantically, and metaphorically too.



I dreamt of you last night and I swear it was the worst thing ever. You were more beautiful than you are in real life, just like I have always seen you. 

You sauntered in, with no real sense of urgency, like you always do. Perhaps it’s so that everyone in the room can really take you in. Or perhaps my mind goes into overdrive and heats up my system, so it’s all slow motion when I’m around you.

I smelt you as if you’d doused my pillow with cologne before I went to bed. Oh god, how I curse the accuracy of my memories when it comes to you.

I dreamt of you last night and I swear it was the worst thing ever..