save for later: the Friday list no. 3
kept / 05.02 – 5 objects found in cape town
Welcome to the weekly roundup of what I’m loving, noticing, reading, listening to, and saving—for beauty, for ritual, for rhythm. It’s part field journal, part moodboard, part cultural mixtape. Small things with soul. High-signal only. The kind of list you actually want to keep around. This is for the ones who feel beauty as language. As memory. As resistance. As ritual. the Black makers edition These are the fragments I brought home from Cape Town— pieces shaped by Black hands, local soil, quiet skill— that still feel warm to the touch.
play it low: “Masterpiece” — Sault It plays like a whisper and a declaration. Lo-fi. Soulful. Stripped down to only what matters. There’s no excess—just clarity. The kind that comes from knowing who you are, and not needing to prove it. It sounds like memory. And return. And pride that stands tall, even in silence. save it for: when your power is quiet, but rooted, and rising.
⸻ 1. a ring Three black onyx stones on either side. An open brass frame. Smooth, warm, deliberate. Protection and power, but with room to breathe. Brass is protection. Onyx is power. The open space—intention. Growth lives in the in-between. Not in the before or after— but in the messy, unfinished middle. There’s strength in what’s not fully formed. There’s magic in the gap. save it for: when you’re in the middle of becoming, and nothing feels clear yet. ⸻ 2. a pair of bangles brass with malachite inlay — Green Market Square They stack like conversation— malachite humming against brass, green set into gold. Protective. Present. Perfect imperfections remind me they’ve been crafted by human hands. I reach for them without thinking— like they were always meant to be there. save it for: when you want every gesture to carry history. ⸻ 3. a skirt
Ankara wax print. Dutch wax. Cinched waist. Bright as rebellion. It doesn’t blend in. It shouldn’t. Wearing it feels like joy made visible. A colorful story. A homecoming in cotton. It makes strangers smile at me in airports. Not just fabric. A whole narrative in motion. save it for: the moment you want to be seen and remembered. ⸻ 4. a sweater
crocheted sculpture by Diana Seboke Chunky. Architectural. Entirely unbothered. Exaggerated bell sleeves. Built shoulders. A cardigan cut that doesn’t fold in—it expands. Made in thick wool the color of March—my birthstone, my beginning. Each loop, a choice. Each sleeve, a boundary. This isn’t fashion. It’s form. It’s structure as softness. Shape as statement. It wears like confidence. And it moves like memory. save it for: when you want your clothes to say—clearly, unapologetically—I came here to take up space. ⸻ 5. painting
“Girl on a Bike” — by A. Ntoni, Green Market Square A baby on her back. Baskets behind her—full of what’s seen and unseen. Joy. Grief. Hope. Abundance. Every part of her is balancing something. And none of it spills. It’s not in the weight, but the way she carries it. save it for: when you’re carrying more than you can name, and still moving like it’s all yours to hold. ⸻ closing note Cape Town gave me pieces I could touch—but also hold. Things made by hands I didn’t know, but trusted instantly. Things that feel like reminders, like records, like return. Every item on this list is a kind of memory. Not just of the thing itself—but of the place. The sun. The sounds. The air in March. They’re not souvenirs. They’re fragments. Little pieces of Cape Town I could carry home. If one of them sparked something in you—tell me. I’d love to know what fragments you carried home from a place that moved you too. See you next week in the archive.
Friday no. 3 — May 2, 2025
Kept for remembering what moved you—and made you move.