Chef Indo 👩🏽‍🍳

All my friends Havin babies and then there’s me

I’m an elder millennial. I’m never letting go of my emotional support denim jacket, gold hoop earrings, boomerang drink videos, 90s R&B, side parts, and peace signs in my pics. Fight me.

Arguing with 17 year old girls about getting in the shower is diabolical. Like how you think you stood on business because you didn’t it didn’t shower.

@josiahjdp I’m ready for a book

If you read this one until the end, drop a comment. Anticipate another story soon. 🍿 Till then. See you.

Mom took our hands. ”I was going to die,” she said. “You were going to be left with a lie for a last name. Your dad was going to be left without justice. But we are here.” Matthew swallowed hard. ”Sorry for being late, Mom.” She hugged him. ”You arrived in time.” I started to cry. ”Sorry for doubting.” Mom pulled me into the hug. ”You came back in time.” ”And Dad?” Matthew asked. Mom looked toward the kitchen, where his photo was. ”He waited for us in time.” We laughed while crying. Because it didn’t make much sense, and at the same time, it had everything. That night, we ate dinner in the yard. The newly planted rue swayed in the wind. Mom served Matthew’s plate first, then mine, then hers. Then, as she had done since we got the house back, she put a small empty plate in the center of the table. Not for sadness. For memory. Dad’s plate. At first, it seemed painful to me. Now, it was part of us. A way of saying death doesn’t take someone’s place when the truth keeps naming them. Matthew raised his glass. ”To Mom.” I raised mine. ”To Dad.” Mom raised hers. ”To the children who gave me my life back.” ”You gave it back to us first,” I said. Mom shook her head. ”No. Life isn’t given back like a loan. It’s shared.” After dinner, Matthew stayed to wash dishes. I helped Mom put away the mole. ”Are you happy?” I asked her suddenly. She looked at me, surprised. ”What a big question for someone who’s sleepy.” ”Answer me.” She leaned on the table. ”I am free. Sometimes, that looks a lot like happiness. Sometimes not. But it’s mine.” ”What if you could erase everything?” Her face changed. ”I would erase your dad’s death. I would erase Matthew’s fear. I would erase your years of guilt. But I would not erase the truth. Because without it, we would still be living a life Ray wrote for us.” She looked toward the yard. “I prefer this one. Broken, but ours.” That night I stayed in my old room. The same one where my dad kissed my forehead for the last time. Before sleeping, I opened my nightstand drawer and pulled out a letter. It was one of the first ones Mom wrote me from prison. I had read it so many times that the paper was soft. “Valerie: If one day you doubt me, don’t punish yourself. Doubting is human when everyone pushes you toward the lie. I only ask that you don’t close the door forever. Leave it a little bit open. The truth can enter through there. Love, Mom.”

i do not play about people treating me weird, like i’ll literally never talk to you again

Surprise me with things I love

I wanna move to New York I just don’t wanna pay 4.5k for a studio/1 bedroom

Returning you, you’re not mine, to me, you don’t belong

Mine is being broke

MY MORAL COMPASS INTACT; IDK HOW SOME OF YALL OPERATE THE WAY YALL DO🤦🏾‍♂️

Already did it for free

I work with high school kids. As their culinary instructor/ counselors they just be lyinggggggg. Teach yo kids not to lie to someone like me.

I had a bad day and I think it’s because I left my kindle at home.

Either you down or you ain’t, either you riding or you can’t

I’m goin to school I wanna be Dr. India, this shit is ain’t no joke tryna work and go to school.

HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH

In every lifetime, I would choose to be a Black woman. Every last one.

I dislike a person who present themselves as solid and genuine, yet move through life manipulating others, they sell a clean image to the world while being messy and deceitful behind closed doors.

deadass

Flat stomach, fatter ass, slim waist, $9 million dollars,and a townhome?!