I’m working on something tender. Something strong.
A book made of letters — written for coloured girls.
To remind them that they are seen. That they matter. That they will go far.
It’s called Oh, Coloured Girl, You Will Go Far because I am the coloured girl.
I write from that experience.
I write from the silence that tried to shape me.
I write from the resistance that bloomed anyway.
I often hear, “write what you know.”
And this — this is what I know.
I’m writing from an experience we lived, one stitched into our every day.
I know what it means to grow up in a world that mispronounces your softness as weakness.
I know the feeling of shrinking to fit spaces never built for you.
I know what it is to live between cultures, between assumptions, between the lines —
To be told who you are, and to spend years unlearning it.
But I also know what it means to hold stories like lifelines.
To find healing in words that hold space for others too.
This book is for the little girl who lived this experience — and for the ones living it now.
It’s for the ones whose hair, voices, bodies, and brilliance are always up for discussion, but never for celebration.
It’s for the girls who’ve had to grow up too fast, fight too quietly, or live too loudly just to be heard.
I wrote it for them.
And I wrote it for me.
I wrote it for my sister.
For my mother.
For my nieces.
For my cousins, my aunts, and my grandmothers.
For the women whose names live alongside mine.
I write for each of us who looked different, but were always seen the same — as a coloured girl.
This is for all of us.
Because our names deserve to be held in print, too.
My writing is bold, but it’s not harsh.
It’s not designed to wound. It’s meant to rebuild.
To take what was buried and say: you are allowed to grow here.
Right now, I’m finalizing an interview that will be included in the book — a story within a story.
A voice that echoes alongside mine.
This project is layered — personal and collective.
Just like our identity. Just like our history.
Oh, Coloured Girl, You Will Go Far is not a whisper.
It’s a declaration.
It’s a promise we speak over ourselves and each other.
It’s a book I hope will be passed between hands — in classrooms, community halls, outreach projects, and quiet bedrooms where someone needs to hear:
You are not too much.
You are not too little.
You are not a problem to solve.
You are a story worth telling.
And you will go far.
