All the little accents that make me a King...

Those of you who have known me for some time, know that over a year ago I deleted my old Twitter/IG which had years of profanity and ratchetness and created KingSio_. I literally got messages immediately asking who I thought I was calling myself King. My females friends said it was birdish and made me sound like I wanted to be Beyonce. My male friends said I'd never get a man now since I'd intimidate them with that name. Even saw my old joint drop a sub on Twitter saying something along the lines of "you women wanna be men so bad". I laughed at them all. 

I'm not gonna lie, Mrs. Carter was a minor inspiration. Not without meaning tho. She called herself that at the very beginning of her feminist movement. Taking a stand saying woman can do what men can do. Doesn't mean we will or want to. It's saying we want the opportunity.

"All we ever wanted was an opportunity... Lord knows!" - motivational speaker, Rick Ross

When I created King Sio I was inspired. I had just left a HerAgenda event on entrepreneurship and all I wanted to do was build my empire. Even if I had no idea what my empire was. It might have been my hair business, my event planning business, my family, my finances. I had no clue. What I did know was that it was mine. Me. Alone. I was am single and ruled my own thoughts decisions and actions

King- a person or thing preeminent in its class

This was my first step toward putting myself first and stop living for other people. And KingSio_ was my subtle daily reminder that I'm the most preeminent thing in my life. 

Now to address this man thing. It really no one business but my own and they person I'm dating but I'm actually very submissive in relationships (and I don't see that as negative). I take on what people deem as "womanly" roles easily. Cooking, cleaning, and supporting. Especially if the man is very protective and has a natural provider instinct.  And in all actuality, if my social media name is the sole/main deterrent from someone starting a relationship with me, then I'm not sure I want them. 

So does having my social media name containing King mean I'm not a Queen? No. I never thought that. A queen is ALWAYS defined as a woman or female. I'm undeniably that... Except maybe on days my fro is a little low and my I have no makeup on and a big hoodie.  But a King has a few definitions where it doesnt have to me a man. Does it mean I think a King is better? No. I never thought that. Does it mean until someone is worthy to wear the crown of king , I will me the most preeminent person on my class, life, and empire? Yes. I've always thought that. 

Plus, King just flows better than Queen with Sio. *shrugs*

Sometimes, the King is a QUEEN.- Sio 

Was It My Personality or my P*ssy

For years I have joked with my friend that I am going to send a survey monkey link to my old joints to pinpoint exactly where I went wrong. I am all about feedback and believe it's necessary for people to grow. I've never had the "what was wrong with me convo" with anyone I took serious because I always left them. But I was still the one hurt because they seemed to not take me seriously back when things were active. So now as I reflect… I realize… I have nothing to reflect on. So the main question that arises...

 Was it my personality or my pussy?

 One of the two has to be the reason. But which one? And don't look at this post all crazy. You wonder what about you is so horrible he doesn't want to stay. You ask your homegirls, who of course have nothing for you because they are in "he ain't shit … your two steps under Jesus amazing" mode, trying to boost your esteem and your ego up. They are your friends and at this point you can do no wrong. But you can't help letting your mind wander  in the dead of the night, when you're listening to that playlist that has all your bitter songs like Melanie Fiona "It Kills Me", Neyo "Let Go" and Deborah Cox "We Can't be Friends" (Mine is Called Waiting to Exhale... Don't act like you don't have one), you question your personality. You question if you’re boring. You question if you’re not smart enough. You question were you not caring enough. Your whole existence is put into question! I don’t know a woman who has ever felt any hurt has not uttered the question… “What is wrong with me?”

 

Now, some of you may say no. I know I am a good person. I have lots of friends and acquaintances, and I know I am a big ass ball of positivity. Fuck him, cause it was NOT my personality. That brings us to the second part of the question… Was it my pussy?  Every female, no matter how bad, how flexible, how yanking, has doubted her kootie kat. Missy Elliott ain't make " Pussycat" for you to be fake. We are all family here. I have had men say they “can't control” themselves around me, or that I have the elusive "badu box" (they’ll say anything so I take that with a grain of salt). I can recall every time a man underestimated my skills and the shocked look on his face. Again, don't be fake like you don't smile (or screenshot) every time you get a text that says "I didn't expect that". However, when you are sitting there completely single, remembering the good times when you were quasi-single (shout out to twitter for the new term), and wondering what about you wasn't enough to make him stay, your undercarriage is always put into question. You say, "He ain't shit, he trifling, he immature, he blah blah blah..." But deep (or not so deep) in the back of your mind, you start to wonder if your love triangle is to blame. When you see someone with their “amazing” relationship (that’s in quotes cause you know on IG everyone has a perfection filter on *cues Drake ‘Cameras’…*) and you are wondering (with the lowest of keys), how she got that man? Does she have the Cirque du Soleil vagina? Is Harry Potter trying to figure out her magic? You think fairy dust is spewing out of her love cave.  Maybe she is missing a gag reflex… you assume her pussy is on a pedestal that yours doesn’t have the strength to even attempt to climb. There are reasons why video vixens like Melyssa Ford and Erica Mena can have sex books on the national best sellers list. People (mainly woman) want to know if there is some integral sex thing they are missing and everyone knows but them and are too afraid to ask.  You lose faith in pleasure tunnel.

Lady, artist behind "Yankin" song... She got a man doe....

 

Now, this is a very rare occasion on here. I actually have the answer to this problem. Yes girl! I’m shocked too.  Ready for it? Ok…

Don’t take anything personally.

The Second of “The Four Agreements”  by Don Miguel Ruiz that changed my life slowly but surely.

Do.

Not.

Take.

Anything.

Personally.

Quick explanation of the Second Agreement:

"Whatever happens around you, don’t take it personally… Nothing other people do is because of you. It is because of themselves. All people live in their own dream, in their own mind; they are in a completely different world from the one we live in. When we take something personally, we make the assumption that they know what is in our world, and we try to impose our world on their world.
Even when a situation seems so personal, even if others insult you directly, it has nothing to do with you. What they say, what they do, and the opinions they give are according to the agreements they have in their own minds…Taking things personally makes you easy prey for these predators, the black magicians. They can hook you easily with one little opinion and feed you whatever poison they want, and because you take it personally, you eat it up…

But if you do not take it personally, you are immune in the middle of hell. Immunity in the middle of hell is the gift of this agreement"

Sounds so simple, yet so difficult… but necessary. We have no clue what really goes on in the minds of men. Shit, I’m not sure THEY know. You could be so nice that Mother Teresa would look like the Grinch next to you, or Jesus would rethink his celibacy because He knows what lies in your nether regions, but if the person you like/love isn’t ready… then you still going to be binge watching House of Cards in bed with a Seamless order for one. Nothing about YOU is going to make THEM ready.  That’s mental, not malicious. (Actually, some of it is malicious… those men are scum)

And, I am not saying you are perfect… don’t get excited mamita. I am saying stop worrying about what’s wrong with you based off of someone else. If you are going to change, do it because of how you feel about yourself. Live being the best you FOR you, and eventually, God willing, someone will be ready to live that reality with you. That’s probably not the “answer” you wanted but that’s what you’re getting.  You’re Welcome.

And a fun fact- I literally giggled the whole time trying to find different words to supplement pussy.  

Memoirs of a 28 year old

I looked into my grandma's eyes and she said to me "I need you to hit the lotto, because I'm tired. I can't work anymore" she said it with a smile and as a joke.... But that killed me inside. This is the woman who made sure I went to etiquette class so no one would prejudge me. Who, when my absent minded mother was off in lala land, made sure I was still set in life. When I thought I wasn't going to be able to finish college cause I had too many loans, she paid cash so I could get that degree.

I'm 28. Actually this is my last day as 28. A few hours from 29. My last year of my 20’s and I look at the life I'm living and it's not at ALL like the life I thought I'd have. I thought I'd be married with a kid(s), living in an apartment in Westchester about to buy a home, working as a Marketing manager by now. Instead, I'm single, living with a roommate, and doing event planning. Granted, I'm blessed. But when you look at the day to day, and you see those Sallie Mae bills that make you contemplate the different ways you can chef up Ramen Noodles (I like adobo and Siracha), you think everyone living better than you and you just wonder where you went wrong.

You didn't. Everyone is trying to grind out, everyone is trying to be better. Some people were blessed with talents, or recognition of their passion at early ages. I don't think anyone except for Oprah or Beyonce is where they want to be in life and even those heffas still pushing.  

We look at age and we expect more. We give each ourselves these false timelines based off of where others are (who are honestly aren’t just as good as them seem) and we depress ourselves. We discourage ourselves. We go from being our own biggest fan, to our worst critic. Our mindset  becomes our biggest obstacle. 

I cried that night grandma said that to me. I cried rewriting these words. But, I didn’t let it hinder me. I use it as a positive driving force daily. When I wonder why I wake up and do what I do, I remember her face. Im not a creative, i don’t have a talent thats my “passion”. My passion is the people I love. Making them proud, and being there for them in any way possible. So if thats working my ass of at a 9-5 thats really a 9-9 so my grandma doesn’t have to worry about buying a dress for a church dance… ill do that with a smile. 

You are exactly where you are supposed to be on your journey. Dont let others show you how to live your life.  

Blurred Lines

I knew I fucked up when I watched him sleep and I smiled he was at peace next to me.

I knew I fucked up when in the middle of the night he put his arm around me, and I didn’t shy away. I actually nuzzled closer. I don’t cuddle. I hate it. I knew I fucked up.

But, to see the words, “I don’t want to lead you on” and feel my chest tighten, thats when I was SURE I fucked up.

"I don’t want to blurred lines”… I actually chuckled through tears at my text at the Robin Thicke reference. Wait…. tears. Why the fuck was I crying?

Not only was I crying, I was sobbing. In my grandmas bathroom. My waterproof eyeliner was no match for the stream of heavy tears mixed with salt and sadness. I looked in the mirror confused. I didn’t understand my own emotions. I didn’t understand why I was so hurt. I moved back and forth between rooms so my family wouldn’t get suspicious. I couldn’t fake like I saw something sad on TV. I was sobbing like there was a death. Shit, I felt like there was one.

I knew I fucked up.

I realized I loved this man one day randomly AFTER we stopped talking/dating/canoodling/whateva you young kids call it now. He was coming to brunch with me and some friends and he made me get out the car to hug him. When I got in his arms, it felt right. It felt like I was supposed to be there. It felt like love. Not the explosive Chris Brown/Rihanna love. I wasn’t IN love. It felt like the love that starts at your soul. The love that is the hardest to get rid of because it doest shock you. Its creeps up on you. Its builds within you slowly until its overcome you and you are just confused. 

I was confused. 

But here we were again, years later. A random rekindle went from a night, to a weekend, to days, to weeks, to months. Im buying groceries he likes cause I know he’ll be there within the next seven days. Im thinking about him in my decisions for the future because he’s been around on and off for 3 years, so I see no reason why he wouldn’t be there. No, he’s not my man, but I was cool with that.

“I was cool with no commitment. Wait, No, let me take that back. It was you, so I was with it”- Destiny Child ‘Is She The Reason’

We established what we were from jump. I understood and accepted that. All I ever wanted was him around consistently. So I figured this was cool. Im an adult. I can handle it. 

I lied to myself.

I realized that sometimes, we settle for half of someone because its better than none. He did nothing wrong. I did nothing wrong. My feelings sucker punched me like Sharkeisha. I don’t hate him. My friends do, but I don’t. He cares but he didn’t lie. He didn’t disrespect me. I disrespected myself. I was cool giving my all to someone who was giving me his minimum. I was happy to just have him close. I convinced myself were were on the same page. But we weren’t. The lines were blurred more than my vision behind the tears of utter pain. Or maybe it was blurred because I had been drinking for days. 

But what do you do when no one is wrong, only the situation is? What do you do when love isn't enough, but is damn sure is a lot? What do you do when your heart and your brain are fighting to the death and it shows in your face? You become selfish. You realize you deserve more. You don't want to be alone, but honestly, are you not alone? You're prolonging the inevitable. You have to realize you are worth more than scraps and find someone who can see that. It can be him, but thats going to take work. Hard work. You also have to realize its not your fault. Dont make anyone think you are a weak bitch. You had the capacity to love a human being despite not being in fairy tale conditions. You tried to be there for someone you thought deserved your love. I tried to love me enough for the both of us. Things is, that only sounds good on a Drake song. Jhene forgot how hard it is to love yourself just for you at times. Catchy ass lyric, unrealistic ass logic.

I was not insecure, but he gave me no security. For this I had to make the conscious effort to leave. Not because he was a horrible person, but because he was an amazing person. He was amazing, but he wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready either, but I was willing.

A man who isn’t ready to love, is a challenge. But a man who isn’t willing to love is suicide mission.

ThrowBack

I promise ill be better tomorrow. But tonight...

Hi, I'm Misery. Welcome....

“You just a nigga with good lipstick and laid hair”

That’s a direct quote from all of my homeboys. Still not sure if it’s a compliment or not. But now… I’ve accepted it. Like I said I am emo… but for the good. The stuff that impacts me negatively, I don’t say often. Why burden people? That’s what this blog is here for.

But do things get overwhelming like this for men too? I can’t imagine they cry at the thought that the person they love won’t ever play in their hair anymore.

That to sleep, they need Xanax in the medicine cabinet to replace their love that’s no longer in their bed.

That people literally say they can see the weight of the world on their shoulders when all I want is his weight on me. Period.

That they feel delusional calling what we do making love cause their not sure if the love is mutual.

They don’t wake up to tear soaked body pillows.

They don’t miss train stops trying to hold back tears because “our” song came on but they couldn’t bring themselves to go to the next song.

That Jack Daniels is their permanent rebound love.

They never dreamed of someone’s touch and woke up to a pain in their heart so deep it felt like a heart attack.

The energy it takes to put on a convincing fake smile feels like it could power an apartment. The time spent hitting “load more message” and re-reading old conversations because new ones aren’t happening, probably could rebuild the Great Wall of China. Men don’t seem like they deal with that…

But then again… Look at Drake.

Note - Sorry if this post put you in your feelings. Misery loves company. 

Don't call it a Comeback... Though it kind of is....

When I started Random Epiphanys in 2010, it was my escape. It was a way to get my feelings out. It then turned solely about relationships and when I was sad and needed to vent. I felt like a pussy. I realized earlier this year I didn’t want to do that. I was in such a good space and I wanted to share that with everyone. That’s when I also realized I had nothing to write.

Not that all my life is a Drake album, its just that I spoke about the good things. I’m not a quiet person. This blog isn’t what I hide behind to be my true self. I’m vocal and outspoken.

About the good.

About the positive.

I’m emotional, but good emotions. The bad ones… not so much. The thing I loved about my blog was it was my homegirl when my real life homegirls were busy. Or when I needed to makes sense of my own feelings and I could see it face to face.

So now I find myself upset…. And I find myself here. And I realize I ran back here like this was an old familiar joint.

Yea, this was random. Call it an epiphany.