I been real all my life, they confuse it with conceit. Because I will not lose, they try to help them cheat. What I will not lose, even in defeat, is a valuable lesson learned –so it evens it up for me. When the grass is cut, the snakes will show.
I’m sick and tired of people describing themselves as humble. I’ve met many a man who, in this #TypeOfPersonThat conversation, goes on and on about how humble he is, the things that make him humble, the people who call him humble. I was once seeing a guy who always talked about how “humble” he was. He talked about it so much actually, that I never got a word in. About 5 months after we started talking, I mentioned my sister. You have a sister? he asked. It would have come up if after the 45 minute conversation about his family, if he hadn’t said, “I’m sorry, I have to go. We can talk about your family next time.” It was a very WTF moment… but he was cute, so I dealt. If you were truly humble, you’d shut your humble ass up once in a while.
I’m sorry for the apparent anger, but my distaste for this type of person seems to accumulate by the day. The people who claim they want to be doctors and caregivers and pastors and things of the sort simply to gain respect.
Why? You ask them, Why do you want to do that?
Because I can help people, they’ll respond, because it makes me a better person.
Ok. If you say so. I’m not disagreeing. The people in these practices do make a difference in the lives of many. They do indeed save lives. But I’m not sick, they don’t do much for me. & your career doesn’t necessarily define you. If it did, the priests wouldn’t be touching little boys and Honest Abe would have been honest about his intentions with the Emancipation Proclamation
. So many people have pipe dreams about saving the world simply because they want to be regarded the hero at the end of the day. That
is not selfless. A hero cares nothing about admiration, he does what he does because of an internal longing. Neither does the hero judge another.
I went on a date last night with a guy who want to be “a doctor” or so he says. Seeing how he’s already 25 years old and without a Bachelor’s, there are some obvious obstacles lying in his path. He might not think so, but I know people in med school (shout outs to Michelle G., You might not be reading this but, get it girl! That’s AMAZING.) and I can admit that I don’t have the patience or even the capacity to chase that dream. AND med school comes after your four years of college. I aint got it.
La vida de fasionista, eso no es vida, he said to me. In English, that means, “A life concerned with fashion is not life.” In reality he meant, Ella, your career is stupid.
For me to be a good person, do I have to save lives everyday?
Why is it that we have to announce our humility to the world in order to gain respect? Aren’t humility and true good nature based in doing things without needing to be recognized? Agape
, in a sense? If I care about my own well-being and my own happiness, does that make me a worse person?
Why does everyone want to be a doctor? (Or any other “selfless” profession for that matter,) Is it truly to help? Is it for the money? If you truly want to be a doctor only to help, you should only use enough money to eat, pay rent and buy an outfit when yours literally falls apart. The rest of the money you should give back –or even better, use it to help your patients pay for those expensive practices you are performing. If medicine was truly as selfless as its students claim, health insurance wouldn’t be so expensive and doctors wouldn’t be so rich.
And so at this date, there we sat. At opposite ends of the table and opposite ends of the ladder. He showed up carrying a slim issue of Men’s Fitness
wearing the same outfit he has on in his Facebook profile picture (yes, I stalked him after the date). I, on the other hand, showed up with Elle Magazine
‘s 507 page, 25th edition issue (the one with Gabby Sidibe on the cover) in my Longchamp
, as I carried 2 full bags of Calvin Klein Collection
(not CK, not CK Jeans, the runway
shit, thanks.) while wearing open toed, black, heeled booties and the slickest sheer, 3 quarter sleeve Armani Exchange top to compensate for my lack of labels elsewhere. But then again, neither one of us were dressed like doctors now were we? He cares about what he looks like on the outside, that’s why he wore his favorite outfit to come see me. I care what I look like, too. & I wanted him to see me in my heels with all my shopping bags so that he knows I got my own and that I will clean his ass out if he gives me the chance. At least I can admit it.
I like to dress well. Well well. Not Sean John, Rocawear well. I want Balenciaga, Alexander Wang well. I like money. I like things. I like being able to Keep Up with the Smiths… or the Kardashians, they’ll do. Meanwhile, he was two people within himself and doesn’t quite know which to choose. At one point, he was a selfless lover of medicine. At another, he was talking about the BMW he was planning to buy. Who are you really? Better question: Who are you to judge me?
Time after time, people have put down the decisions I’ve made and written them off as ill-advised plans. People told me that going to private school was a waste of time, until the time came when I had all my credits and they were missing theirs. Then I went to college. People told me my major was too easy and couldn’t get me anywhere, until graduation came and went, and now I set feet under desk, while their trying to get their feet under themselves.
A humble person doesn’t brag about how humble they are.
And a person doing well for themselves doesn’t put down those who have made different decisions. I could have went off. I could have asked him to answer me truly why he has no car and lives with his mom and is 25 without a degree yet claims he “makes money”. But I don’t judge people. The thoughts have through my mind, but I chose to accept him as a person no matter his decisions. Funny, I had to make exceptions for him and where he is in his life, and he sat there judging me and how far I have come. Then he had the nerve to tell me my life isn’t a life.
So you know what, because I’m such a terrible person, I’m gonna break his bank. Because he’s too stupid to see how intelligent I really am. He can be a doctor all he wants. I wish him all the best. Heal illness. Save lives. I still think he’s moronic, self absorbed and on a quest for himself that I don’t have the patience to see him through.
Meanwhile, I’ve got a profession of my own. I’m not a gold digger. & Eff a platinum digger. I’m a stocks & bonds, mortgage, life insurance, savings account Digger: I crack codes. I open safes. And that’s why I didn’t even reach for the bill. And that’s why I never will. And that’s why he’ll be around until my iPhone is replaced.
This is what happens when you date a dumb girl who is only concerned with clothes. She turns out to be a college educated woman with a career and knows her fashion history. Who will tell you that if your Christmas gift for her doesn’t say “Louboutin”, “Hermes” or can at least be appraised (got to make sure you word is true) you just shouldn’t bother yourself because she’ll get herself something better than you can afford and I don’t want to hurt your feelings.
You don’t cross a woman like this.
& That’s why we’re taking it slow because I’m not ready and I don’t like guys who push up on me and he’ll be around for Christmas.
Open bank. Closed legs. I’m also a magician.
Like my cousin Harold would say, Palomo. (In Spanish. that means something not so nice, but we’ll say “sucker” here.)