If my life were a movie, it’d be set on the South Side of Chicago—equal parts Spike Lee realism and Barry Jenkins dreamscape, with a soundtrack that shifts from smooth Miles Davis to the poetry of Common. But the real question is: Who’s playing me? Let’s start there, but buckle up, because we’re hitting every note, from childhood crushes and awkward dating moments to a hypothetical red-carpet-worthy ending (spoiler: still working on it). Life, much like love, doesn’t come with a neat little script.

Act 1: The Kid with the Books in His Backpack

First things first—young DeAndre would need to be played by a precocious actor whose smile could convince you he talked his way out of detention after forgetting his homework (again). I’m thinking a Jaden Smith circa The Pursuit of Happyness vibe, back when he was young enough to make you believe kids really did have all the answers. Picture me at 10, holed up in the church basement with a book I shouldn't have been reading—likely Baldwin—while secretly eyeing the girl two pews over who happened to make the choir robes look good.

Dating lesson: Crushing starts young, and so does insecurity. If the scene cuts to young DeAndre trying to “flirt,” it’s a cringe-worthy monologue about frogs and the Millennium Park fountain. Casting note: No actor on Earth could sell it.

Act 2: Cue the Montage: High School Swagger (Sorta)

Enter teenage DeAndre, suddenly thrust into a world of group texts, afterschool bus rides, and Homecoming dances. He’s played by someone who walks that fine line between charisma and inner awkwardness—maybe Caleb McLaughlin (Lucas from Stranger Things, but with a fade this time). This version of me was realizing that being smart wasn’t quite enough to land a date—girls liked the poetry (thanks, Gwendolyn Brooks), but not the kid reciting it nervously at them in the cafeteria.

Flashback to junior year: Me in my church shoes at a family wedding, coaching myself through asking Erica (yes, her real name) to dance. She said no. Actually, I think she said, “I don’t dance,” mid-Beyoncé song. Which was a lie. That rejection, though, lit a fire under me. There’s nothing like a no to make you tighten your game—or your metaphors.

Dating lesson: Rejection isn’t the end of the world, but man does it humble you. At that age, rejection feels personal. It’s not. It’s a moment. Move on. (And maybe learn to two-step in the meantime.)

Act 3: Paris Dreams and Chicago Realities

College-era DeAndre? He’s got to be played by an entirely different actor—someone with swagger as shaky as his French accent. Let’s cast John Boyega because the man embodies growth (see: the jump from Attack the Block to Star Wars). This is my “abroad” chapter, where I studied literature and European culture, wiped out on cobblestone streets after too much wine, and discovered the mixed blessing of being “exotic” to French girls.

One scene sticks out for its sheer ridiculousness: I was on a walking date in Montmartre, riffing on poetry as we climbed a steep staircase. Just as I thought I was impressing her, my Chicago winter knees said “not today” and I tripped. I landed on a baguette—yes, a baguette—I’d been carrying for effect. To this day, I can’t look at French bread the same way.

Dating lesson: No matter where you are, authenticity sells better than anything rehearsed. The right person won’t care if you trip or if your French accent sounds more like deep dish than fine wine.

Act 4: Modern (Mis-)Adventures in Dating

Adult DeAndre brings us firmly into rom-com territory but with enough drama to keep you tugging at the popcorn box. Give this role to Lakeith Stanfield, who can land both humor and depth. Picture a montage of me trying to navigate Chicago’s dating scene: first dates over Harold’s Chicken (messy orders I didn’t think through), awkward hugs outside Brown Line stations, and misreading “I had fun!” texts that clearly, in hindsight, screamed “I’m ghosting you.”

There was that one time I got stood up on a rooftop bar, left nursing an Old Fashioned while listening to a live band play a jazz cover of No Scrubs. Let me tell you—being left to stare at a skyline while realizing you’ve been categorized as a scrub? A cinematic low point.

Dating lesson: Sometimes, people simply aren’t ready—or aren’t for you. It’s not about you or your worth; the script just doesn’t line up. Keep showing up for the role until it does.

Casting a Love Interest

Now, if we’re talking love interest casting, I have to tread carefully here—real life is still unwritten. But I’d definitely want her to feel authentic, someone with Lupita Nyong’o’s grace and wisdom or Issa Rae’s energy and wit. Her character would call me out just enough to keep me grounded but make me laugh when I’m too deep in my own head. Someone who loves Chicago enough to take a walk along Lakeshore Drive after midnight but laughs when the wind proves we underestimated the cold.

Romance is equal parts timing and acceptance, and my hypothetical co-star wouldn't need to be perfect—just present. If my life movie’s soundtrack has taught me anything, it’s that love feels less like a sweeping orchestral score and more like a jazz improv session. You find your rhythm together.

Encore: The Key Takeaway

Hollywood would probably want me to wrap this movie with a big romantic gesture—me on The L, making a grand confession, complete with the train screeching dramatically in the background. But in real life, love doesn’t always come tied in a perfect bow. And that’s okay. What’s worked for me is remembering that every misstep, rejection, and laughable attempt has taught me something. My character development is ongoing—and isn’t that the best part?

Life, much like relationships, is messy. But the show goes on. Keep casting the roles, showing up on set, and, eventually, you’ll find that the plot makes sense. At the very least, you’ll come away with one heck of a story.

Lights, camera, action—what’s your movie going to look like?