STUFF

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A few days ago, it suddenly dawned on me that I’m being consumed by a smorgasbord of stuff. Things I bought, things I inherited, just things. There are bags full of bits and bobs that I fear will make me look like a hoarder of useless items once revealed. I don’t know what I’ll find, but I do know that I can’t continue ignoring it any longer. I have to take a deep breath, pull open one of the many bags, and be prepared to ‘get rid’!

Many of us have corners in our homes that resemble this. Or maybe it’s that one drawer that holds everything from scissors, batteries, miles of charger leads and sundry other cables to magnets, badges, TFL (London Transport) travel maps from 10 years ago and rubber bands. Everything sits there, all jumbled up, just waiting for a chance to be used, a time that never seems to be now.

Enough is enough.

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I’m going to have a massive, stress-inducing clear-out. Heaven knows what I’ll discover. I’m sure some of the bags, boxes, and containers are full of stuff I don’t even remember buying – or indeed borrowing from the family home, however many years ago it was. All I know is it breaks my heart to see a room so unloved and unable to be what it should be because it’s filled to the brim with… well… I can’t really say with what, but I do know that to an outsider it must look as though I’ve just moved in, when in fact, I’ve been here for years. But where do I start? The task ahead of me looks absolutely enormous. I know that ultimately there will be a few things that I want to keep, but I’m sure as I delve deeper and deeper I’m going to find things that I didn’t even know I had, and maybe I’ll finally locate a much-treasured watch I bought years ago that I’ve been unable to find for more than 10 years.

How and why did I accumulate so many things, and why are most of them sitting here untouched?

Maybe I should organise a good old-fashioned, proper (non-vintage) jumble sale to find new homes for all these items. I don’t want to just throw things away, adding to the international landfill trade. Whatever I decide, I need to sort something out quickly before I close the door on that room completely and never enter again.

Poetry

1.

The sea takes me there and away

The raven laughs as boughs snap backs

It’s sudden and strange

This new day

Of golden farewells and black clouds of despair

Look me, look me

I survive, I keep neck straight

You cry as I struggle

Laughter, then crack

I reach my world as a dream

Its molten, the hate

Fear and confusion keep names at bay

Gone for a while now, mixed in a way

There’s news of a heart

But not as it seems, by force was this made

A sea to compel brings words to conspire

Taking of souls to cleanse the mind and begin

For some a stage

Legacy bears falsehoods and pain

To be gone yet survive is one destiny of status

To be here

To be there

To be sure

To be scared and confused

Am I me?

2.

The cracking of bones, no words to prepare

As cold hands take away all hope

The clouding of minds, as truth makes despair

In a home far from life

Filled with fear

The taking of life, all spoiled, no regret

As more sales bring favour and choice

The hating of skins, no more has repair

In a past, here, and now

Filled with pain

A history for hatred endorsed as a given

Deleting forever a soul that was known

Through time and deliverance, we see things unseen

Forge knowledge to the horrors

Negating, berating, be humble in hell

Whenever truth rears

We are free

3.

It’s warm outside

I can see the glow

A kind of calling just before the snow

We breathe it in and laugh at dusk

It’s winter we say

Each year

It’s the time we know

Yet the surprise is real

4.

You call him something

While viewing nothing

Using whipping words

Before the nines

It’s an isolating theory

Powerful in time

It works to weary

Each soul and space

He sees your history

You call him nothing

He rises and marvels at his power

He calls you lost

5.

Dreaming building hoping

The wave of despair seen receding

There’s more to discover

As passing whims hit the floor

And a revealed symptom of patience wins through

Hair-Raising Times

I’ve joined the natural hair community, and what a confusing time I’m having. Co-washing, curl definition, porosity levels, wash-and-go rituals, and rules regarding moisture retention have left me in an Afro spin.

The plethora of bottles, jars, and pouches stocked in Afro hair shops is incredible. No wonder the global black hair care market is worth billions, while in the UK alone, it’s stated to be 88 million. These figures are huge for any industry.

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To limit my level of distress, I ventured online for advice and encountered another domain of confusion.  

Hair influencers’ product sponsorship strewn across YouTube, vast variations in product prices and reviews, and conflicting advice hit me like a sledgehammer. How on earth does anyone navigate all this?

Still, I’m determined to let my hair do its thing in all its glory, so I’m sure I’ll work it out soon.

Written by Hillery Baptiste

London Roaming

Public transport in London provides some of the best entertainment an oyster card can buy.

Comedic arguments, raucous laughter, random sing-along with Liverpool football fans (always full of emotion) down for a London team challenge, giggling tutu-wearing fashion students seated next to rhythmically nodding young music lovers butted up against sleepy suited city gents are perfect exemplars of harmonious coexistence: something a few seem perpetually disturbed by. Then there are the tube-savvy pigeons just trying to get home after a full day of dive-bombing tourists in Trafalgar Square.

To each of these visions, the reaction by Londoners is forever hilarious. A slightly raised eyebrow, a brief glance, and a ruffling of pages from whichever free publication grabbed that evening. This is about as much response as they feel inclined to muster. Seen it all before you see. Nothing is a surprise anymore. Getting a seat on any form of transport these days is action and excitement enough.

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Also, I miss the old-style London bus drivers and conductors who were around during my clubbing days—many moons and night bus trips ago. The bus was their domain, and we all knew it. There was no arguing with them or trying to steam on through middle doors without paying, and there was no way you would ever cause any kind of disturbance on the top deck because, at the slightest sound of a raised voice or thump of feet from upstairs, the bus would screech to a halt.

Silence.

The driver would then leave his (mainly male drivers back then) position at the front of the bus, march upstairs, and then come back down, holding the culprit/s by the scruff of the neck before persuading them forcefully to leave the bus. No argument, no fuss. As usual, regular travellers would look up for a second without comment, then go back to whatever they were doing. Off we’d go again, secure in the knowledge that the bus was a calm, safe, and watched over space.

How times have changed.

Drivers are now reluctant to intervene in any kind of fracas or antisocial behaviour being foisted upon distance-trapped passengers by a few uncaring individuals for fear of legal action and potential sackings. Travelling by any form of public transport is risky, especially by bus, though as a traveller, you are now more often than not left to fend for yourself. Not a comforting feeling.

Written by Hillery Baptiste.

Starting Point

A blank page.

No words.

Just a glaring sea of too many possibilities, twists, and turns.

After months of interlocking imaginings, copious notes and numerous crushing restarts, I can finally call myself a writer, and I’m stunned.

This has been an enjoyable, frustrating and at times difficult journey. I’ve always loved writing but let self-doubt and a tidal wave of imposter syndrome emotion wash over me. Instead of putting my musings out there, I wrote just for myself. Short stories, poetry and attempts at scripts kept me tethered to a world of writing with no consequence. It was safe, My happy place. It took a family tragedy to focus my mind and push me firmly in the direction l longed to travel.

It’s been a nerve-wracking and, at times, hugely difficult endeavour, but I feel I have learned so much about how I see myself and how personal visions can stall a person’s potential and growth.

A page no longer terrifies me. It’s an invitation to wander around my mind and relay the findings to paper, well, screen, but you know what I’m getting at. Instead of procrastination and sheer terror, I now approach the screen positively and with a spring in my fingers and laughter in my heart.  I can’t believe I let apprehension win for so long. Never again. Onward and upward with joy!

A Name In History is now out there running wild and free of my tethers.

Oh, I feel terror again.

Written by Hillery Baptiste.

Welcome to my website

Hello and welcome to my website. My name is Hillery Baptiste and I am an author. I am thrilled to announce the upcoming release of my debut novel, “A Name in History”! This captivating tale will transport you to the heart of London’s vintage charm, where hidden secrets and a single broken scrap of shell intertwine to unravel a family’s enigmatic past.

Follow Ella, a courageous young woman, who defies her elder aunties to voyage to the Caribbean on a daring quest. There, she delves into the haunting history of slavery, unearthing the dark legacy that intertwines with her own lineage in ways she could never have imagined.

Amidst the vibrant culture and rich tapestry of the Caribbean, Ella grapples with the outrage of her aunties, Augusta and Eunice, who fiercely guard their family secrets. But her insatiable thirst for the truth pushes her forward, unveiling a new understanding of her identity and her place in the world.

“A Name in History” is a tale of love, resilience, and the power of uncovering our past. It will leave you breathless and inspired, as Ella’s journey echoes the indomitable spirit within us all.

Stay tuned for the release of “A Name in History” this autumn, and get ready to embark on an unforgettable adventure.

A Writer’s Motivation

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

Maya Angelou

Based in London but from the shoe-making mecca of Northampton, Hillery still smiles at the memory of childhood summers spent with relatives in the capital, where she marvelled at speedy ‘home’ accents and copious amounts of peppered soups.

Having worked in the creative industry for many years, she fulfilled a long-held dream and returned to education, gaining an MA (with Distinction) in Creative, Digital and Professional Writing and a BA (with First Class Honours) in Film and Television Studies.

A Name In History, Hillery’s debut novel, was formulated during her writing studies, and she hopes the story will resonate with everyone curious about our connected pasts, particularly with those who lost the anchors to their history when ancestors’ names and the very essence of being were removed for the sake of skewed beliefs.

Stories from the Past Intertwine with the Future