Joining the Club

I remember Cristina Yang on Grey’s Anatomy comforting George when he lost his father. She says…

“There’s a club. The Dead Dads Club. And you can’t be in it until you’re in it. You can try to understand, you can sympathize. But until you feel that loss… George, I’m really sorry you had to join the club.”

He starts to break down about the visualization of a world where his father is not in it. The scene could not be more real or true to the feeling of losing a parent. Their role is unreplaceable in your life.

I am almost twenty-one years old and as a young woman, my mom was one of my best friends and undeniably half of me.

When people ask “how are you,” I automatically answer “I’m fine.” The truth is I cry sporadically throughout the day and sometimes feel so uncontrollably numb. I have crawled into my shell of melancholy. I fear the future now because all my plans included my mother. I shared with her my dreams and now knowing she will not be there in moments of triumph and failures is terrifying. The world without her– how will I cope?

I search for comfort in condolences, prayers and Bible verses, but I am still searching for it.

With love,

sad and pensive Zoe


My passion takes new meaning

My love of writing developed while I was in the third grade. It began with poems. which are based on emotions, and are not constructed with rigid structures or rules. Later, I began to master the rules of essays and research papers which disregards ethos for logic and order. I stopped writing poetry. However, I did not stop writing. The one thing I continue to love and cultivate in my writing is the art of storytelling. In everything I do, whether it is an article, a video interview, or photograph, my goal is to convey a story. My passion and self-proclaimed purpose is “visual storyteller.” By pen or a lens, it is what I strive for and what I want to do with my life. I like uncovering and sharing the lives of the human race.

Last week, I wrote the obituary for my mother’s funeral (she died suddenly in her sleep May 8th, 2017). No doubt the most difficult story I have told in my twenty years of life, but it was only a glimpse into the legacy she left. I had to condense her life onto a page that was inadequate. I realize you can not completely visually express the impression of someone’s life. As a storyteller, I can only provide a glimpse. My struggle as a future journalist is determining what is important to the audience. Every story is different, but everyone one has a story to tell. I want to be the one who effectively and brilliantly shines a light on the beauty and distresses of humanity in today’s world.

My very existence is the story of love between my parents. I am the evidence of their prayers, love, and hopes. Therefore, I wish to make their sacrifices worth wild.

Scrapes & Changes

I have tried several attempts at blogging, but I’ve always decided to blog about things I don’t know about. I never just blogged about myself or what I am going through. Right yayanow, I am entering my junior year of college and I am adapting to various personalities and cultures around me at the #1 HBCU (Historically Black Colleges and Universities) in U.S.

I have all these expectations and fears about the future, but I am motivated to share my experiences and grow as an individual. In my posts, I will not be afraid to tell you the whole truth or sensor my life. I am eager to embrace a change of pace. Many, many, many other personal bloggers are out there. I am just trying to find my voice.

With love,