Bitch, sit down. Be selfish!

1. Devoted to or caring only for oneself; concerned primarily with one’s own interests, benefits, welfare, etc., regardless of others. (

Dear reader,

I’m not trying to offend anyone by citing the definition of selfish. I’m sure you offhand know  what it means or at best are knowledgeable enough to describe it. I just thought for my own sake I’d search for a proper, well worded definition of the famous word. I can’t even lie, I smirked a little after reading the definition and thought to myself, “Yea, this isn’t me.”   

Be selfish: this word and phrase seems to be the recurrent themed advice of my 20s. Almost any adult I’ve confided in so far about the events in my life has repeatedly been advising me to be selfish. But how does one become selfish or learn to master such trait after living a life of generosity?  For most of my life, since I’ve grown to know myself; based on the reminiscent memories my dad shares and my own recollections of childhood, I’ve always shared with others. Barely even thought twice to do it. Yet now, it seems like my days of generosity are catching up to me and left me with the inability to be selfish.  So tell me, how do I acquire this trait, where do I start? Do I need lessons on it? My whole life I’ve always been told it’s important to share, God will reward you for it and people will appreciate your good deeds. I’m neither intending to harp nor am I expecting a personal gold medal or a plaque engraved: Lifetime achievement award of generosity. I’m currently at a cross road now in my life where I need to solely focus on me and my well being without feeling like I need external approval. Also, I’d greatly appreciate if I can happily do things for myself with guilt swooping in ready to kidnap my joy. 

I. Need. To. Be. Selfish 

& in these particular areas of my life to be exact: With my time

My love (Sexual and emotional)

My money 

My ideas 

My talent 

My advice- some ppl are like brick walls, no matter how much you give eventually you’ll see it’s a waste of your time

My style 

My intellectuality 

I’m not sure where to start in this journey of uncovering the myth of ” How to be Selfish. I know THREE places I need to start for sure are time, money and love. 

Love- I have to learn to love myself entirely before I can accept love from someone else.  Having the ability to love myself wholeheartedly  whether or not that person (or people) are in my life. Accepting myself on bad days and still seeing the beautiful  QUEEN in me. Also accepting myself on good days leaving no room for pessimism and negativity to heavily downpour on my sunny days.

 Money- learning to say a firm NO to puppy dog eyes and pleas for financial assistance. Especially since my ass is just as much in need of a little financial boost.  This only deprives me in the long run. 

And finally time- be selfish with my time and stop responding to fuck boys without real agendas, purpose or status of my role in their lives.  I have some changes and adjustments to make. Selfishness, here I come. I hope I take my dosages of selfishness in healthy generous moderation before I abuse it. I wish myself the best. See there’s a start!

The Mystery under the wig🤔😳

I finally decided to take my wig off-Sounds so funny to say, but I promise I’m not a balding Middle Aged woman-I’m just a twenty-something year old who’s trying dabbling in alternative inexpensive protective hair style options. 

A few days ago, I somehow mustered up the confidence to take my ombré two toned, dark brown and blonde shoulder length wig off. Yes, I unleashed the fro ✊🏾

I got a little tired and annoyed with the constant heading patting and itching. I think that was either a sign from my hair that it needed to be washed or just a “let me  loose cry!”

So I did as my hair requested. I took the wig off, unbraided my cornrows and man, I tell you, it felt goood to be free…

Now, I was standing face to face with the real me in all of my natural glory. I stared at my natural tresses, examining it intently, stretching the ends to measure the growth and then wondering what the hell Am I going to do with “this” for work.

I thought maybe I’ll think of something once I begin combing through it. And surely, I thought of a cute little twist out idea. The process of this cute little twist out was longer than I expected. Once I start styling my hair, I don’t give up. No matter how long it takes. 

I lathered my hair with my Creme of Nature Argan oil Buttermilk moisturizer, placed shea butter and  around the perimeter (on my edges and nape) for extra moisture, sheen and protection. After, I began the nearly two-hour process of parting my hair into small boxes and doing two strand twists. I still haven’t figured out how to do three strand twists, so for now I’ll stick to what I know. 

The next morning after I was completely showered and dressed, I unraveled the twists. I was a little aggravated because a few twists were awkwardly jutting out of my scalp. I was prepared for those little unruly twists, I used a small amount of Eco gel to hold them down. Thanks Eco Gel, all this time I’ve been doubting. You came through when I needed you. 

Then I was out the door and off the work. The gentle breeze lightly passing over my scalp, like cool fingers as I walked towards the bus stop.  


  Later on that same day, one of my fellow naturalista co-workers greeted me with surprise and enthusiasm for revealing the mystery under the wig. She encouraged me to wear my natural hair more often work and revealed her dislike for my wig wearing. Usually I would get oftened by such comments but in actuality, I was receptive and appreciative of her realness. 

It felt good to be me, feel like me and show the real me at work. 

She hasn’t changed my views on wearing wigs, but she has empowered me to switch it up,by aternating between hair style options.  I don’t always have the time or energy to retwist my hair. Plus, wigs are easy and convenient protective options. 

I guess I can let my hair out a little more often from now on. 

A Naturalistas Plea- Sometimes growing is the hardest thing to do

Throughout my entire life, I don’t think I’ve ever had a more infuriating love/hate relationship similar to the one I have with you. 
For years I’ve tended to your needs, by helping you get rid of the excess stress and damage when needed. Mainly because I thought this would be the new, fresh start you deserved. On top of that, I keep you well groomed with the appropriate amount of trimming. I’ve protected you from harsh climates and chemicals. Always making sure you were first, without regard to the price because  your protection is what matters the most. Hell, I’ve even kept my word to never ever ever eveeer allow you to relapse and revert  back to feeding your creamy crack addiction. 

I did my part in this, now it’s your turn to do the same. I’m working non-stop in efforts of tending to your high maintenance needs.

It’s been 4 years, going on 5 and I’m still dealing with your stubborn stagnation. I’ve put up with you for so long. And you’re right, I haven’t always kept my promise or maintained my consistence And I might have even switched my actions a few times, yet not once did I ever dare to give up on you and most importantly OUR journey. 

I want this relationship to flourish but you have to work with me too, not against me. Believe me, when I say this, I want nothing more than for us to grow, but more importantly for you to grow and reach your fullest potential. 

 Come on, it’s been a long time coming, please do this favor for me and 



Can I Have “A Seat At the Table” of Success?

For so long I’ve feared doing what l love the most. Simply for the fact that I was afraid and I still am afraid no one will support me. I fear the thought of starting something new and lacking a supportive foundation for my endeavors. I commend those for their bravery by just going out and seizing their opportunity without exception of immediate success. I watch some of my closest friends and acquaintances or people I know from my a respectful distance, live by the Carpe diem motto. Each day I wake up and I see another person fearlessly challenging their self and their opposers by succeeding in their endeavors. As I sit back at home just aimlessly scrolling, reading their captions their comments, I can’t help but to wonder, “when will it be my turn?” I hate to admit that a part of me feels envy. Not envious of their success or watching their dreams unfold. Envy in the sense of how did they find the courage or time to dedicate to pursuing their craft. Fashion, entertainment, acting, corporate, modeling entrepreneurs. 
When did their desire to thrive transition from a phrase of,

I hope to… I wish to… I want to…

I will…I plan to… I am…

Meanwhile my life seems to be at a stagnant halt encompassed with a list of disappointments. 

To my fellow friends who read this, I ask for you to please not interpret my expression as an envious confession but as a revelation of admiration by a close bystander. I was once told by a woman of great intellect and wisdom beyond her years, that God’s timing is not your timing. Therefore we shouldn’t be hasty or anxious. God hears all of our prayers, once you bring your prayer to him, Let go and trust in him. Have faith in his timing. Yet, this was and still is my main issue. I repeatedly pray to God, addressing the same issues unable to let go of my unhappiness. I was dwelling on my dissatisfaction without appreciating the infinite good I obtain. I wasn’t making a way for myself or giving myself time to be happy. I just complained. I know that God hears me, Eventhough I may not know when he’ll answer, my prayer will inevitably be answered when he sees fit. My time will come. For now I’ll treat these cloudy days as lessons In humility and patience. There’s no way I can or will become great woman in one day. 

Friends continue to strive. Family continue to strive. I will cheer you on from the side line. 

I wish all of you success in your endeavors.


Your Admiring friend

Table for One Please

 I sat alone in a chilis restaurant in the Fort Lauderdale Hollywood International Airport. Usually I don’t like eating alone in public settings, but today I had to chose between setting my pride aside and eating alone or listening to my stomach talk to me as I sat waiting for my 9 o’clock flight to New York City. 

Inevitably,of course my stomach won the battle. 

I placed the menu down at the take out counter, held my head high, and walked towards the hostess’ podium. She asked “table for one?”

I replied confidently, “Yes, table for one”

She led the way to the two-seater table. I followed. As she placed the menu on the table, I pulled out a seat and sat down. I peered across the small table to the empty seat in front of me and placed my bag there. Obviously, I was not expecting a guest. This was simply a moment between me, myself and I. I had to get used to that for the time being. 

As I sat at my table for ONE. I did everything in my power to avoid eye contact with the other restaurant attendees. The only pupils I looked into belonged to the sweet and busy waitress.  When she left my presence my face returned to the screen of my iphone. I was not doing anything significantly important on my phone, I just used it as a facade to keep me looking busy . I didn’t want to look like a sad loner at my table for one. 

I scrolled through my call logs searching for someone to call. I read text messages and replied. At one point, i reached for my blue JVC headdphones and plugged them into my phone.

 First, I attempted to listen to  music or watch some dance choreography videos on YouTube. But that didn’t work. This always passes the time and maintains my attention. 

Then, I went to Netflix to watch my favorite show, A Different World. That didn’t work either.

Finally, I decided for sure Pandora would work. I tapped the app,waited…waited…and waited, for nothing. That was my last failed attempt. 

Unfortunately, it was just my luck the  wifi access was shitty. 

I realized my limited internet access prohibited me from disengaging myself from the world. I unplugged my headphones, set the phone aside and sat patiently for the waitress to bring my food. 

Sometimes fear can hold you back from so many opportunities and life changing moments.

As I sat there with my delicious Mexican bowl in front of me filled with beans,grilled chicken, rice, and array of vegetables. I realized fear is created by the mind. 

What’s so strange or sad about a woman or any person enjoying a moment with them self? 

Nothing at all! 

With my phone set aside on the table. I ate my food in peace and watched families interact with one another. I wondered about where they were traveling to or from. What kind of occupations they have?

It made me think of my own family and the family I will possibly have in the future. 

As I indulged in the Mexican cuisine I thought and watched. Even made eye contact with a few customers.

Eating alone without the disturbance of a phone wasn’t so awful or terrifying after all. 

At my table for one I had a chance to reflect and watch the world around me instead of hiding behind my phone, pretending to be occupied. 

I’ll do this more often. This time I’ll try a different restaraunt or maybe a movie theatre!

Scar woman: Facing Life’s battles

“How di right side ah yuh body suh chop up?”
I’ve always found it easier to make a joke out of my own situation or personal  flaws before someone else points it out and tries to ridicule me about it. I can be pretty sensitive about my appearance, although I try my best not to make it too obvious. I’m sure I’m not the only one, after all we are human, and we all possess some level of self consciousness within us. I just try my best to conceal them, some days I’m quite successful at doing so, while others days… not so much. I like people to see that I’m strong and I’m highly aware of all the physical flaws I have, so in order to mentally and emotionally prep my self for the glares, questions, and teasing, I simply beat everyone else to it by making my own comical relief about them. Before the accident, I had a few scars, that weren’t so obvious or bothersome to me because over the years I learned to accept each one. Ever since the accident, I’ve received more than I bargained for.I should be grateful for the scars, it’s either them or death. And honestly a much as I hate the scars I have, I’d choose them over an eternal nap in a 6 foot hole.
My new scars are all in places that I used to admire and show the most appraisal to: my stomach, my right eyebrow, and underneath my right eye. So when this was said of course in reference to the visible and apparent scars on the right side of my body. The scar on my upper right arm, one on my leg, and the newest additions to the scar collection includes the one on my stomach as well as the cut between my right eyebrow.
I often hear jokes or questions like this about my flaws. Honestly, I’m extremely self-conscious about each of my noticeable stitched scars. It’s bad enough I have to see them everyday and live with each one. I can’t really hide them in certain clothes. To be honest  I’ve stopped trying. I no longer see the significance of hiding what I’ve been through. We all have scars, it just so happens that mine are visible and easier to see. No one is perfect, and I will never be.
My scars do not define me. I won’t allow them to change me or hinder me from getting what or where I want. Scars aren’t the most attractive things to look at, but a person has to offer is so much more valuable than their appearance. I hate these scars. But, if it weren’t for them I doubt I would be the person I am today if I hadn’t endured these painful incidents. It sucks having to be the center of jokes, stared at like a wounded pitiful animal, or constantly being questioned.

I am not my scars.

We’re all mortal beings, which means the bodies we are in are only temporary, therefore we are expected to return it when our time is up. Words can be shallow and hurtful, but I believe my soul and personality are worth more, than attractive scar-less flesh. There was a point in my life I allowed fear and opinion of others to prohibit me from wearing any type of clothing that would reveal the slightest bit of my stitched scars. Not anymore.
The reaction I hear about my scars aren’t new or shocking. Those who are brave enough just stare at them, as if I can’t see their eyes beaming at my scar. They ask questions like:
How did that happen?
Does it hurt?
Did it hurt?
How many do you have?

Life happened. At that time it hurt, but no longer does. In total I have 5.

MESSAGE For Scarred Women:
Your wounds may be visible, never allow your wounds to damage your spirit. You are and will be amazing.

Signed with love,
A physically scarred young woman.