My dreams for 2016 are informed by a hodgepodge of influences: coming-of-age montages, moments of sappy-ooey-gooey in romantic indie films, the wonders of female friendship, hashtags including #blackout #melaninonfleek and #blackgirlmagic, and basically all of Pinterest.

In 2016 I want to sit on the floor of my empty first apartment, eating Indian delivery and re-watching Gossip Girl on Netflix. I want to experience hysterical (in hindsight) little disasters that leave me laughing through tears. I want someone of my own who is warm and cuddly and loyal — a bunny or a boyfriend, I’m not picky.

Next year I’ll be unapologetically black because…well why not? I want to read Du Bois and Coates and hooks and Lorde and pore over every word Morrison and Angelou and Giovanni wrote. I want to breathe and eat blackness and wear bright Ankara prints even if it means I get sideways glances in Safeway.

I’m also hoping to find some really killer shoes, to throw at least one great soiree, and to take a couple trips rife with good memories and excellent Instagram pics. I’d like to learn to make pizza from scratch even though ordering in is 10x easier and will result in a lot less flour spilled on the floor. I want to be like the girl in hotline bling,  if there was a remix with the line “stressin’ less and writin’ more.”

I want to roll on the ground laughing over something that would never amuse anyone else but me and my little sister, a sixteen-year-old blooming flower I love very much. I want to hug my mom more, and my dad too. (Not enough hugs in the world in general, imo).  I want to go on long blustery walks with our three tiny dogs more often than once in a while.

Most of all, I want to be happy (like Beyoncé).

Thank you for reading my wishes and thoughts and ramblings you lovely people, and cheers to 2016! I hope it’s a fabulous year for all of us.

Love and theatre (and a bottle of champagne),


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