The one thing I’ve appreciated the most is somebody who can have a conversation.

I’ve spent so much time around people who want to be a part of the conversation, but don’t know how.

So I love when someone engages in conversation, and it flows naturally.

They know how to bounce from topic to topic effortlessly, ask the right questions, and make you lose track of time.

In a world where technology is the main attraction, it’s nice to have someone who sets it down and listens to you intently.

Conversation is something we take for granted.

Conversations are one thing I hold on to.

When I miss someone, I think of or look back at the conversations we had. I think of how their words made me feel or how intrigued I was to hear their words.

Words that mean more than a moment but a lifetime.

To have someone who makes conversations feel priceless and curiosity endless is someone to keep around.

So, when you meet someone like that, sit them down and just allow the conversation to grow and build.

I’ve had 6 plants this past year, but as of today, I only have 3 left.

Guys, I’m trying, believe me.

My journey first started with Malcolm, my Monstera Plant.

At first, he thrived; he rapidly grew within 2 months and grew big new leaves by the week. I was overjoyed, but then I had to go to college, and I took Malcolm with me. He went from a cool home with lots of sunlight to a humid apartment with less sunlight. I watched his growth stall for a whole year before he decided to give up.

Malcolm taught me patience: that everything isn’t meant for everybody, certain spaces stop your growth, and not to get too ahead of yourself.

Because I thought since I was so good with Malcolm, I should get Ms.Simpson & Ertha Kit, 2 beautiful succulents. That I didn’t realize were succulents until they slowly deteriorated.

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Before I started my Substack, I used to write in my notes. To old friends, lovers, old situations.

It was my way of saying the feelings that seem too big to say out loud.

I spent years writing letters, asking questions, analyzed peopel or situations, venting without restraint.

But it’s something so intimate about loving someone so much you write about them.

You sit, you think, you relive it, just to tell a story to look back and read.

Your art ends up imitating your life. It’s so filled with love that love pours into your work.

Not even just in relationships but friendships, situations.

To be so overwhelmed with a feeling that you write about it.

I feel like it helps the feeling live on and reach others.

You reread it and feel the same emotions all over again; it's satisfying.

I’ve written a good amount of posts about love, friendships, and situations that have brought love into my life.

I’ve reread them, and the same feeling that made me write them always overtakes me. It’s no different from listening to a song that reminds you of something.

To be loved by a writer has to be something so beautiful. Every word is intentional, every feeling is meant; there's not a moment their love dims when they express their love.

To love someone so much to document it might be one of the purest forms of love to me.

In another lifetime, I like to tell myself I’m the kind of girl who lives carefree.

Who wears the little clothes, the colored hair, the bold aesthetics.

The kind of girl who draws attention at a party or on the street. She always becomes the center of attraction.

The kind of girl who dances on tables, takes pictures anywhere and everywhere, posts videos like a video vixen.

Just a girl who knows she's the star of attraction and never tones it down.

She wears the revealing tops, the mini skirts, the stockings, the bralette, the high platform heels, the tiny bikinis. She just oozes video vixen when she walks by.

There’s a level of confidence that you have to have to walk into a room and make every head turn.

It’s not just cause she’s attractive, it cause she never cared about the male gaze, only her own.

They’re the kind of girls who find random men at a party who will buy drinks, carry them, or treat them like a celeb for the night.

I love it. To see a girl live her life like it’s a movie.

A carefree woman, well, really a free-spirited woman, is a beauty to see.

A woman not performing, just thriving and experiencing life to the fullest.

Now, when I say masculine, I don’t mean I was dominant or like a man in a sense. I just never fit the box of being “feminine” or a “girly girl,” but it was never meant for me.

I grew up looking up to women who were rough but kept softness in their lives.

I didn’t care to wear dresses, to always talk nicely, to cater to people, or to learn makeup growing up.

I loved to wear hoodies and sneakers, I played the game, and found myself going back and forth with my homeboys.

The older I got, I learned to incorporate the softness into my life.

I still rock the big clothes and sneakers, but with my lashes done and maybe my makeup too.

I thrive on independence, but if a man’s around that capable, he’s going to do it.

Talking nicely wasn’t something I ever really partook in, but I learned to use it to my advantage.

To set boundaries, ask for help, and remind people who I am.

A lot of women learn too late how to be soft in their masculinity, how to balance the two.

But it’s not hard; it's learning to keep yourself soft while asserting yourself.

You don’t make yourself small or consumable; you just walk into a room like you own it.

Why would I cosplay femininity when it isn’t my entire aesthetic?

It’s not a look to me; it's certain mannerisms, actions, or knowledge.

It’s the way a woman can grab people’s attention or command a room in a suit, dress, or some sweats.

I may not always look the part, but I know the game.

Being more of a tomboy or assertive never stopped people from treating me softly, from achieving the soft life.

I’m just a lady who likes to wear the same fits your boyfriend wears.

Femininity is how you carry yourself, not how you look.

You can’t just wear it; you have to move in it, you have to be it.

You want the respect but don’t do anything to earn it. You want the soft life but can’t set boundaries. You want princess treatment but don’t hold yourself high.

Being a girly girl wasn’t as fun for me.

Being “mean” and assertive about myself is the best thing I could do.

My soft life didn’t stop because I was rougher around the edges; if anything, it helped maintain my soft life.

One of the main things I struggle with is trying to sit in my feelings, feel them without doubt.

I always end up finding a way to make my feelings sound like an excuse or making myself at fault for how I feel.

So a lot of the time I don’t know how I feel. I’m always stuck in a middle ground, where I just end up feeling down.

I wasn’t taught to sit in my feelings and just let them out.

I was taught to deal with it, that it could be worse, that other people have it worse.

So, most of my time is spent downplaying my feelings or second-guessing them. Catering to the other person’s feelings before my own.

So when the question is posed, “How do you feel?” or “What are you thinking?” an answer never comes to mind.

My feelings are always a contradiction of how I feel versus how I think I should feel.

Trying not to make the conversation about me, but still trying not to shut myself down.

I always end up shutting myself down though; it never fails.

I make my feelings smaller because everyone has their own problems and there’s bigger things to handle.

So, I struggle with feeling and sitting with it.

I struggle to give myself grace and understanding, but I can give it to others.

If only I could give myself the same amount of grace and the space to be human.

Every day I practice more with not shutting myself down and luckily have people around me who give me the space to just be.

But sometimes I fall back into that same middle ground.

Have you ever wondered how people perceive you? What do people think when they first meet you? How beautiful are you when you first grace someone's eyes?

The beauty in others’ eyes is that they don’t see the same insecurities you stare at in the mirror.

They don’t see the trauma, the scars, the slight unevenness between your eyes, the small curve in your lip, the growing pimple near your nose.

They just see you, in your beauty.

They see you as you are, meanwhile your steadily perceiving yourself differently.

What a wonder it would be to meet yourself for the first time.

Noticing your smile, your quirkiness, the way your voice picks up as you talk passionately, the way your purse may match the small accessory in your hair.

To see yourself without the tinted glasses you wear that tell you you aren’t enough, or beautiful, or could ever be as pretty as the girl you just passed.

But little do you know, there are eyes that view the same.

The crazy thing is, you never know how many people have passed you or talked to you and thought, “Wow, she is so beautiful!”, “ I wish I could be like her.”

The way you view others, there’s someone who views you the same.

So, be exactly who you are.

Because there is always someone who sees a different story than the one you’ve been reading for years.

To be vulnerable is to allow my shadow to become my forefront. To acknowledge my shortcomings, my fear, my testimonies spoken to only myself. Facing the bad and acknowledge it as much as I do the good.

Becoming more knowledgeable with myself, being more in tune with myself. Connecting with myself on a level that scares me but intrigues me to do better.

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In the black community, we often hear “she’s too fast” or “she’s acting grown,” but what really constitutes that?

Half of the time, it’s not even based on their actions; it’s based on their appearance.

That little girl can’t help that her body matured faster than others. So don’t criticize her body in certain clothes.

Just because she found an interest in colored hair or different styles doesn’t mean she’s being too fast or growing.

We often sexualize young girls for trying to find their identity. Not just kids, but girls are becoming teenagers too.

They struggle enough with figuring themselves out, dealing with their peers, just to be told that they are being fast for trying things.

Colored hair, tight clothes, certain hairstyles, lashes, and getting their nails done. The last time I checked thats just regular maintenance.

But what makes it worse is that they automatically assume that it equals access for men.

The access to be sexualized, harassed, and judged.

We should protect our black girls instead of crucifying them.

And yes, there are times they can be “too fast” or “acting grown,” but instead of criticizing their environment, we criticize them. We don’t teach them, then judge them for how they act.

We will sexualize them for the way they walk, and yet never see the issue.

Our girls are not being anything but themselves, that does not equal access from weirdos, men, womens judgement, or criticism from people who were taught kids are only kids when they fit your image.

There’s always a moment you just know someones meant in your future.

The conversations become deeper, the plans start to include them, and before you know it, instead of I your using we and us.

You're having a normal day, the same conversations, the same laughs, the same intimacy as before.

But quickly it shifts.

It could have been the way they cared for you, the way they spoke of you, seeing them fit so easily into your life, but it changed everything.

There wasn’t a doubt that moment changed from that person being in your present to being in your future too.

It’s like the universe gave you a sign that temporary wasn’t an option anymore.

We always wonder, well, how do we know if it’s real, if we love them, if it’s meant to be, but you’ll know.

Every moment includes them.

The moment you realize you love someone is special because it makes every hardship, toxic relationships, trials, and tribulations worth it.

Because you now have someone who makes you feel like their love extends past the present, but to your future, too.

Some people have dreams of having a big friend group. A bunch of people to hang out with or talk to.

But in reality, all you need is 1 good friend or a couple.

As women, we know it’s hard to come by real, genuine friends. People who care about you, who will listen, who will hold you accountable.

Women who are real and honest with you in a fake world full of opinions, she’ll lay out all the facts.

Having someone be honest with you when no one else will is a blessing.

She won’t just agree, she debates, she challenges you, and opens your eyes to new.

One good friend could fulfill you more than having a big group of friends.

She’ll make everyone’s absence sting less because she’ll always show up, support, and make you feel loved. She’s there for every small win, accomplishment, new opportunity, the rough times, and the moments you keep to yourself.

She doesn’t judge you, just holds space for you and reminds you your human.

When doubt surfaces, she lifts you up and reminds you who you are.

Her prayers even include you.

There are only so many people like that you’ll meet in the world.

So, when you find one, hold onto her.

I didn’t start tuning into Love Island until last season. My for you page was swarmed with TikToks with think pieces and opinions on the Taylor & Olandria situation.

So I started to watch and listen to people’s various opinions and became a reminder that society hates black women and men will always be men.

Because it didn’t start with Olandria, and unfortunately, it didn’t end with her either.

And before I knew it, my timeline was filled with pictures of season 8’s villa girls.

The show hadn’t even started yet, and the comments rolled in about the girls apperance. Most of them are harping on Aniya’s looks.

Then the show started, and my for you page, timeline, and friends’ stories were filled with Love Island.

Each episode, I noticed the small similarities and not in the connections compared to season 7. In people’s responses and their opinions.

Unfortunately, Aniya became the forefront of their scrutiny. All because she had faith and listened to a man.

There is nothing wrong with KC and him wanting to explore, but he was disrespectful about it. He would tell Aniya one thing and go tell the other men something different. He would not only explore in Casa but put her down in the midst of it.

And people have been talking all about it; it’s even gotten more men to tune in.

But it reminded me that men will always be men. They relate to and defend KC.

Why? Because KC is the average man.

You probably have a homeboy right now who moves and talks just like KC. They see no wrong in what he’s doing because they are exactly like him.

Now, Aniya wasn’t always right, but the hate she’s receiving for being human is crazy.

They love to point out that Aniya pulled KC when he pulled Sol for a chat and that she tripped every time he tried to explore. Constantly needing reassurance.

But no one will talk about the similarities with TiTi.

How the second KC mentioned exploring something with Sydney, she tripped worse than Aniya did.

It's been a couple of weeks since the show ended and since I started this thought.

You know, I thought about finishing this thought for a while, but if I’m being honest, I don’t want to anymore.

If it’s one thing I learned is that people’s reactions and opinions are that deep.

You get a true look into how people think and feel just by their opinions on the different situations the islanders face.

It explains the different ways people go about things, their boundaries, or even how much they are willing to go for love.

It also opens the reality that we judge others so much for mistakes for falling in love quicly but yet we’ve met worse people, and yet we say nothing.

The same people with thinkpeices are the same people stuck in the same cycle of toxicity and nonsense to no gain.

Yes, Love Island is that deep because some of you are preaching what you need to practice, and some of you need help.

Slowly, I’ve started to do the things that I want to do.

Which has been a blessing but also a reminder that something I want to learn is discipline.

Discipline in school, with hobbies, with myself.

It’s a fight.

I’ve grown so uncomfortable with just trying but not committing.

So focused on the results, I didn’t care to accept the fact that the journey matters too.

I always end up starting over. Swearing up and down, I’m finally going to lock in, and it only takes a couple of days before I’m back saying the same thing.

It’s a cycle that feels like it takes forever to break.

I had been repeating it for years. The same pattern with the same excuses.

I’ve watched the results of being disciplined work for other people around me.

I’ve sat and regretted not staying committed, not choosing to bounce back, or applying myself more.

Part of me is okay with it, Okay well maybe not okay. Comfortable is the better word.

The other part of me regrets not choosing to be uncomfortable to be better.

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The more life keeps me busy, and the more expensive things become, I’ve started to miss having a maintenance day.

A day to get my hair done and nails done, just to pick myself back up.

To go out feeling and looking my best while running errands that had been put off.

I forgot how much of a luxury it was to go to the salon until it had been years since I did it.

I don’t mind being a DIY girlie, but only professionals could have me feeling like I unlocked an alter ego.

It’s like a reset button, a fresh start for the time being.

Trying new hairstyles, the anticipation sitting in the chair, the sneak peeks in the mirror, the final reveal at the end.

I think we sometimes take for granted the way we fulfill our personal satisfaction when we make ourselves feel good.

That feeling doesn’t end there either; it lasts for weeks.

Weeks of feeling renewed, refreshed, and like that girl.

Take the time, schedule that appointment, maybe even buy yourself some flowers, and remind yourself exactly who you are.

Going to college, I knew I wanted to find my people. People who just got me, who were fun to be around, who made being at school less lonely.

So, I did the easiest thing to do: I joined an org.

Little did I know that the people I joined with and would meet would become my family.

We started hanging out and having kickbacks to get to know each other. It turned from that to meeting up at someones spot after practices to eating in the dining hall together.

It was natural; we all fed off each other’s personalities.

There was never a moment when we weren’t laughing or joking around.

That was a year ago, and some of those people have grown to become my closest friends, family even.

They listened to my problems, confided in me, laughed with me, we celebrated each other’s accomplishments, they showed up for me, and always answered a call to hear me talk about nonsense.

I’ve spent so many moments with them that it's hard to imagine life without them.

If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have so many memories, stories, and aunties/uncles to have in the future.

We never had to force a bond; it just grew over time. We chose to become family even when people had to move, life got hard, and conversations became fewer in between.

The love was still the same.

We’ve been there for each other through the good times, the relationships, the rough patches, the late nights, the hard partying, and the achievements along the way.

They pushed me to be better and do better. They believed in me when I was unsure of myself. They loved me through anything I was going through.

I couldn’t be more blessed to have a family that loves me for who I am.

They are my family because they don’t have to be there, yet they choose to be.

My sisters have helped keep me accountable, navigate hardships, gotten ready for parties with me, and have made so many wonderful memories to be cherished.

My brothers have listened to me vent, taught me about men, have been helping hands, and have made me laugh even when I didn’t feel like it.

I can’t wait to see the separate lives we make and how our families will continue to grow and stay connected.

Sometimes the best family is the people with whom you don’t share blood.

One of the hardest things to learn is to let go.

Let go of your friends, people, and situations.

Grieving things that still breathe despite you wanting them to lie at rest.

But no one told me I would have to grieve myself, too.

That the version of myself I had been building for years would quietly crumble at my feet.

I spent years building an image of myself. I can’t say it always felt like me, but I learned to wear it like it fitted perfectly.

So much so, it became me, quiet, perfect, small enough to fit in but not big enough to stand out, and shifted to become whoever I needed to be for everyone but me.

I grew into this image like hand-me-downs.

Until one day, I grew out of it.

I didn’t know what I was thinking or feeling, but I knew it no longer fit me. No matter how much it changed, it was like I outgrew this version of me.

And even though I knew it, I held on so long because it was comfortable.

I had grown too comfortable.

So much so, I didn’t recognize myself.

So, I created a new image, but my old self didn’t mesh well.

I had to let go of the old me.

But I quietly held on; it was too much. Too overwhelming.

To have to “start over”, to be uncomfortable in the unknown.

But growing comfortable had left me far too behind and far too small, when I was always meant for taking up space.

It’s hard, though. I didn’t know growing would mean I would leave parts of myself behind.

I stay up, sometimes missing myself but knowing it’s for the best.

It’s like grieving someone who’s still alive. You see them every day, talk to them, hear them, but you know things aren’t the same.

So, goodbye to the version of me that learned to be comfortable for everyone but herself. Goodbye to the version of me that learned to fit in a room instead od stand in it. Goodbye to the version of me who learned to be complacent for others instead of being content with myself.

Letting go of myself is hard, but I've grown too much to be stuck in a box that never fit me.

I love to watch beautiful things and stare and admire the beauty in the world.

But what makes things more beautiful is when they inspire you.

Inspire you to create more art, to be better, to do better.

That’s the kid of art I want to admire every day by choice.

A partner who inspires me to do more.

Whose beauty is more than just the outward view, but also harbors a seed meant to be planted when eyes lay upon it.

Love was never meant to keep you still and comfortable.

So I hope to be with someone who inspires me daily.

Every day is a reminder that beauty exists in every action.

To be inspired by someone or something you love is a gift.

Because you spend every day choosing to do better because you see it in someone else, and quietly, they do the same thing too.

You admire someone, and something ignites in you; that’s how more beauty is made.

Being inspired means you're never static, always grasping at something, always creating something.

I need someone who inspires me and is not just someone whom I can look at. But they can be someone I can look to.

I get it. We look for love everywhere and in everything; we tend to get lost in it.

The only problem is that not all love is good for you.

There are so many people you will love in your life, and sometimes it just isn’t meant to be. Now, sometimes we force it, we try to make it fit even when its doesnt.

We find someone who shows us some sort of love, and we hold on to it.

But after a while come the sneaky moments in private, which slowly lead to public disrespect.

You don’t say anything the first time, but spend more moments thinking about what could be happening that you don’t know about.

It weighs heavily on you. Everyone can tell.

Your spirit is no longer up, like you're losing the essence of yourself.

You say you're tired, you don’t want to keep feeling the same way, or repeating yourself, yet here you are again.

Do you want to spend the rest of your life defending a man who put himself in a position to be questioned?

Do you want to always feel the way you do now for the rest of your life?

How long are you willing to sacrifice yourself for a man who would never sacrifice himself for you?

Beautiful, stand up.

There are too many people in the world who wouldn’t dim your light to satisfy themselves. There are so many people willing to love you authentically and pour into you without anything in return.

Who you are shouldn’t be an auction or an ultimatum to receive love. It should be a nonnegotiable.

Stop letting these boys who were never worthy feel like not only are they worth something, but worthy enough to have you.

They never deserved a second chance, yet he still feels proud to be on his 5th.

He never deserved your acceptance, even though his apologies were never backed by action.

He didn’t know what he had until he saw his lies finally catch up to him.

You don’t need someone who values your worth after he breaks you down. Because he’ll never do what’s needed to build you back up.

You don’t need someone who amounts you to nothing to make them feel like everything compared to you.

Go pick your head up and remind yourself who you are.

You had a life before them, you had one during them, and you’ll live without them.

There’s only one constant throughout all of it, and that’s you.

So do what’s best for you, not what you hope will work out, but what you know will make you happy in the long run.

Because through everything, you will always have yourself.

One of the movies I would use to describe my childhood is Matilda.

When I started this blog, it was to have a place to not only let my feelings out, but to feel less alone, too.

Because every person who feels alone yearns for someone who gets it and understands how you feel, too.

See, I grew up learning to be comfortable with being alone. Maybe even too comfortable.

I didn’t have a choice. Yet, I thought one day things would change.

But the older I got, being lonely never left me.

In fact, I preferred to be alone. I had grown too comfortable with being by myself and occupying myself.

Lost in thought, always thinking, wondering, and questioning things.

Thought daughter its not just a title, but a constant state.

I’ve spent more time thinking than living at times.

Even around people theres still a question of if I fit. Or a need to find a corner and slip into the background of a gathering or room.

It’s like the quiet follows everywhere I go. I never seem to escape it, and I don’t know if I want to.

It makes things easier to know that, despite how crazy things get or how the world gets. I can always fall back on myself.

Nobody gets me like myself.

But after a while theres a need for a community, people who get me too.

In all honesty, no matter how old I get, wherever I go, or who I’m with. A part of still feels alone, but its steadily becoming more content.

So growing up, I loved watching Matilda. A girl who spent more time with herself than she did with others.

She was a black sheep, the different one. The one they never understood, nor cared to understand either. I was her, and she was me.

Being a thought daughter was more than just an aesthetic; it was who I was at my core.

A girl constantly thinking, feeling alone, and hoping to be understood.

Throughout the storms that seem to come to pass, I start to understand why folks want a garden.

Something sacred, something to tend to, something to grow.

When everything seems loud and overwhelming. How nice it would be to have somewhere to go.

It’s like an ultimate level of peace.

Learning to grow something meant to sustain and grow to bless you in other ways.

Learning to grow your own fruit and vegetables.

A garden that teaches you growth and accepting mistakes.

Somewhere that feels like a quiet place to just rest and ease.

And the more you love it, the more it loves you back.

Something you can teach your friends and family. Something that can be taught is carried through generations.

The older I get, the more I want plants to take up my space. Which grew into me wanting a garden.

There’s something so refreshing about it.

When Mother Nature loves you, it comes tenfold. She rewards and blesses you.

Gardens are a sanctuary, the way men love their mancaves and games.

Gardens talk to us the same.

After a long day, you smell your flowers, water your vegetables, and talk to your plants.

The most fun thing is that they have personalities like everyone else.

Like a kid throwing a tantrum. The leaves will drop, curl, or brown.

A small way of letting you know what they need.

Kids who don’t cause as much trouble.

To have a garden that reminds you that things happen, mistakes happen, sometimes things don’t work out how you though but it’s okay. Just try again. Learn from your mistakes and grow past them.