The flower Called Nowhere

Now playing: Doh by Serani

Jul 05, 2025

Hi, it’s been a minute.

I wanted to start this with some absurdly tender shit like a line from Shakespeare or a cheesy “My dearest readers…” on some dramatic shit, but let’s just call this a quiet return.

As usual, time passed, and things happened. I didn’t want to rush and write anything shitty, or at least not too shitty. I needed to translate my thoughts properly and without filler. I left off in a good place last time— alignment talk. It didn’t feel like anything more needed to be said. Not online, at least. But I do eventually need to finish my rom-com list.

I don’t have a full review or essay today, just a recap of sorts:

I went to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden for the first time in over a decade. You can blame my walk through Shakespeare’s Garden for the intro. It’s really nice in there, delicate.
I ventured all the way to West Bumbafuck Bronx, NY, to visit the Patois Palace (my Jamaican friend’s house lol). I walked into Mamacita by Collie Buddz playing. Jamaican flag draped across the door like a proclamation. The only thing missing was a photo of a Gyptian in the corner, like Kim Jong-Un. (Hailee Selassie would’ve been too on the nose)
I finished one script. Started two more.
Started my directing class.
Watched some good, weird films. I recommend The Act of Killing, Dogville, and Delicatessen.
I got my Invisalign hinges off and can finally feel my teeth again—I've been running my tongue over them like I just grew them.
My dog turned six (and racked up a nearly $800 vet bill, smh).
Had this nice ass 4am drive home from the airport—empty streets, soft sky, that rare kind of stillness.
I read an excerpt from my essay, Did Amy Winehouse Make Side Bitch Music? At an open mic. I went alone. Didn’t rehearse. Bit nerve-wracking—but fuck it, I did it. I got a good response, it was cool.
Went to a couple of concerts, started cooking, etc, etc, etc

The open mic was new for me. It was nice to discuss my work with people. Writing on here can feel like speaking into a void. I only decided to do it two days before, so rehearsing was really just me trying to pick a section and memorize it on the fly before I went on stage. Five reads in, and I realized that it might be time to update that essay. The girl who wrote it two years ago? I still recognize her. But she’s not who I am today.

To anyone who found me from that night—hi, welcome, thank you. This isn’t that update. But it is a prelude. A quick lil ramble.

Life’s been weird for a minute now, beyond just the natural ebb and flow. I hadn’t always known where I was going, just that I had to move. So many shakeups, too much for the net. I’ve been more to myself than ever—part by choice, part not.

I've been trying to read my zodiac chart, but what’s going on? If you’re an astrology girlie, hit my line. I’m almost sure now I’m a Sag rising. Virgo Sun, Gemini Moon.

The other day I had a full-on crisis of faith, looking up like God, what are you playing at, my nigga? (Go as you are before your God, right? I talk to him/the universe like they’re me - my mirror ) Shadowboxing the air like an old head on Rutland Rd. I was pulling daily tarot cards for like a week straight… and then one day, silence. I just woke up and got to it. Whatever it is.

I’m not gonna say too much more (watch me say more shit lol), but as usual: I’m working on me. Being better. Doing better. Loving better. Living better. Taking accountability when/where need be but also calling niggas shit when/where need be. Saying no, which has been fun, ngl. Saying yes. Being kind, not nice. All that.
It’s nothing new—I’ve said this on here before. But that’s the thing about effort: you put it in without always seeing the fruits right away. I’m walking through the world humming “Patience, patience, patience,” like my name Stormi.

I still want what’s mine and am doing my part in obtaining it. I’m just taking my eye off the clock.

I had initially written a different mini-essay to drop here—a teaser about how my emotional palette has evolved since the Amy piece. But I’m saving that for the update. Just know I’ve been sitting with it. Thinking deeply about feeling, and about how easy it is to mistake one thing for another. I remember a moment clearly, shortly after the Amy piece. I was thinking about the over-romanticization of yearning I kept seeing in the media. The highs, the lows, the constant ache. And one day, I just thought: nahhh, I don’t wanna yearn like this anymore, not like that. I need something sustainable and long-lasting.

I’m out here feeling like Gomez Addams about this love shit, Ho, is you gon’ be my Morticia or nah?! Lmaooo. After that realization and the Amy piece, I decided to take action on my wants and desires, rather than just yearn for them. I send the text, maintain eye contact, write the script, stand on the stage in front of strangers, and read from my little blog, whoopty whoopty whoo.

And exercise a little patience, like the flowers waiting to bloom. I realized from that visit to the Botanical Garden that sorrel (hibiscus) grows sideways and unbloomed, its leaves are wrapped in a way that makes it look like a pretty ass preroll, lol.

I feel a lot. Amy did too.

Music and movies help me understand my feelings. There’s no pre-made blueprint to this shit, you build your life like a charcuterie board. Pick and pull from everything as best as you can, then step away from the noise and taste. I heard somewhere that emotions visit, but behaviors stay and grow. Maybe the discipline is finally sticking. Maybe the discernment’s getting better.

I can’t fully articulate the emotional and metaphysical shifts I’ve undergone since that Amy essay. I don’t even know what’s next. But I’m hellbent on building something that lasts, something good in my life.

Part of me wishes I had someone to go through it with, or maybe just someone to watch movies with. That’s the honestly scary part. That might sound sad, maybe it is, but only just a little. I’m good by myself and tbh I don’t even like being round too many people. I just don’t always want to be by myself.

I like who I’m becoming, though, so I’m in good company. She's cool, and she reads more. Wants not just to devour but to savor. I don’t even mind the silence anymore; maybe therapy is working. Or maybe I’ve just gotten better at taking my own advice. We shall see.

No music video this week. Just fireworks.
The dudes in white tees on my block heard I was writing again. Cause for celebration.

Feeling

⭐️⭐️⭐️

There’s this video of a woman on TikTok—she’s sitting in her car at a red light with an orange plastic bubble gun, singing 'Can’t Tell Me Nothing' by Ye. Right as the bubbles float out the window, she raps along with him, 'I’m just saying how I feel, man. I ain’t one of the Cosbys, I ain’t go to Hillman.'"

3 out of 5 stars