First off, Forever is about to hit the screens, can you give us some insight into why this series, now and what it means for you?

Forever matters now more than ever because we’re in a moment where representation isn’t just important — it’s urgent. I wanted to create a world where young Black people could see themselves not filtered through trauma or tropes, but in their full humanity — messy, tender, funny, scared, bold. This series is a safe space. It offers room to explore intimacy, vulnerability, and selfhood without the weight of judgment or danger. That kind of space feels radical — and necessary.

What excites you about film and television at the moment and where do you see the industry going?

I’m excited by storytelling that dares to feel — that dares to slow down, to let characters breathe, to hold space for nuance. We’re in a time of disruption, yes, but also of possibility. Technology is shifting, platforms are evolving, but the need for stories — for connection — remains constant. I believe in the resilience of creators. We pivot, we adapt, we find new ways to bring our truths to the screen. That’s what we’ve always done.

What comes next for you and what are you looking to create?

I’m always creating. Always dreaming. I’m drawn to stories that align with my purpose — stories that reflect the complexity of our lives, that honor our joy and our pain, that challenge and uplift. Whether it’s in film, television, or other mediums, I want to continue building worlds where people can see themselves fully — and feel seen.

Do you have one secret to your success?

Show up. Sit down. Do the work. Ideas are beautiful, but execution is everything. Writing is an act of faith — in yourself, in your voice, in the story you’re telling. You have to commit to it, even when it’s hard, even when it’s messy. Especially then.

Who is a woman you admire?

My mother. My aunt. My grandmother. The women who raised me, who taught me resilience, grace, and the power of showing up. Their strength is the foundation of everything I do.

What’s one thing you can’t live without?

Matcha! It’s my ritual that’s only for me.

‍What is one big trend you’re excited about in 2025?

I’m excited about the trend of authenticity — of people craving real, honest stories. There’s a hunger for depth, for connection, for narratives that reflect the true spectrum of human experience. That’s the trend I want to be part of.

‍What book or film/show has been the most impactful in your career or life?

Judy Blume’s Forever was pivotal for me. It wasn’t just a book — it was a portal. It handed language to feelings I hadn’t yet articulated, and gave shape to experiences I was only beginning to navigate. It spoke plainly, without condescension or shame, about young love, sexuality, and the tender confusion of coming of age. That kind of honesty was rare — especially for girls. Especially for Black girls like me, who were already being told, implicitly and explicitly, that our stories didn’t deserve that kind of nuance or care.

Reading Forever as a young woman gave me permission — to feel deeply, to ask questions, to believe that love and desire could coexist with agency and curiosity. And yet, even in its truth, there was a gap. I didn’t see myself on those pages. I didn’t see my skin, my family, my cultural references, my neighborhood. So while it was formative, it was also incomplete.

That’s why adapting Forever now, through the lens of Black teens, feels like more than a career milestone. It feels like a spiritual assignment. It’s about honoring Judy’s boldness — her willingness to speak to girls with respect — while also reclaiming the narrative space for young Black men who deserve that same honesty and tenderness. It's about holding complexity: how sacred first love can be, how messy and joyful sex can be, how loss and growth are intertwined.

This adaptation is my offering to the next generation — a love letter to every Black teen who's searching for themselves in the margins. It says: You are worthy of softness. Your feelings are valid. Your journey matters. It’s my full-circle moment — and my hand reaching back.

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