JOURNAL ENTRY 08
Title: anger, fear, issues.
there is a hard pill waiting to be swallowed.
“red or blue?” they ask.
when I take the red pill, I see rage. the frustration.
I hear the sound of my mother’s scream. the echo of a thump. the door slams. I press my hands to my ears but still, the yelling linger through a thin barrier.
there is a hard pill waiting to be swallowed.
“red or blue?” they ask.
when I choose the blue pill, fear comes haunting. the pain.
bruises all over my mother’s body. maybe I suppressed them all.
faint memories linger.
i try so hard to remember. but the only thing I could pull through the thing air, is the memory of my world that my imagination built, trying to protect me.
JOURNAL ENTRY 07
Title: to create, to enjoy, to be (based on a true recollection)
I’m in a deep state of dream but I can’t distinguish it from reality. I’m on a lift or a train like vehicle that’s taking me up the sky where a building stands afloat. then i get on the elevator that takes me up, but in the middle of one quiet night, I decide to come down the elevator; which seems like an unusual routine. I see a pool of water in front of the building and the track for the mysterious vehicle that usually takes me down to earth every morning. I hop on the fence and I look down in the emerald colour sea water where I see some magnificent dolphin-shark hybrid creatures swimming in a pack. I feel scared but my eyes are captivated by the beauty. all of a sudden, I look to the side and there is a dinasour dragon that comes flying in front of the building. I am frightened and nervous but I can’t take my eyes off of it. I try to get closer.
I wake up. it’s friday.
“wanna pool hang?”
the first text message I saw that morning was from yaya.
i decide to pull up my curtains and crack my window open for some fresh air. it’s hot as fuck.
my latest morning ritual is running to the kitchen & grabbing a glass of cold, cucumber water infused with cinnamon, right after I wake up from a vague dream – feeling dehydrated.
spring flowers are blooming so maybe I’ll put some sunscreen on and go for a jog up the hill.
cozy is visiting from toronto this weekend, and all the funemployed people of montreal are hanging outside enjoying the sun today. I immediately feel good.
“ok let me eat quickly. i’ll come over at 3pm.” I reply to yaya and put on my workout clothes. I’ve been noticing my body slowly changing like i just hit a second puberty. It’s depressing and all so exciting at the same time. depressing because none of my clothes fit and I don’t want to buy new ones.
I got to yaya’s at 4:35pm. she welcomes me into her cozy apartment.
there are three French girls already sitting and enjoying some sun in the balcony, puffing on some cigarettes.
“do you smoke cigarettes?” one girl asks.
“no, but I smoke fresh air.” I smile and the girls chuckle.
over the course of the next 5 hours, I spend my time with a group of entirely french speaking people. I feel like a 14-year-old all over again, when I first came to Canada and I could barely understand nor form any sentences in English. not sure if that time was nostalgic or traumatic but it definitely built character for me. nowadays I feel ok not fitting in. I’m just that much more comfortable in my skin... I guess. plus montreal people seem to be relaxed so I don’t feel the need to try too hard. I intently listen to the back and forth french interactions before my mind dissociates and drifts into my own little world as per usual.
“you know, people ask me what I do or what I want to do,” says one girl, the sun is setting now. “I just want to create. not for a gain or a particular reason. but i believe that’s our true nature. to create. you know?”
JOURNAL ENTRY 06
Title: that one summer day when we took a tab of acid
the image is still so vivid to me.
this scene lives in my head rent free.
Tev and I took some acid at the park and I remember walking back home,
and we were crossing the streets impatiently waiting for the light to turn green.
there was a gourgeous man walking across from the street with a perfect afro and a toothpick in between his lips. dressed in a white tank and a pair of black leather pants. we had a speaker and the song Summer Breeze by The Main Ingredient was playing as we crossed the streets with our arms linked and we both stared at him in awe. he grinned his teeth and winked at us.
I still remember this vividly happening in slowmotion and how dramatic that was. we can’t make this shit up.
I text her about it today. she replies, “i swear to god i thought of that moment yesterday. we trasnported to a different dimension and time. i remember it so clealrly.”
JOURNAL ENTRY 05
︎ The Art of Reflection
(listen to my exclusive playlist series “from me” on apple music).
JOURNAL ENTRY 04
Title: The feeling of Discouragement. Art feels like a sport these days.
Tue, Jan 16, 2024 –– Like having to compete and prove something.
When it should be sacred, constant, flowing.
Art is a feeling. Art is Jazz. Art is a proof of my very existance and being.
Art is life. Art is self-actualization. Art is a rebellion. A revelation. A revolution.
Art should be what gets us forward and not what takes us backwards.
Art is an evolution. It frees. It survives.
Art is sometimes the only thing in my mind at 2am, as life passes by.
I know what I want to be. I know what I don’t want to be.
Art gives me the space – the refugee.
It’s the pain, the numbness, the empty hollow darkness I feel in my body that sometimes discourages me from getting up in the morning; asking god when is this feeling going to ever stop?
But I still am alive each day.
Each night I lay in my bed praying,
“is it over?” “has it began?”
But it’s not about the beginning or the end. It’s the in-between.
What is unsaid? What has to be said? What wants to be said? Is it heard?
An exploration – an explanation.
A meaning that’s meaningless. But at the same time, extremely meaningful.
Because I’m alive. I’m here. I’m important. You’re important. We are important.
We are important to this world.
JOURNAL ENTRY 03
Title: “everything is changing, but nothing is linear.”
fri, oct 27, 11:46am, montreal:
things aren’t always constant.
changes are inevitable.
i’ve just made a really big decision of my adulthood. to leave a city behind. the city that nurtured me and made me who i am for the past decade –– the longest period i’ve ever spent in one city and essentially, all of my adulthood since i was 19.
these past couple months (maybe even a year) have been the least inspired phase I’ve been in by far. I’ve accomplished a lot artistically as though it seems, it hasn’t fulfilled or challenged me spiritually and mentally as a creative person. and I know my own potential.
this lack of creative high had left me feeling stuck, guilty and uninspired.
I used to be able to get lost in my own world and stay there.//
digging for music for hours, chasing down a rabbit hole.
watching films and spiralling inside a character’s mind.
becoming entirely consumed by the work of a new favourite film director, or having books for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
my heart being fixated on a line in a film or a novel, infatuated with every little detail. hyperfocusing and just becoming obsessed with art – exactly like falling in love.//
i fell in love with art every time.
but nowadays i feel so limited. i feel as though i’m hitting an invisible ceiling every time i try to chase the same high. feels like i can’t get any higher. that’s what Toronto started to feel like for me.
i hate the word ‘stagnant’.
what you typically get for your return on investment is little.
oversaturated hype; opinions; people; noise; parties; drugs; what else?
they are not seeing my vision.
things I’ve accomplished weren’t just enough. I’ve been patient with how fast I wanted things to move but I grew more and more impatient.
i wanted to disappear all the time. to be able to hide again in my nest where i can hear my own thoughts – a safe haven.
maybe that’s the blessing and a curse about being an artist – is that we are constantly haunted by the thoughts of an everlasting evolution.
i wanted a change.
i WANT a change. a new chapter. a new environment. a quiet space where i can listen to my own thoughts and fall in love with art. fall in love with my mind.
so here i am.
JOURNAL ENTRY 02
︎
JOURNAL ENTRY 01
Title: Mid Summer — Accidental Summer but really, nothing is a coincidence.
Sat, July 15, Los Angeles: I did it. I designed it.
Sun, July 2, Montreal: “Repent yourself! You need Jesus! The end is worlding!”
I’m working time backwards.
Wed, June 28, London, UK: The weed I smoked a few hours ago is still lingering in me. I’m walking in the streets of Shoreditch, high out of my mind at 2am in the morning. With some people I met that night at 180 Strand. I'm not sure if the time is going slowly or too quickly.
“We are all going to be ok.”
Seyiola affirms it slowly but out loud as if to reassure both of us of how far we’ve come as individuals. Her voice is so warm and proud with such conviction. That night, two African women sat optimistically on the couch outside a balcony of some 8th story high building, in central London, gazing at the night sky into the distance.
I pay attention to symbolism a lot. I tend to make meanings out of everything.
Wed, Jun 7, Toronto: I’m on the way to meet up with Isabel walking on a street called London St while the song “London” by Tomi Agape plays on shuffle.
Sometimes shit like that feels like a sign from the universe –– is it a coincidence or is it a design?
We then continue talking about how the hell two African women of different origins; one Nigeria born and one born in Japan would be exchanging ideas and common vision that are articulated in such perfect English.
Sun, Jun 4, Toronto: I’m at an Ethiopian coffee shop and I picked up a pack of coffee with the name “Maji” on it, which means water in Swahili. that reminded me of my name in Sukuma — also meaning water.
“Minzemalulu; sacred water; rare to find.”
My name reminds me that I am symbolic as if life isn’t symbolic already.
We are here now, not there.
The flowers I gave Ama last summer still haven't died.
Title: anger, fear, issues.
there is a hard pill waiting to be swallowed.
“red or blue?” they ask.
when I take the red pill, I see rage. the frustration.
I hear the sound of my mother’s scream. the echo of a thump. the door slams. I press my hands to my ears but still, the yelling linger through a thin barrier.
there is a hard pill waiting to be swallowed.
“red or blue?” they ask.
when I choose the blue pill, fear comes haunting. the pain.
bruises all over my mother’s body. maybe I suppressed them all.
faint memories linger.
i try so hard to remember. but the only thing I could pull through the thing air, is the memory of my world that my imagination built, trying to protect me.
JOURNAL ENTRY 07
Title: to create, to enjoy, to be (based on a true recollection)
I’m in a deep state of dream but I can’t distinguish it from reality. I’m on a lift or a train like vehicle that’s taking me up the sky where a building stands afloat. then i get on the elevator that takes me up, but in the middle of one quiet night, I decide to come down the elevator; which seems like an unusual routine. I see a pool of water in front of the building and the track for the mysterious vehicle that usually takes me down to earth every morning. I hop on the fence and I look down in the emerald colour sea water where I see some magnificent dolphin-shark hybrid creatures swimming in a pack. I feel scared but my eyes are captivated by the beauty. all of a sudden, I look to the side and there is a dinasour dragon that comes flying in front of the building. I am frightened and nervous but I can’t take my eyes off of it. I try to get closer.
I wake up. it’s friday.
“wanna pool hang?”
the first text message I saw that morning was from yaya.
i decide to pull up my curtains and crack my window open for some fresh air. it’s hot as fuck.
my latest morning ritual is running to the kitchen & grabbing a glass of cold, cucumber water infused with cinnamon, right after I wake up from a vague dream – feeling dehydrated.
spring flowers are blooming so maybe I’ll put some sunscreen on and go for a jog up the hill.
cozy is visiting from toronto this weekend, and all the funemployed people of montreal are hanging outside enjoying the sun today. I immediately feel good.
“ok let me eat quickly. i’ll come over at 3pm.” I reply to yaya and put on my workout clothes. I’ve been noticing my body slowly changing like i just hit a second puberty. It’s depressing and all so exciting at the same time. depressing because none of my clothes fit and I don’t want to buy new ones.
I got to yaya’s at 4:35pm. she welcomes me into her cozy apartment.
there are three French girls already sitting and enjoying some sun in the balcony, puffing on some cigarettes.
“do you smoke cigarettes?” one girl asks.
“no, but I smoke fresh air.” I smile and the girls chuckle.
over the course of the next 5 hours, I spend my time with a group of entirely french speaking people. I feel like a 14-year-old all over again, when I first came to Canada and I could barely understand nor form any sentences in English. not sure if that time was nostalgic or traumatic but it definitely built character for me. nowadays I feel ok not fitting in. I’m just that much more comfortable in my skin... I guess. plus montreal people seem to be relaxed so I don’t feel the need to try too hard. I intently listen to the back and forth french interactions before my mind dissociates and drifts into my own little world as per usual.
“you know, people ask me what I do or what I want to do,” says one girl, the sun is setting now. “I just want to create. not for a gain or a particular reason. but i believe that’s our true nature. to create. you know?”
JOURNAL ENTRY 06
Title: that one summer day when we took a tab of acid
the image is still so vivid to me.
this scene lives in my head rent free.
Tev and I took some acid at the park and I remember walking back home,
and we were crossing the streets impatiently waiting for the light to turn green.
there was a gourgeous man walking across from the street with a perfect afro and a toothpick in between his lips. dressed in a white tank and a pair of black leather pants. we had a speaker and the song Summer Breeze by The Main Ingredient was playing as we crossed the streets with our arms linked and we both stared at him in awe. he grinned his teeth and winked at us.
I still remember this vividly happening in slowmotion and how dramatic that was. we can’t make this shit up.
I text her about it today. she replies, “i swear to god i thought of that moment yesterday. we trasnported to a different dimension and time. i remember it so clealrly.”
JOURNAL ENTRY 05
︎ The Art of Reflection
(listen to my exclusive playlist series “from me” on apple music).
JOURNAL ENTRY 04
Title: The feeling of Discouragement. Art feels like a sport these days.
Tue, Jan 16, 2024 –– Like having to compete and prove something.
When it should be sacred, constant, flowing.
Art is a feeling. Art is Jazz. Art is a proof of my very existance and being.
Art is life. Art is self-actualization. Art is a rebellion. A revelation. A revolution.
Art should be what gets us forward and not what takes us backwards.
Art is an evolution. It frees. It survives.
Art is sometimes the only thing in my mind at 2am, as life passes by.
I know what I want to be. I know what I don’t want to be.
Art gives me the space – the refugee.
It’s the pain, the numbness, the empty hollow darkness I feel in my body that sometimes discourages me from getting up in the morning; asking god when is this feeling going to ever stop?
But I still am alive each day.
Each night I lay in my bed praying,
“is it over?” “has it began?”
But it’s not about the beginning or the end. It’s the in-between.
What is unsaid? What has to be said? What wants to be said? Is it heard?
An exploration – an explanation.
A meaning that’s meaningless. But at the same time, extremely meaningful.
Because I’m alive. I’m here. I’m important. You’re important. We are important.
We are important to this world.
JOURNAL ENTRY 03
Title: “everything is changing, but nothing is linear.”
fri, oct 27, 11:46am, montreal:
things aren’t always constant.
changes are inevitable.
i’ve just made a really big decision of my adulthood. to leave a city behind. the city that nurtured me and made me who i am for the past decade –– the longest period i’ve ever spent in one city and essentially, all of my adulthood since i was 19.
these past couple months (maybe even a year) have been the least inspired phase I’ve been in by far. I’ve accomplished a lot artistically as though it seems, it hasn’t fulfilled or challenged me spiritually and mentally as a creative person. and I know my own potential.
this lack of creative high had left me feeling stuck, guilty and uninspired.
I used to be able to get lost in my own world and stay there.//
digging for music for hours, chasing down a rabbit hole.
watching films and spiralling inside a character’s mind.
becoming entirely consumed by the work of a new favourite film director, or having books for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
my heart being fixated on a line in a film or a novel, infatuated with every little detail. hyperfocusing and just becoming obsessed with art – exactly like falling in love.//
i fell in love with art every time.
but nowadays i feel so limited. i feel as though i’m hitting an invisible ceiling every time i try to chase the same high. feels like i can’t get any higher. that’s what Toronto started to feel like for me.
i hate the word ‘stagnant’.
what you typically get for your return on investment is little.
oversaturated hype; opinions; people; noise; parties; drugs; what else?
they are not seeing my vision.
things I’ve accomplished weren’t just enough. I’ve been patient with how fast I wanted things to move but I grew more and more impatient.
i wanted to disappear all the time. to be able to hide again in my nest where i can hear my own thoughts – a safe haven.
maybe that’s the blessing and a curse about being an artist – is that we are constantly haunted by the thoughts of an everlasting evolution.
i wanted a change.
i WANT a change. a new chapter. a new environment. a quiet space where i can listen to my own thoughts and fall in love with art. fall in love with my mind.
so here i am.
JOURNAL ENTRY 02
︎
JOURNAL ENTRY 01
Title: Mid Summer — Accidental Summer but really, nothing is a coincidence.
Sat, July 15, Los Angeles: I did it. I designed it.
Sun, July 2, Montreal: “Repent yourself! You need Jesus! The end is worlding!”
I’m working time backwards.
Wed, June 28, London, UK: The weed I smoked a few hours ago is still lingering in me. I’m walking in the streets of Shoreditch, high out of my mind at 2am in the morning. With some people I met that night at 180 Strand. I'm not sure if the time is going slowly or too quickly.
“We are all going to be ok.”
Seyiola affirms it slowly but out loud as if to reassure both of us of how far we’ve come as individuals. Her voice is so warm and proud with such conviction. That night, two African women sat optimistically on the couch outside a balcony of some 8th story high building, in central London, gazing at the night sky into the distance.
I pay attention to symbolism a lot. I tend to make meanings out of everything.
Wed, Jun 7, Toronto: I’m on the way to meet up with Isabel walking on a street called London St while the song “London” by Tomi Agape plays on shuffle.
Sometimes shit like that feels like a sign from the universe –– is it a coincidence or is it a design?
We then continue talking about how the hell two African women of different origins; one Nigeria born and one born in Japan would be exchanging ideas and common vision that are articulated in such perfect English.
Sun, Jun 4, Toronto: I’m at an Ethiopian coffee shop and I picked up a pack of coffee with the name “Maji” on it, which means water in Swahili. that reminded me of my name in Sukuma — also meaning water.
“Minzemalulu; sacred water; rare to find.”
My name reminds me that I am symbolic as if life isn’t symbolic already.
We are here now, not there.
The flowers I gave Ama last summer still haven't died.