If my life were a movie, I think it’d open on a sweeping shot of the Charleston marshlands—Spanish moss dripping from ancient oaks, marsh grass bending in the breeze, and the occasional flutter of a heron’s wings breaking the stillness. Cue the soundtrack: something rich with soul, maybe a melody from my grandparents’ favorite hymnals or the kind of call-and-response spirituals that hold history in their notes. It’d be a story steeped in tradition but far from conventional, blending humor, heartache, and just enough drama to keep the audience hooked.
Of course, every movie needs its cast. And let me tell you, the roles in this hypothetical film are juicy because my life—well, let’s just say it hasn’t been what you’d call predictable. But before we get into the “who’s who,” let’s set the scene.
Scene One: The Heroine (or, Me)
This role requires an actor who can walk the delicate line of seriousness and Southern charm. She must be bookish yet bold with a knack for overthinking flirtatious banter and getting emotionally invested in stories—both fictional and lived.
I like to imagine Yara Shahidi in this part. Sure, she might be a little on the polished side for everyday Charleston humidity, but that quick wit? That deep affection for heritage and laughter that lights up her whole face? She’d absolutely nail those scenes where I’m writing by candlelight during a storm, reliving my Spelman days, or debating the hidden layers behind the phrase “bless your heart.”
Picture this: She’s sitting on a porch swing, pen in hand and a steaming mug of sweet tea on the ledge, when she’s interrupted by a text—a reminder of how modern-day dating constantly finds a way to crash our otherwise nostalgic lives.
Scene Two: The Romantic Leads (Yes, Plural)
Now here’s the tricky part. Not to spill too much sweet tea, but my dating life has been… colorful. Imagine a Netflix Original where every love interest embodies a different generational archetype. There’s the high school sweetheart who thinks commitment is buying matching keychains, the college boyfriend whose idea of romance involves quoting Audre Lorde (and always incorrectly), and the short-lived city fling—a tech bro whose smooth-talking exterior couldn’t hide his aversion to humidity or anything slower than a New York minute.
You’ll need a versatile casting director here. Toss in John Boyega for charisma and those smoldering “I’ll-protect-you-from-this-Hurricane-Season” eyes. Then pair him up with LaKeith Stanfield for his brooding intellectual vibe. Sprinkle some Southern charm into the mix—say, Jonathan Majors with that irresistible “I-cut-my-own-firewood” energy—and voilà, you’ve got my love interests covered.
But, just like in any rom-com worth its popcorn, these relationships come with their twists. There’s a moment of hilarity when one forgets there’s a difference between okra and gumbo, and a poignant scene where I realize no charm, no matter how intoxicating, can replace a lack of genuine vulnerability.
Scene Three: The Best Friends’ Brigade
Every leading lady needs backup—enter the best friends I’ve been lucky enough to call mine. These characters are vibrant, unwaveringly supportive, and bring the kind of comedic relief every good movie needs. Think Issa Rae's quick one-liners and Regina Hall’s eyes that can do more telling than any script.
One friend is my compass—always grounded, always wise, and fluent in the language of tough love. Another is the dreamer, forever encouraging me to swipe right on possibility (sometimes literally, but we won’t go there today). The third is the wildcard—spontaneous, fiery, and the first to suggest a trip or a bold move when I find myself on the precipice of self-doubt.
In real life, these women are my soul sisters, as essential to my story’s arc as my Gullah Geechee roots. They know when to remind me of my strength, when to gently nudge me toward growth, and when to say, “Girl, let him go.”
The Soundtrack of Self-Discovery
Like any good coming-of-age film, this movie isn’t only about romance—it’s about coming home to myself. From Charleston to Atlanta and New York City, I’ve learned that geography doesn’t define where you find belonging, but the people and experiences you carry with you do.
These scenes would be underscored by a blend of classics that range from Nina Simone’s “Feeling Good” to Solange’s “Cranes in the Sky.” Imagine me—played by Yara Shahidi—dancing barefoot in the kitchen after a first-date-turned-flop, letting the swirling lyrics remind me that single-handedly piecing together joy is just as valid and beautiful as any love story.
But that joy doesn’t come without challenges, which is where the narrative’s deeper arcs come in. There’s a pivotal scene—a flashback, perhaps—of my grandparents telling stories on the porch, reminding me of the resilience we carry in our bloodline. I can hear my grandmother’s voice saying things like, “You don’t need to rush love, baby. You just need to love yourself enough to be ready for it.” And let me tell you, those words hit harder than any rom-com montage ever could.
The Climax: Owning the Journey
No movie worth watching skips the feel-good ending where the heroine realizes her worth—not in relation to anyone else but entirely on her own terms. In my story, it looks something like this: a flight home from New York, where I’ve spent too many days chasing big-city expectations, landing in Charleston just as dusk paints the marsh pink and gold.
I step off the plane knowing there’s no shame in being a work in progress—in love, in life, in self-acceptance. After all, isn’t that what makes the whole thing cinematic?
This is where my hypothetical audience gets the payoff: me embracing the messy, soulful beauty of my journey. The character is single but far from lonely, whole but always open to possibilities. Cue the sunset shot with me—well, Yara-as-me—walking with a wide-brimmed hat and a pen behind her ear, ready to write the next chapter.
Roll Credits: What’s the Takeaway?
If my life were a movie, the tagline would read something like this: “Heritage meets hustle in a heartfelt story of love, resilience, and self-discovery.” But I’d like to think that beyond the romance, the scenery, and the laughter, the real message would be something universal:
You are the writer and director of your own story. Whether your script is full of meet-cutes or late-night cries over sweet tea, remember that every scene counts. Learn from them, grow with them, and do it all with a spirit as fierce as a Carolina summer storm.
If you feel like the protagonist of your life story is stumbling, just think of it as character development. Because trust me, when the credits roll, all those seemingly small moments? They’ll add up to something worth watching.
