#thistimelastyear : The Cuban


exactly a year back from today, i was in The Cuban, Camden, newly single and hating it! i was mildly inebriated, emotional, and surrounded by couples. the only thing that could have made that night any worse would have been if my ex had also decided that The Cuban would be an ideal place to spend his Friday night. thank God that did not happen.

my friend G was also reeling from the torture of that post-relationship phase, and i think that’s the only thing that comforted me…. until he decided to point out how single we were, and that there was no hope of finding love for us now. not the tequila, nor the coolness that is The Cuban could lend a helping hand in silencing him or drowning out his voice, and by that point, i was pretty settled on being sad and heartbroken.

i’d been doing pretty well at convincing myself that i was having a good time until that last shot, and until that last couple had joined our group. that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. in this case, the camel was the dam wall holding back all my emotion.

i  ventured out to Camden expecting to spend the night with three of my friends, and no one else. what i hadn’t planned on was my friend inviting three of her friends, who all brought their other halves with them.

when the first couple arrived, we were still having drinks at Fifty Five, and i was still sober enough to accept that i wasn’t the only single person in the world, clearly forgetting that two of my friends were also single. i was also sober enough to find their long gazes into each other’s eyes quite endearing. however, one gaze became one too many, and they quickly turned from “cute” to “fxcking irritating”. so i had another of those lethal Fifty Five cocktails, and I didn’t care how long i’d had to queue up.

we left for The Cuban and Jay told us another friend of hers would be joining us. please note, the word friend is singular, so i expected one person. whilst we waited for the arrival of the friend, i had desperados and strengthened it a shot of tequila to blur the sight of friend one

rhythmlessly writhing on friend two, whilst gazing lovingly into his eyes, with that “wait till we get home” look in her eyes.

i was introduced to friend three, and then friend three introduced us to friend four, his girlfriend, i had to get some fresh air. unfortunately, so did everyone else, including sickening couple 1.

so, as all intoxicated and heartbroken people do, i drunk dialled my ex and retreated to a lonely table in the outdoor seating area. i don’t remember what i said, and i don’t remember what he said, but i remember G finding me and dragging me back to the group. Jay announced that another one of her friends would be joining us, and she’d be coming with her boyfriend. without a moment’s pause, i kissed everyone goodbye and left, despite them telling me to stay. i meandered through the thick crowd as quickly and as gracefully as i could manage and blissfully ignored the calls to come back.  there was no way i was going to wait for couple 3 to ruin The Cuban for me. no way, Jose!




“monagamy is like being on atkins in a patisserie”


i’ve been wrestling with the idea of true monogamy for a while now – does it truly exist? has it ever really existed? it’s no wonder why the article heading “monagamy is like being on atkins in a patisserie” instantly captivated my attention as i browsed through one of my favourite magazines and left my lunch to go ice cold.

i’m an old romantic constantly being reminded that the new age doesn’t hold the same “til death do us part” values as the previous ages did. and even then, i’m reminded that the value of monogamy is culturally subjective, and has changed as often as the winds have changed, and as generations came and departed.

so where has this notion of one soul belonging with only one other soul come from if throughout history humans have been incapable of simply belonging to one person? culturally, if anything, i am almost supposed to expect to accept polygamy or polyamory. even socially, we have slowly had our minds rewired to expect polygamy or polyamory in any relationship that we enter into. we are to expect to be disappointed when the actions of the one we love do not match the words that they say. either that, or simply “be okay” with being in a relationship that’s more like a social network of intimacy than anything else.

it appears as though monogamy was created for something (i.e. social stability), rather than out of love, and slowly we have been conditioned to believe that monogamy is innate in us all. have love, relationship, marriage, and family been so Disneyfied that their reality is intangible?

i wish i had more than just faith and a few examples from some of my own family to maintain my belief that monogamy is real, and not a social construct. perhaps we were never meant for just one person. surely that makes sense considering how the human race likes to murder one another, thus rendering one individual soul-mate-less. perhaps monogamy once was truly born out of love, before evil reared it’s ugly head. but the, that’s going back so far it might as well not exist.

i fear that all those that are the face of monogamy-is-us hide secrets that would show them up as living a lie. now imagine how that affects a truly romantic soul such as mine?

i want to believe in a soul mate and someone that i have loved outside of time and space. i want to believe in love, marriage, family, and mostly, loyalty and commitment that is not constructed by our fickle society and superstitious traditions.


indieSOul gets a second home!


hello family!

so, indieSOul, aka this blog, started as way for me to express some of my thoughts. however, for the past couple of years, there have been things that i have wanted to share that i couldn’t do so on this blog – just because i didn’t feel it matched the rest of the content on this site.

hence, the birth of indieSOul: the site – the home of everything indieSOul. everything i enjoy, that you might enjoy, or even question why i enjoy them. it’s indieSOul, but the imax version of indieSOul. indieSOul with added dimensions, textures, and sound. the site will showcase some of my (amateur) photography (e.g. the banner above part of my iphoneography from Holi 2014). and will review music i discover, and new places and events i go to, touch on health, beauty, fashion, and some of my old lady hobbies. i’m not saying i’m an expert on it all, but these are things i love and would like to share, and hopefully learn more about through feedback and comments.

this blog will continue to exist, and i will continue to post. i can’t get rid of my first love that easily. in the mean time, check her out:



Watch Keeper


Change is constant. Is it the reality of life. It is the driving force of life, yet crucial in maintaining a homeostatic system that allows us to have some sense of continuity in order to find meaning in life as we continue to evolve and grow.

The other night I had a dream that retold my anxieties in motion picture. It happened the night before my brother left home to move to another city to study at university. For months, I have been coming to terms with the fact that I must now slowly surrender some of my responsibilities as an older sister. I take my responsibilities seriously, but this one is a responsibility that came as a gift that I’d wished and prayed for since as long as I could speak.

One of my earliest memories is of me following my mother from the living room to the kitchen and telling her that I wanted a brother. I must have been about 3 and a half, or nearly 4 years old. I remember that was all I really wanted. I really wanted a brother.

And I remember my thoughts about the matter. I would never think “if I ever have a brother…”. It would always be “when my brother is born…” or “when I have a brother…”. I was certain that he would exist at some point. I was certain that I would not be an only child forever, and I wouldn’t have a sister, but I would have that brother I longed for.

I don’t know why I wanted a brother in particular, but I guess your soul just knows who’s missing, and you spend your life searching until you find them.

When he was still a newborn, I remember I’d woken up to the sounds of him crying in my parent’s room. I don’t know what it was about his cry, or that night, or the circumstances, but I vowed to protect him and take care of with all that I could. I was about 6 years old. I feel that is a lot of responsibility for a 6 year old to assume in a self-appointed role. Perhaps, in that moment, I realised how small and vulnerable he was.,

As I got older I remained true to my vows. It didn’t matter how much he would anger me – I would recite them to myself until they became woven in with my DNA. Perhaps they were already part of my DNA and expressed themselves in my thoughts.

The older I became, the more responsibility I assumed, and the more vows I took in front of The Most High. There are no contracts more binding that the ones you draw up voluntarily…

That dream I had the other night showed him leave into the night. I guess it was night because you cannot see far into the night. Visibility is low, and so is the ability to predict what else surrounds you. As he walked into the night, I remember turning to my mother and asking why she was letting him leave. She said, “If he wants to go, let him”. I spent that night, in my dream, awake and waiting for him to come back. Every one else was sleeping, but I remained watchful for his return. As we drew further into the night, the more anxious my prayers became. “He’s my brother”, I remember telling the night, to remind it that it could not claim him because he was already spoken for. “I asked for him,” I cried. Finally, morning came, and with it my brother returned with the daylight. He came back a change man – a man. Before him I could literally see the March of Progress / Ages of Man. I could see his infant form before his boyhood form, before his teenage form, and his evolution through manhood and further into old age. I saw it all before me, and at first I was puzzled and examined each form, and the wrinkles that eventually etched themselves onto his face.

I don’t remember exactly how the dream ended, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since then. It was a manifestation of my fears of not being able to be there if he needed me; Not being able to foresee his needs before they occurred. It’s difficult to assume responsibility when you are no longer sure of what you are responsible for. He is becoming a man, and he must take on the responsibility of being responsible for himself. And sometimes, the guardian must take on a new role and become the watch keeper..


The freedom of singlehood


Technically, I’ve been single for the last 4 months now. In this day and age, I shouldn’t be saying that out loud. Aloud for the world to hear that somebody doesn’t want me. Please. Somebody wants me, and when he stops, somebody will still want me, even if that only somebody is me.

I say technically, because since the age of 19, my soul has not been free. It’s not just been me. Always balls deep into this one soul and this one body. And only when I finally agreed to just do me, I finally felt freedom and true liberty. Me balls deep in me. It’s beautiful to finally be free.

I was wrapped up in thoughts of us. Spending time on us,mentally or physically. Even when the day reset my clock, it would be all about me and him, him and me. 

When we stopped being we, and us gave up on us, I could have fallen into the arms of some next body – trust. There always seems to be a some next body ready to catch you when your we falls out of us.

For the first time in years, I refused to fall into someone else. I broke away from being a monkey bar lover and all that mess. The mess of taking my broken and bleeding pieces and bits of your broken and bleeding pieces to someone with a mosaic of pieces and no peace to mend. 

The last 4 months have been liberating. My soul magically regenerating in a marinade of singletude. Spirit free. Untangled. Released. Walking down some highway, with half a head of braids, and half an afro, and the sun licking my naked freckles. Like tongue deep in my chocolate chip freckles kind of free.

No make up to impress, but only make up when I dress to remind you all that I am an Empress…I am an Empress! – that’s what my Rasta said. Lord, I miss him. Dead in flesh but his spirit lives on. Spirits never bleed the red of death. 

My Rasta’s words reminding me that true love sees beauty when she opens her mouth and her soul pours out. A soul mended and refined in solitude..Oozing peace, love, blessings, and gratitude for a type of freedom that truly is free.