Not everything here is meant to be explained.

Some things are meant to be noticed.

A moment.

A thought.

A piece of something becoming.

Welcome to My Creative Space 🌿

This season is over, and part of me wants to hold on to it. But maybe this, too, will become a memory and a lesson. Whatever it was, I’m no longer running from it. I accept it, even if all it was meant to become was something I learned from and something I remember.

Maybe not everything is meant to stay. Some things come into your life to change you, teach you, and then leave you with a different version of yourself.

It feels like peace.

And for the first time, I’m here.

Not reaching.

Not rushing.

For the first time, I’m not giving more than I’m receiving.

For the first time, I’m not abandoning myself for another person.

For the first time, I’m not trying to force something to stay just because I’m afraid to let it go.

I’m just here.

Fully present.

And for once, the silence doesn’t feel empty.

I feels like peace

This Season is Over

The Adult Life

I Think I Just Realized I’m a Woman.

Lately, I have been thinking about guidance. Not guidance from God, because I know where I stand with that, but guidance here, in this life, from another person who has already walked where I am trying to go.

And I realized I don’t really have that.

I have people who love me. I have family. I have people I can call and ask questions. But there is a difference between being loved and having someone who can actually show you how to navigate the life you are building.

My mom is someone I go to for guidance. Then it hit me, we’re not back home anymore. She is figuring out this new life too. She is learning a new country, new systems, and a different way of doing things, just like I am. And sometimes she comes to me for answers.

That made me think, who do I run to when I need answers?

I think part of growing up is realizing that the people who raised you will not always have the answers for the world you are entering. Sometimes you are entering places they have never been. You are learning systems they never had to learn, making decisions they never had to make, and building a life that looks completely different from theirs.

That realization felt strange.

Because somewhere in my head, I think I was still waiting for an adult to show up and tell me what to do.

Then I realized…

I am the adult. 😭

I’m a woman now. I’m out here making decisions, learning things I was never taught, asking questions when I don’t understand something, making mistakes, correcting them, and trying again.

Back home in Africa, I always knew I could run back home. There was always somewhere to return to, somewhere that still felt like it could catch me.

But there is no home here for me to run back to.

I have had to build my own.

And whether the life I am building is growing or falling apart, I am the one who has to stay and figure out what needs to be fixed. I can ask for help. I can seek guidance. I can call the people I love. But at the end of the day, I still have to make the decisions about my own life.

There are moments when I wish someone could just hand me the instructions. Tell me what decision to make. Tell me what I should know by now. Tell me whether I’m doing any of this right.

But maybe part of becoming a woman is realizing that there isn’t always going to be someone standing ahead of you with a map.

Sometimes you have God, whatever wisdom you’ve been given, the lessons you’ve collected along the way, and your own two feet.

So I keep walking.

The Fantasy Life,

But There’s a Reality

I have always dreamed about having my own family one day. I dream about my future husband, my kids, my home, being a wife and a mother. I dream about the laughter, the beautiful furniture, the cute smiles.

And then the question Can I Stay? gets deeper than I thought it was.

Because children aren’t an aesthetic future.

They’re people. 😭

Right now, I have my apartment. My silence. My creative routines. My work. My objects. My art on the walls. I can decide that I don’t want to speak to anybody and simply be alone in my home.

I have gotten used to that kind of freedom.

And lately, I keep thinking about what happens if one day home is not just mine anymore.

What if there is a husband?

What if there are children?

A family could bring so much love into that life, but it would also bring interruption. Noise. Needs. Different personalities. Different emotions. Different ways of doing things.

And that is where the fantasy starts meeting reality.

I won’t know their personalities beforehand. I won’t know what motherhood will feel like in my body. I can’t know what my relationship will become after children. I can’t know what sacrifices I’ll happily make and which ones I’ll struggle with.

And maybe that is why Can I Stay? keeps coming back to me.

What Happens When Home Is No Longer Just Mine?

Can I Stay?

I have spent so much time learning how to build a life for myself.

I learned how to live alone. I learned how to make decisions for myself. I learned how to create routines, how to enjoy my own company, how to make my space feel safe, and how to come home and know that this is mine.

But what happens when one day I am not just thinking about what makes me comfortable, what I want to eat, how I want the house to look, or how quiet I want things to be?

What if I have to think about other people too?

Can I Stay?

That feels strange to me because I worked so hard to learn how to be okay on my own.

I built this life.

I learned how to live in it.

I learned how to be alone in it.

I learned how to make decisions for it.

And now I am realizing that maybe one day I will have to make room.

Not just in a house, but in my life.

That is the part I am still trying to understand.

How do you make room for someone else without losing yourself?

How do you build with someone when you have spent so much time learning how to build alone?

Maybe that is another part of growing up.

Maybe one season teaches you how to stand on your own, and another season teaches you how to stand beside someone.

I do not know what that will look like for me yet.

But I do know this.

I do not want love to mean abandoning myself.

I do not want building a home with someone to mean losing the peace I worked so hard to create.

I think I just want to learn how to make room without disappearing.

And maybe one day, home will not only mean the place I built for myself.

Maybe it will mean something we built together.

Can I Stay?

Book I’m Currently Reading🌸

Words were once said here.

Now this is just a memory.

The Wild Life

I remember when I was living in Liberia, people would ask me,

“Why are you like this?

Why are you out here?

You don’t belong here.”

And sometimes I would think, Well, where do I belong then?

I was going to clubs, partying, and not taking school as seriously as I should have. After high school, I made it to college and started studying fashion design. But things became difficult for my mom financially, so I dropped out.

After that, I slowly found myself returning to the same life I had been living before.

I was angry.

I was frustrated.

And honestly, I stopped caring.

I wanted better for myself, but nothing seemed to be working. It felt like every door had closed. I knew there was more to life.

“Because I kept thinking what is the meaning of life if I don’t fulfill my purpose.”

I wanted to be successful, but I couldn’t figure out how to get from where I was to where I wanted to be.

And while all of this was happening, people could see my behavior.

They just couldn’t see what was underneath it.

One day my mom told me, “Joy, time is fleeting, and you know it. One day you will look back and realize you have wasted your life. Think about it.”

I listened.

But at the time, I didn’t really care. Or at least, I acted like I didn’t. Her words touched something in me because I knew they were true. And maybe the truth was just too frightening for me to admit.

My mom kept trying anyway. She found somewhere for me to learn how to sew. I never became an expert at it, but I learned the basics. Somewhere around that time, I read The E-Myth, and that book completely changed the way I looked at business and learning.

That became the beginning of something.

I fell in love with reading. Books became one of my safe spaces, and self-education became a way for me to keep moving even when I didn’t know exactly where I was going.

But learning didn’t immediately change everything that was happening inside of me.

There was still this longing.

There has to be more to life than this.

I wrote the vision, I saw it in my imagination, but I kept questioning how and when it would happen.

Then one night, around 8:00 p.m., I packed my things and left my mother’s house. Nobody knew I was leaving.

I was tired.

I was running.

And that decision became another journey of its own.

Eventually, I found myself back in the streets. I was drinking again. Smoking again. Partying again. And how was I supposed to become something different when I kept surrounding myself with the same things?

People say you become what you surround yourself with. Looking back, I understand that differently now.

I call that period of my life

the wild life.

When I say “the wild life,” I don’t just mean partying, drinking, or smoking.

I mean living without direction.

Living one day at a time because you don’t have anything meaningful that you believe you’re moving toward. You survive today, and tomorrow can worry about itself.

As long as there is food to eat, somewhere to go, something to drink, somebody to be around, you keep moving.

Sometimes that life can look like freedom from the outside.

But there is a difference between being free and having no direction. (Repeat)

I didn’t live every part of the wild life.

But I was in it.

And when I look back now, I think the question people were asking was wrong.

They asked, “Why are you like this?”

Maybe the better question was, “What happened?”

Because underneath everything people could see, there was still another girl.

Who was I when nobody was watching?

I was the girl who loved to write. The girl who cared deeply about people. The girl who brought joy wherever she went. The girl who had the fear of God in her heart. The girl who wanted to help her mother. The girl who loved deeply but rarely showed much emotion. The girl who listened. The girl who was hurting.

And somewhere underneath all of that,

I was still the girl with the pen.

She hadn’t disappeared.

She was becoming.

I think sometimes we judge people by their behavior because behavior is the easiest thing to see. We see what someone is doing, where they spend their time, the decisions they’re making, and we decide who they are.

But we don’t always ask what is causing the behavior.

What happened?

Why are you living this way?

Who are you when the walls come down?

And is there room for you to become someone different?

Some people heal.

Some people change.

Some people become.

And some people stay in the wild life.

Mr.

Home

I miss home, I miss the food, the sounds of the birds, the waves of the ocean, and simply existing with my friends without having to be so careful because I felt safe. There was a familiarity there that I did not realize I would miss this much.

I have started a new life, and sometimes it still feels unfamiliar. It is demanding, and sometimes the pressure sits inside my bones. I thought I was going to bring the life I had before with me, but God seemed to have other plans. He stripped away so much of what I thought I would carry into this new season.

And there is no going back now.

Even if I did go back, I don’’t think it would feel the same. Not necessarily in a bad way. I think it would be different because I am different. Sometimes I miss that life and I want it back. I was so used to having so many people around me, so many friends, so many familiarity. I lost that life and for a while, I thought I would be able to recreate it here.

Sometimes I still feel alone, but I am learning that I have changed. I am not the same person who left home, and maybe the life that fit me than would not fit the person I am becoming now.

God has set me be apart from a lot of things.

Sometimes I go out and try to live that wild, carefree life the way I used to, and then I come home and this feeling sits inside me. Sometimes it feels like guilt. Sometimes it feels like conviction. It makes me question why certain things no longer feel the same to me.

I asked God , Why do you want to use me?

I don’t always feel worthy of it. Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve it. But He still wants to use me, and I am slowly learning that maybe it was never about whether I felt worthy. Maybe it is simply about His will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

I can’t be the same anymore, even when I try.

Sometimes I learn a lesson that doesn’t feel good. A lesson that make me realize that maybe I was never supposed to be there, or here, or friends with this person or that person. I have lost people, and people have lost me. Some relationship ended because they changed or maybe because I changed. And some simply weren’t meant to continue into the next part of my life.

I don’t always understand it.

I wonder where this roads ends. I wonder what God is preparing me for and why some things had to be taken away for me to get here. But I guess I will never know everything while I’m walking it.

So I keep walking.

I miss home.

I miss who I was there.

But maybe becoming someone new was always going to require me to leave some things behind.

And maybe home isn’t only somewhere I came from.

Maybe, one day, I will feel at home in

who I am becoming.

Can I Stay?

vision

Vision is the ability to see what is not yet and make it a reality.

I’m not where I wanna be, but I’m not where I used to be.

sometimes I get so confused on where I’m going that I forget to look at how far I’ve already came.

When I look back, I can see that I’m no longer the person I used to be.

I’ve grown. I’ve created things that once only existed in my head. I’ve taken chances, made mistakes, started over, and kept moving.

I’m not where I wanna be yet.

But I’m grateful I’m not where I used to be either.

This is Where the Poetry World Begin

When I began creating,

It wasn’t music.

Nether was it a book

It was this world

the world of poetry.

It begin when I was in third grade.

It was only me and the pen.

Teachers came in and out,

But it was only

me and the pen.

For a long time

it was my way of expression.

It was how I spoke my truth.

It was how I felt understood

not by people

but by the pen

Then I got lost in the dark,

And I lost poetry

But I never lost the pen.

Hi Poetry☀️

Reading the Invocation from We Have Become.

Some words aren’t written to explain. They’re written to prepared us. The Invocation is one of those pieces.

The Invocation became the opening poem because it carries the spirit of everything that follows. It doesn't explain where the journey is going. Instead it invite us to arrive where we are.

This reading is small extension of the book.

A moment to pause, listen without rushing towards meaning, and to let the words exist before asking them to explain themselves.

Thank you for being here.🌱

The Art of Becoming.

Who am I becoming?

We Have Become.

What happened inside me?

Mr. Imperfection

Who was hiding underneath the mask?

Mask off

This is who I am.

From Here

From Here

Another way of seeing

Nothing changed.

The street is the same.

The sky keeps its distance.

Voices pass.

Only My way of standing

Has softened.

And the world

Let me be.

The sky keeps its distance.

This is who I have Become.

Mr Imperfection is not mad.

He’s not sad.

He’s simply tired.

Tired of being misunderstood.

Tired of explaining himself.

Tired of carrying things he never had the words for.

So he sit quietly and observes the world around him.

His eyes are present.

His empty spaces are invitation.

And when you come a little closer, you realized something.

All he ever wanted was some color.

And when color finally found him,

Mr. Imperfection came alive.

Welcome to The Color World.

Self Expression

I Used to think coloring was for children. I thought it was one of those things we were supposed to outgrow. As If becoming an adult meant trading wonder for responsibility.

Trading play for productivity.

Trading color for seriousness.

But the older I get, the more I realize that something inside us never stops wanting to express itself.

It never stop reaching for colors.

It never stop wanting to create.

It never stop wanting to play.

Maybe that is why so many adults feel disconnected from themselves. Not because they have forgotten who they are. But because they have forgotten how to express who they are.

We learn to work.

We learn to survive.

We learn how to perform.

But somewhere along the way, many of us stop making things simply because they brings joy.

Coloring brought me back to that. Not to childhood, to myself. To a quieter part of me that did not need to achieve anything. A part that did not need to prove anything. A part that just wanted to be.

That is what self-expression is. Not creating something perfect. Not impressing people. Not getting it right. Just giving the soul somewhere to go.

A place it can rest.

And sometimes, all it needs is a page and a little color.

Mr

Mr. Imperfection: The Geometry

Who we are sometimes finds its way back to us. Not in a rush. Not when we demand it. But when the timing is right. The Geometry was never just a lesson about lines.

It was a reminder.

A reminder that creativity leaves a tail.

A reminder that what we are becoming often begins long before we have words for it.

Mr Imperfection: The Geometry is build from simple shapes, patterns, and lines. The same elements I was learning about as a child.

Looking back, it feels less like I created something new and more like I returned to something that was always waiting for me.

Maybe becoming isn’t always about finding something.

Maybe sometimes it’s about remembering.

Do you remember?

I Remember!

Mr.Imperfection

Mr. Imperfection

Mr. Imperfection is not who I am.

It is who I had to become.

The version of me that shows up

when there is work to be done.

When things need to be held together.

When there is no space to fall apart.

It carries what is not seen.

The pressure.

The responsibility.

The roles I had to step into

before I was ready.

It is strength,

but not the kind that was chosen.

The kind that was required.

The kind that learns to stay steady

even when something inside is tired.

Mr. Imperfection is not a mask to hide.

It is a form I took

to keep going.

But it is not all of me.

And in the quiet,

when nothing is asking me to perform,

I remember

I can set it down.

Mr. Imperfection Is Alive

He lives here.

Between the light and the color.

Between what is unfinished

and what is becoming.

Color Is His Language

He doesn’t say much. But When color touches the page, something begins to speak.

Not loudly.

Not all at once.

Just enough

to feel it.

Mr Imperfection moves in the quiet.

He listens.

Not to the world,

to what moves beneath it.

The Power of a Creative Space

Being creative is one thing. But space changes everything.

Creativity doesn’t force itself into existence

It settles.

It grows where it feels held.

Some spaces close you.

Some spaces open you.

I didn't build this space all at once.

It took time.

Piece by piece.

But nothing here feels random.

Every color stayed for a reason.

Every corner carries something.

When I sit here…… I don’t try to create. It just happens.

This is no longer just a room.

The Art of Becoming a Creator

(Creative Journey & Mindset)

I used to think creativity was about talent.

Now I see, It was never about that. It was always about who you are becoming.

Not being perfect.

Not being seen.

But becoming someone who shows up.

Becoming doesn’t wait for certainty.

it moves quietly.

You don’t become by waiting.

You become by doing.

By staying.

By continuing even when nothing feels clear. And somewhere in that process you meet yourself

For me, the art of becoming a creator looks like this:

🌿 ChatGPT - for brainstorming and sharpening ideas

🌿 Google Docs - where thoughts become chapters

🌿 Google Keep - to catch ideas before they fade

🌿 My Chromebook - my little creative hub

🌿 Canva - where my visuals, designs, and ideas come to life

🌿 ISBNs & Fiverr - the tools that supported my book journey

🌿 Amazon KDP - the platform that turned my dream into a published reality

Creativity is the art of trusting what God already placed inside you. -Joy Afro

🎵 My Music

🎵 My Music

Music has always been just sound.

Its when I return.

Where I listen

Where something in me becomes clear. Not everything is meant to be explained. Some things are meant to be felt.

Through my songs, I don’t try to say everything, just enough for you to recognize something of your own.

A moment.

A feeling.

A piece of becoming.

Here what brings my sound to life:

🌿 MacBook, my creative command center

🎤 Rode NT1 + Ai-1 Interface + RF-X Booth, clean vocals that carry emotion

🎹 Akai MPK Mini MK3 - my melody maker and beat partner

🎧 PreSonus Eris 3.5 Monitors - clear sound for every detail

💾 LaCie Rugged 1TB Hard Drive - where my music safely lives

🔌 UDB Hub + Elebase Cables - the small connections that make big things work

🎼 FL Studio - where ideas come alive and every song finds its heartbeat

🌸 Creating with Purpose

Creation has always felt a little delusional to me. In the most Beautiful way.

Growth isn’t always loud.

It doesn’t rush.

It settles…… then shifts everything.

I don’t measure myself by numbers.

I measure by becoming.

When you create with intention, you don’t chase attention.

You move with it.

✨ Don’t create to be noticed.

✨ Create to be remembered.

✨ Create because your purpose demands expression.

Mr. Imperfection

He is not broken.

He is unfinished.

For too long, he was seen through one story.

A narrow lens.

A quiet box.

But he is more than that.

He is softness.

He is weight.

He is becoming.

His gaze does not ask for approval.

It does not shrink.

It does not apologize.

He carries history.

He carries imagination.

He carries the child who refused to disappear.

Mr. Imperfection is not a flaw.

He is proof that growth is still happening.

The African CHILD Imperfection

The first sketch

The first breath of a new narrative.

A reminded that becoming starts quietly-with a hand, a pencil, and a vision that refuses to stay silent.

The imperfection is where the truth begins.

AFRICAN CHILD

I am an African Child.

I am not a statistic. I am not a shadow of pity. I am not the story others write about poverty, hunger, and despair.

I am a story yet unfolding, a story of resilience, creativity, and destiny.

I carry within me the rhythm of drums, the songs of rivers, and the wisdom of generations who refused to be broken.

My scars are not chains, they are proof that I survived. My silence is not weakness, It is the echo of strength preparing to speak.

Yes, I have walked through scarcity. Yes, I have tasted rejection.

Yes, I have been told I am not enough. But still, I rise. I rise with vision. I rise with faith. I rise with love burning like fire in my bones.

The African Child is not afraid to dream. We take risks even when our knees tremble. We laugh even when tears stain our faces.

We imagine futures bigger than the walls that try to contain us. And we will not stop until our voices are heard, our art is seen, and our purpose is fulfilled.

To be an African Child is to redefine what is possible. It is to look beyond the ashes of adversity and see nations rising, communities thriving, and generations inspired. It is to believe that within our small beginnings lie seeds of greatness that the world cannot ignore.

I am an African Child.

And I am not alone.

We are many-warriors of dreams, bearers of light, creators of tomorrow.

The world will know us not by our struggles, but by our strength.

Not by our poverty, but by our purpose.

Not by our wounds, but by our wisdom.

This is our declaration. This is our becoming.

The African Child has risen. And we will never be silenced again.