memories – An Inspired Odyssey Through✨️Ink & Stardust✨️

How many of you are just so done with every damn thing being redone, recycled, rebooted, regurgitated from the past? I mean seriously—how many more Spider-Men, Batmen, Ghostbusters, or girlbossified reimaginings of once-perfect classics do we need? It’s not even nostalgia anymore—it’s like a copy of a copy of a blurry VHS tape that someone tried to turn into a TikTok.

When I say I’m nostalgic? I don’t mean the algorithm spoon-feeding me another reboot. I mean unplugged. No computers. No phones. No texts dinging every five seconds. Just the clink of change at the bodega, where you could get a bacon egg & cheese and a cup of coffee for under five bucks. A foam cup, too. Not some hipster compostable oat milk nonsense.

Lately, nostalgia’s become a dirty word. Like people are gripping the past so tight they forget how to actually create in the present. Especially in Hollywood. It’s like ever since COVID hit, every last creative gene got flushed down the nearest vaccinated toilet and now we’re stuck watching pixelated Frankenfilms stitched together with AI and celebrity cameos.

Okay, but listen—every now and then, the universe throws me a bone. I thought that reboot of Anaconda with Jack Black and Paul Rudd was gonna be absolute garbage. But it actually slapped! I laughed, I got that good hit of throwback dopamine, and I didn’t feel like I was watching a bloated corpse of my childhood favorites being paraded around like a puppet. Win-win. And don’t even get me started on Stranger Things—remember how that show used to feel like a love letter to 80s kids? Now? The episodes feel like AI wrote them on a deadline. The lowest ratings on IMDB don’t lie, folks. Writer gods, why hast thou forsaken us?

So yeah, when I crave nostalgia, I’m not reaching for some streaming app’s Top 10. I’m popping in a DVD—yes, a real one—and curling up on the couch next to my giant plush Scooby-Doo with the phone on silent and the world locked out. You know why? Because I want to pay attention. Full, undivided, sacred attention. Not that split-screen, scroll-and-watch nonsense we’ve all been guilted into calling relaxation.

And can we talk about how all these notifications and constant pings have turned half the population into jittery squirrels with burnout? I mean, growing up in Brooklyn in the 80s, nobody had ADHD. Why? Because we were OUTSIDE. Drinking from hydrants. Playing manhunt. Getting lost on purpose. And if someone wanted to reach you, they had to leave a message on the one phone. With the one answering machine. On the one little cassette tape. And guess what? You didn’t check it till you were good and ready. We had freedom, baby. Sweet, unreachable, unbothered FREEDOM.

To me, nostalgia is about stillness. It’s about choosing to be present in the quiet—wrapped in a soft robe with a Walkman on, letting the songs play in their original order without skipping. Maybe even dragging out that dusty vinyl from the closet and letting it crackle under the needle. Or wandering into a used bookstore, sitting on the floor, and reading a random chapter just because it caught your eye.

God, I remember walking into Barnes & Noble back in the day and seeing people sprawled in the aisles, devouring entire books like their lives depended on it. Back then I’d grumble, “get outta my way”—but now? I miss them. I miss the chaos. I miss the realness.

What do you miss most?

For me? It’s that hit of a song on the radio I haven’t heard in a decade. Not a curated playlist, not an algorithm—just a lucky stumble into memory. It plays, and suddenly I’m sixteen again, in platform sneakers, lip gloss poppin’, talking to boys I had no business talking to, and absolutely thriving.

But maybe, just maybe, nostalgia doesn’t have to mean “going backwards.” Maybe it just means making space for the parts of yourself the world forgot to love. The unplugged version of you. The one who still knows how to sit still, sip a bodega coffee, let a record play, and just be.

So yeah, Hollywood can keep the remakes.

I’ve got Scooby, a DVD player, and a killer memory bank.

And I’m not giving that up for any franchise.

Stay tuned.

Daily writing prompt

What makes you feel nostalgic?

View all responses

I can’t think of more successful people than my mom and dad. It’s not that they’re rich or famous, it’s that they showed me the true story of immigrants living the American Dream.

Immigration is a controversial topic now, but honestly, wasn’t this country made on the backs of immigrants? Growing up in Brooklyn, I saw all sorts of people of different colors and cultures, all working hard to make a better life for their children in one of the most dangerous places to live in the 1980s. My mom and dad are of West Indian descent, and while my mom was working and going to school, my dad drove a taxi at night just to keep food on the table. This was an upgrade because when they first came to this country, they were working in factories.

We grew up in poverty, so I didn’t get a lot of the things I wanted as a kid – but then again, it was an entirely different generation then. No internet or cell phones existed for me for the first 18 years of my life. But I digress. Mom and dad worked very hard to make sure I finished school, and I at least got all the books I wanted. I was part of the Scholastic Book Club, and this is what I looked forward to every Friday, after placing my order:

Mom and dad always made sure I had my books no matter how expensive they were. That to me right there is a success for their kid.

They pinched every penny, and saved every dollar they had, and eventually my dad started doing the thing he was always meant to do – build houses. In Guyana, my dad was a successful carpenter at a young age, only when he came to the USA did he have to dumb down his skills to get a decent wage at a factory to provide for his family. But when things were finally good, and they had the money to invest, Dad bought his first house in Queens and started fixing it up. All the while, I was busy growing up and Mom was finishing up her degree at Court Reporting school. I am not sure if stenographers are even around anymore, but they used to be a vital part of the courtroom.

After several years of building and selling houses, we finally hit it big and moved out to Long Island, NYC – which is where the rich of the rich usually live if you’re a New Yorker. We had arrived. I was doing really well in college and at my payroll job, and mom and dad were building more houses than ever. They hit a big bump in the road during the 2008 housing crisis but were still able to put away good money. I always admired my parents, for their tenacity, intelligence and survival skills, and where most people fail, my parents always seem to find a way to persevere.

I hit many big bumps in the road too in my life. When I came to North Carolina and was in an extremely dangerous relationship, and ended up in jail, not only did my parents pick up everything they had and leave NYC to come save me here, but they brought all my belongings and everything I left behind in NY with them. While paying for storage and living in motels while I was in jail, my parents managed to find a small house, pay cash for it, and fix it up so it was actually livable to where it is worth well over $100K now. All this while I made a complete mess of my life.

My parents are heroes and are the forever success story in my eyes. They love their life here in North Carolina, my mom says she loves the people and the big open spaces a lot more than NYC. Dad still gets nostalgic for NYC, but I think he likes the fact that he has big open land now, and a great place to retire. The funny thing is at 73 and 65, my mom and dad still build and redid a house in a nearby town to flip and sell. Absolutely remarkable, considering they did all the building and renovating themselves, where most people are well into their retirement.

There is no greater success in this world than the rags to riches story of my mom and dad. Through all the years, and even all my craziness, they managed to keep everything they earned and bounced back time and time again. They are my blessing, my heroes.

Stay Tuned.

Daily writing prompt

When you think of the word “successful,” who’s the first person that comes to mind and why?