RPLS: It's not a brand, it's a LIFESTYLE

**Before I start, I want to say that I AM NOT being reimbursed in any way for this!**

I bet the first thing you thought when you read the title was, "Wait....what IS RPLS?"

RPLS stands for Red Panda Life Style. Red Panda Life Style is a clothing/life brand established in 2009 by Akaeli Anthony, who wanted something special in a clothing brand; he wanted to create a lifestyle for the rebellious people who go against the norm. He then discovered the endangered red panda, a small panda the size of a cat with red accents rather than black.

"One of the characteristics is it stands on two feet which is a rebel action for a four legged animal, hence the tag line, 'Leaders of the rebellion,'" Anthony said.

According to Anthony, the brand "encourages everyone to embrace the rebel spirit, stand on your own two feet and pursue your dreams."

Anthony started RPLS by himself, and has evolved the brand into a brand worn by many musical artists and models alike.

Anthony has said that he will be having a launch party in the near future, and invites all of the public---artists and rebels alike---to attend.

For more information and updates on Red Panda Life Style, please visit RPLS' Facebook, Twitter and Instagram at @Redpandalife.

Celebrities and Privacy: is there such thing?

It's been a while, right? I just want to say quickly for all of my readers, HAPPY NEW YEAR! I hope you all had a productive 2011 and are ready for a productive 2012. It is a new year with new possibilities.

I wanted to start this year off with a blog on privacy and celebrities. As you know, throughout 2011 we've seen "inside scoops" with the Kardashian marriage scandal, and divorcing couples. Today, Beyonce and Jay-Z celebrated the birth of their daughter, along with a song featuring her.

It seems as though celebrities have become our best friends, simply because we're always deep in their businesses and checking out their closet skeletons. Is there a privacy for celebrities?

The Marriam-Webster Dictionary defines "celebrity" as The state of being celebrated. We are all guilty of celebrating these people, even though they are men and women just like us. They simply have a public career in some form of entertainment business. We get our trends from celebrities, as well as topics of interest, music, movies and other things. No wonder these people are celebrated; they constantly provide entertainment into our lives...both positively and negatively.

We've all been guilty of following at least one celebrity scandal. The truth is, these scandals are interesting to read about; celebrities get into some shit. However, regular people like you and I go through shit all the time, but we're not in the tabloids and constantly stalked by TMZ. So why are they?

I hear a lot of talk from people who want to be in the limelight like the celebrities; everybody's trying to sing, dance, and rap and act their way into stardom. I always have to say this: Are you ready to deal with everyone in the world being in your business 25/8? I don't know about you all, but I get stressed out by just my mother in my business sometimes. I can't imagine dealing with the whole of the United States, let alone the world.

Becoming a celebrity can mean the sacrifice of your privacy, and maybe even your insanity. Are you ready to make that sacrifice?

If you are, be ready for one helluva ride!

GSU Signal and "Reverse Racism"

After reading the article in The Signal, I must say I am deeply saddened by her allegations.

First of all, she targeted only African-American organizations. There are also Latino and Asian organizations, therefore if you're going to speak of one, speak of ALL. Secondly, as a Journalism major, your article is filled with AP errors and plenty of grammatical errors as well. The editor shouldn't have let this article/opinion piece fly just for that. Third, PLEASE---and I stress this to everyone---PLEASE do your research before making a close-minded opinion about ANYTHING. It makes you look horrible. Fourth, I am an ECUADORIAN woman and I am a PROUD MEMBER of the National Council of Negro Women. My mother is a woman of Ecuadorian/Middle Eastern/African/French decent and she is a proud member of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc. A PER-DOMINANTLY BLACK SORORITY.

I know many members of these African-American organizations that are NOT of African decent. As a matter of fact, some of the first members and executive board members of NCNW were WHITE women and WHITE men. YES, these organizations were created to uplift the African American community, BUT....the human race as a whole!

We welcome anyone into membership in NCNW and are more than happy to call ANYONE our N-Sisters/N-Brothers. Before you make such allegations, I recommend you come to a program to see what NCNW is truly about.

As an Ecuadorian member of NCNW, I can't even express the pain in my heart when people assume that these organizations are strictly geared/strictly accept African-Americans, and it hurts my spirit when people question my NCNW membership because I am NOT an African-American woman. I hope you open your mind and see the greatness of UNITY amongst ALL organizations, knowing that they are not geared towards one race.

*throws my N up in pride* I HAVE SO MUCH LOVE FOR MY NCN-DUB!!

To read the opinion piece in question, please visit:

This Page

R.I.P. Storytellers

To recover from the depressing blog entry from earlier this week (I had what some would call a mental breakdown...I'm fine guys! Calm down, calm down....) I would love to speak on something that I think is going to effect the Hip Hop Community.

On November 8, 2011 at 1:00pm, Rap artist Heavy D passed away at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. He was only 44 years old.
Heavy D was born on May 24,1967 in Mandeville, Jamaica. He moved to New York for a better living, like many do. He was the lead of the rap group Heavy D and the Boyz and they were the first group signed by Uptown Records. Their debut album, Living Large, launched in 1987. He was last seen on the 2011 movie, Tower Heist and on the 2011 BET Hip Hop Awards, he did first (and last) performance in 15 years,

Now, I'm not going to flex and say I knew Heavy D personally. But I will say that his death saddens me. Heavy D is a inspiration to many rappers and aspiring rappers and he is also one of the few HipHop artists who didn't constantly have degrading lyrics, or lyrics about doing/selling drugs. He didn't rap about "swag" all the time, nor did he make a dance. (Though we all have enjoyed his dancing very much!) He was one of the few rappers who told stories. Sad stories, happy stories, crazy stories. He told stories through his music, and I feel this is missing in today's Hip Hop.

Nowadays, we listen to "Ho this" and "Bitch that" and "Loud this" and "Ass that". Don't get me wrong; I listen to these songs, and when they come on, I will hit the dance floor like it's no problem. But the point I'm making is the fact that this is all that Hip Hop is right now.

We've lost storytellers like Tupac and Biggie, and soul singers like Aaliyah and Teena Marie, and now we've lost another. I believe artists should re-examine their music. Tell more stories instead of trying to create the next biggest twerk song. Tell more stories instead of speaking about how much loud you smoke, how high you are, or how many women you've slept with. There's nothing wrong with these songs, but we constantly hear the same thing, and we hear the same voices.

I appreciate artists like B.O.B., Eminem, T.I., Kanye West, and the like. They have their club bangers, but they also have their inspirational songs, (i.e. "Airplanes", B.O.B.) and storytelling. I feel these types of artists are trying to save Hip Hop. Without them, the genre would continue to go downhill.

Heavy D will live on as one of the great storytellers that were gone too soon. And with that being said, I would like to end this with one of my favorite lines from one of my favorite Heavy D songs:

You've got to forgive and forget

Let hate, let hate be your enemy

Aah, through the love

And only love will set your spirit free

R.I.P. Heavy D

1967-2011

 

Shinrai

Shinrai is Japanese for "Trust".
Trust is a metaphysical dilemma I haven't conquered at all, especially in men.
Perhaps it's all the bad apples I had in my life; perhaps it's my father, dealing with what he did to the family.Perhaps it stems from a deeper source that I haven't discovered...Self-esteem?

Think about it: Is there truly someone out there you can trust, besides God or one of your parents?
The only people I trust to a higher level are very few of my female friends. Though it isn't completely, it's significantly more than I trust my brothers, or any male in my life. This is an issue that has constantly plagued me, but I truly feel as though I just can't put my complete trust in anyone other than God and my mother. Honestly, everyone else can kick rocks.

Is it because I don't believe they deserve it? Betrayal is the ultimate breaker for me. In forms of backstabbing, cheating, etc. I feel everyone is capable of hurting me. If I'm with someone, I feel they're cheating, and sooner or later I will find out. Is the truth that everyone's going to hurt you at some point in your life? I've heard of sayings, "The person that makes you smile the most, is the person that makes you cry the most." And all I can say to that is, what kind of bullshit?? If the person makes you smile so much, what the hell could they possibly do to make you cry?

Though it is bad to say, I don't think it's a really bad problem that I don't trust anyone else completely. Hell, I don't even think I will be able to trust my husband when I'm married. And unfortunately, that may be my ultimate downfall in the thing called a relationship, and it may be what makes or breaks that relationship. Honestly, that's fine. Jemiella Ayala has trust issues. She will always accuse you of cheating, she will always accuse you of something. Are you willing to deal? No?

Then hit the road, bub.

Ephesians 6:2

Ephesians 6:2 reads:

"Honor Thy Father And Mother."

My father has been a bit inactive in my life since 2008, and even more so since 2010. However, my mother has been there for me for thick and thin.

Let's be honest; there are many times where we want to go off on the Moms, throw stuff at them, and make their lives a living hell---even more so than some of us might do. We sneak out, we disobey, we blatantly disrespect. But in the end, no matter how much you bash her, Mom will always be there.

I can honestly say I feel for those who don't have their mothers in their lives, for whatever reasons. There is nothing like a mother's love. It's one of the hardest things to do to lose a mother, or never had one. Yes, a person's character is built upon their own conquests, but I feel it's even harder. I always think, Mom what if I never had you? What would become of me?

I appreciate our [my mother and I] relationship. I feel it has come a long way since I entered my 20's. She is everything to me; my best friend, my sister, and of course my MOMMY! Whenever I just needed to vent, or someone to talk to, or just the truth, I know I can come to my mommy.
Teresa Ann Fennell-Ayala is the most important thing to me, right behind God. As a matter of fact, she is the image of God to me: Forgiving no matter what.

Born a Scorpio on November 10, my mother was born and raised in Fayetteville, North Carolina. A southern belle who grew to attend Winston-Salem State University and take it by storm. She pledged Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc., she won Miss Freshman, and Miss Senior. She played volleyball, and she was one of the most people on campus. Now she has a Master's in Accounting and is taking her company by storm (In my opinion) Every time I tell someone I'm "Teresa's daughter" it makes me so proud to hear them say, "We love Teresa." or "Teresa is an amazing person." I swell with pride as I say, "That's my mommy."

She is also a single mother. I know she's going to look at this post thinking, "Why is this little girl telling all my business?!" but I feel her and my father's divorce has made her a better person, and may have helped her find herself. She as forgiven and forgotten and is trying to lead me down the right path of forgiving my father. Only a good person empowered by God such as herself would actively encourage forgiveness. When she and my father divorced, I know it was hard for her to deal with my attitude and my temper, which went from 0 to 9000 during the divorce. But I feel her patience, and hard-loving is what taught me humility. And for her love and teachings, I am forever grateful.

I end this post with a wise-saying: Honor Thy Mother. If your father was in your life longer than your mother. Honor Thy Father. If you were one of the lucky ones who stll has both parents in their lives, Honor Thy Father and Mother.
Appreciate them, and show them how much you love them and how much of an impact they have on you and your character today. And PLEASE, keep in touch. I call and text my mother everyday, and sometimes it's just to tell her I LOVE YOU. Don't forget to let them know this every single day.

And with that, I dedicate this post to my mommy, Madame Teresa Ann Fennell-Ayala.

I LOVE YOU MOMMY!

#PrayforDanielleRowe: Sad truth of Clubbing

So I log onto Facebook/Twitter this morning, and I see a hashtag called #PrayforDanielleRowe. In my curiosity, I did some research.

Last Saturday, October 22nd, a 23-year-old young lady, and a fellow GSU student, named Danielle Rowe went to Club Obsessions on Glenwood Road in Atlanta, GA. After a night of fun, she realized she lost her car keys in the club after leaving. The bouncers WOULD NOT let her back in. She could not get in her car, and is now missing/kidnapped. She is presumed dead.
A body was found not too far from Obsessions and her parents are on their way to identify the body.

This is a truly sad story that has left me momentarily speechless. Now, if you've been to Obsessions, it's in the hood. And that's being completely honest. Not a good place for a young lady to be by herself. And the fact that this is true, and none of the bouncers let her in to retrieve her keys, is unbelievable. If that was the case, you should have sent someone in to get them and waited with her at her car. Instead, you were so concerned with the monetary that you blatantly disregarded her. And now she is missing.

I've been to Obsessions once. After this incident, I will never go back again. This story has not made news yet, but I'm pretty sure I'll see it soon. Her parents are not going to allow this to go unpublicized; Obsessions needs to be re-evaluated, if not shut down.

Please PLEASE PLEASE!!! If you are going to the club, yes, please have fun and enjoy your night. But DO NOT go alone. After this incident, it's clear that some club owners are not truly worried about the safety of their patrons. Whenever you go out into the night, have someone with you. There is safety in numbers.

I am #prayingforDanielleRowe this is an unfortunate incident. I'm not sure if she was an alumnus or a current student, but either way....she was 23 years old. I pray for her safe return. And whoever's body was found, wether it is Danielle's or someone else's, I pray their family's and friends seek God to overcome their grief....

Pleas everyone send out a prayer Don't just #prayforDanielleRowe but #prayforwhoeverwasfound

EDIT: The body in question was indeed Miss Danielle Rowe. This is a sad time indeed. Though I didn't know her personally, I know that her family and friends are grieving with the utmost hurt....I am #praying forDanielleRowe.

MLK Memorial: Does it equal the end of the struggle?

**If you are the owner of this picture, please contact me so I can properly give you credit**


Saw this photo circulating Facebook. This shows Bernice King showing her love and support for the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial in Washington, D.C.

The Dedication was rescheduled to October 16, 2011 from August 28, 2011, due to the Earthquake that hit the Northeast earlier that month.
On Sunday, October 16th, 2011, people from all over the world came to the unveiling of the memorial, from Dr. King's frat brothers of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc. to children breaking the age of 5 who barely knew anything about Dr. King except during his day, they could stay home and play.

This was a joyous occasion for everyone, as they saw this as a long-time-coming memorial to one of the greatest and most memorable Civil Rights leader of all time. Hell, I wish I was there; unfortunately, tickets were sold out and I couldn't find a way to make it to Washington, D.C.

I've been reading a lot of opinions via comments on various news articles and via social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter, and everyone is saying how the struggle is over, and this is an amazing time because it marks the end of a long-time struggle for minorities, let alone people who are discriminated for anything.
And with that being said, I must say that these are really closed-minded and lost comments.

Please remember the past issue with Troy Anthony Davis, an African-American man EXECUTED, even when the evidence was proven flawed on many levels. THIS is a Civil Rights issue, as well as an issue against the Death Penalty. A few days later, a WHITE man (his name escapes me at this moment) was scheduled a STAY even though ALL EVIDENCE was flawless.
Let's also not forget that years and years after Dr. King's death, we as minorities have to suffer from various racial prejudices everyday.

If the struggle is over, why is all this happening? If the struggle is over, why do we all not hesitate to say, "What's up my nigga?" or "That nigga/bitch is fine as hell."
Why do we always assume everyone from the middle east is a terrorist?
I understand that these are the norms of today, but please don't say the struggle is over, when we're calling OUR OWN PEOPLE names that were used to oppress us all at a time. If you want the struggle to be completely over, LET GO of these terminologies.

I will admit, the word "nigga" and "bitch" escape my own mouth plenty of times, but I do not go so far as to say the struggle is over, and Dr. King's death was not in vain.
If we truly want to honor Dr. King, the memorial is a start. Let's continue to look at the memorial as a beacon of hope; if we can come together as a people---not just minorities, but as the human race---we can escape these prejudices and overcome.

Your thoughts, comments, concerns?

Unspoken: Mariyah I

****Before you read this, may I say it is VERY graphic. Read at your OWN discretion!!!****

I started this a while ago; I believe it was back in early 2010; it was loosely based off the characters of Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas (c) Rockstar Games. 

The title is a work in progress, but it follows an original character, Mariyah DeVereanez, and her moving into the neighborhood that was the base setting of GTA: SA. She meets CJ, and they end up kicking it and becoming real cool. CJ sees her as apart of the crew, but there's something about her he doesn't know: she harbors some problems, from the traumatic experiences of her childhood. 

What you are about to read it the prologue to this unfinished story. If I get some good feedback, or I feel I should continue the story, it may be continued. Hope you enjoy it!

****I BEG OF YOU....Please DO NOT steal my original work! You WILL get caught and you WILL get prosecuted!****

-----

She pressed herself against the wall as she heard her mother’s screams in the other room. She compressed her own screams from synchronizing with her mother’s with her hand. She felt a body slam against the wall she had been settling at, and squeaked as she pushed herself off and scrambled down the hallway. She could hear her mother’s pitiful sobs as she slammed into her room and shut the door, and turned the lock. 

Just when she felt secure in her room, she heard a loud bang on her door. She couldn’t help but jump and let out a small scream as she stared frightfully at the door. Her light blue eyes widened as she noticed the doorknob jiggling, as someone was trying to open it to get in, to get at her…

“You lil’ bitch!! Open this mothafuckin’ door,” shouted a man from the other side. Her breath quickened as she heard the sound of someone picking the lock to get in. 

“No! You won’t hurt my baby, you bastard!” A woman with a Hispanic accent screamed, and there was the sound of more struggles. 

She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t take it anymore. Her mom was getting beaten, the woman she admired all her young life, and she couldn’t take it. She looked around for an escape; the window. 

Seeing her chance, she jumped on top of her bed and pried open the window, she felt the breeze hit her face as soon as it was open, and she lifted her leg on the window seal and jumped out and onto the ground. She didn’t have much time to lose; she pushed herself on her feet, and ran. She didn’t know where…all she did was run.

She stared blankly at the house as she saw that there were no lights on. The streetlights were the only lights illuminating on the windows. There was no trace of life whatsoever. Did her mother run? Did her mom’s boyfriend leave? Were they asleep, after making up with a wild night of sex? That’s what usually happened when they fought like this. 

She kept her head down and walked up to the front door and opened the mailbox on the right. She pulled out the key and pushed it into the lock. She turned it and opened the door and walked in quietly. She looked around through the darkness as she closed the door. She stood alone, and waited for her eyes to adjust. She looked into the living room, and saw the television light on. She quickly walked passed the room, and then walked through the hallway, looking into various rooms, to see if anyone was there. 

“Mommy?” She whispered quietly as she looked into each room. Finally stopping at her own mother’s room, she pushed open the door. “Mommy…?”

She found her mother. She found her mother, and now, to this very day, she wished she never did. Her mother lied on the floor, her head lying on its side lifelessly. She was naked, and her face was brutally beaten, and she had a stab wound in her stomach. Her pelvic area looked viciously mutilated. 

She didn’t scream. She didn’t yell. She didn’t cry. She was blank, her usually fire blue eyes, dead and blank. Her light brown hair hung lankly around her face as she continued to stare at her dead mother. 

She merely puffed a sharp breath and briskly walked over to the bureau. She yanked the top drawer open and it fell to the floor. She stared inside it, and pulled out what she was always curious with: her mother’s Beretta 9mm pistol. She picked it up, and remembered when her mother taught her how to use it. Only use it when you truly need to, alright, mija? She looked over to her mother, lifelessly lying there, and she moved her finger over the initials engraved on the handle of the gun: L.M.D….Linda Mariyah DeVereanez.

She gripped the gun and walked through the hallway, leaving her mother behind. She knew there was nothing she could do at this point; her mother was dead. And she would do anything to get revenge. She was about to grip and open the doorknob when she heard a soft and sleepy moan in the living room, along with the noise off the television. She froze, and slowly turned her head to the room; the man she was looking for was in there.

She took her hand off the doorknob, and shuffled quietly and slowly, as though in a trance, into the living room. She walked around the wall and looked at the armchair. There, in a deep sleep, was her mother’s boyfriend; a really deep sleep, as though he didn’t do anything wrong. He would probably dump the body in the morning and leave, thinking the girl was gone and never to come back. 

She felt her blood boil, and her dead blue eyes gained a fiery look of hatred, a hatred only for him. She hated him for first hitting her mother, she hated him for trying to sexually abuse her and rape her, a fourteen year old girl, and she hated him for bringing nothing but misery into her mother’s life. Her gun-held hand lifted up, and her finger looped gingerly around the trigger. 

“Die, ya sorry mothafucka.” 

She pressed the gun to his forehead, and before he could scream, she let a bullet off into his head, skull and brain splattering against the armchair and the floor behind it. Some blood splattered on her as she moved her hand down and shot him three more times in the chest, only misting her in more of his blood. 

She flipped some of her hair out of her face and sighed. She walked down the hallway into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She locked and placed the gun on the sink and stripped herself of her clothing, and stepped into the shower, rinsing the blood, and sweat from her body. She walked out the shower, and picked up the gun before walking into her own room. She left her hair wet and curly. She opened her bureau and put on a fresh pair of undergarments, a white ribbed tanktop, and a pair of blue jeans. She went to her closet and pulled out her DKNY cropped bombshell jacket, and pulled it on, and stepped into her white Air Force Ones. She went back into the bathroom, picked up the gun, stuffed the barrel under her pants seam in the back, and put her shirt and jacket over it and walked back to the front door, glancing into the living room at the gruesome fragments on the floor. She opened the door and walked out, her mind on nothing, but her mother, and the last image she had of her: dead and almost mangled.

She looked up at the house as she walked onto the sidewalk, and looked up and down the streets. Snow began to steadily fall around her, and she hugged her coat closer to her body as she put up her hood and stuffed her hands in her pockets. 

Where she was going to go in this big and dangerous city of Brooklyn, she wouldn’t know. She just walked right, down the sidewalk. She knew she probably wouldn’t get caught for what she did. It was Brooklyn. They didn’t give a damn about anybody in her neighborhood. After tonight, they all would probably think her to be dead. She was now alone in this cold, dead world, fourteen years old, and a murderer of a murderer.

Copyright (c) 2007 Jemiella Ayala

Starting from Scratch

As I near the end of my undergraduate journey, I realize that being an author is very competitive and difficult to start, especially from the ground up.

Therefore, I will commit to update my blog on a regular basis, to build my network, and share with the world what talent I have for writing.

I will post short stories, clips from my novel-in-progess, and also voice opinions on current events and reviews on product.

This is a new commitment for me, and I am very happy to get it started. Time to get down to business.

If you have any ideas on topics, or if you want to share some of your poetry/writing, or if you want me to do a review on your product, simply comment on my posts or e-mail me.

Let's DO THIS! =D

Dancing and "Dancing"

In the midst of going out this weekend with some girlfriends and my brother-in-law, I just came across something that continues to peeve me to this day...

LET'S GET THIS STRAIGHT!!!

I am a DANCER. I'm not a "DANCER". 

What is the difference, you may ask?

A dancer is someone who's studied and has a passion for dance since she was very young. When I was 5, I was enrolled in a ballet class. The next year, jazz. The next year, tap. A few years later, salsa. A few years later, ball room. Took HipHop in 2008. And belly dancing in 2009. I studied dance since I was five, and have a high passion for it. I do freestyles, and choreography. I can pop lock, do all that.

A "dancer" is someone who thinks these "dougies" and "crank dances" and "twerking" are amazing dances and that's what they do. There's no passion. They do it for attention in the club. 

Don't get me wrong, I love to dougie, I know quite a few crank dances, and I'll twerk in a hot minute when one of my songs comes on ("HOW LOW CAN YOU GO?!?!?!" lol) but I'm more than just an attention whore.

That's not all I do, and that's not the only place I dance. I dance in my garage, I dance in my room, in a studio. I don't dance just when people are around... 

I dance for ME. I dance to DE-STRESS. I dance to HAVE FUN.

I hate when I tell people I dance and they say "Oh ya gon come "DANCE" for me??!!!"

I hate going through these definitions and explanations.

iDANCE. i"DANCE".

Believe I do both...but I "dance" when I'm havin fun wit some girlfriends at a club, house party, etc. I dance for ME.

Friendship and Suicide

Good afternoon, whoever you are...

My topic for right now is Friendship.

I used to think Friendship was an amazing thing. Was something that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. But over the years, I realize who I give my friendship to, found me disposable. Recently, I went through a huge emotional roller coaster, and the people I thought were there for me forever, didn't bother about me. So, the result, I felt like I wasn't worthy of friendship nor did anyone care.

I told someone dear to me about it (my big brother Evan) and last week, amidst a breakdown of feeling like no one gave a damn about me, I did another suicide attempt. I took a bottle of prescription pills and cried all night. My brother freaked out, and my boo Kendrick threatened to call 911, the police, etc. 

Unfortunately, at the time, the pills didn't work and I woke up unharmed. I knew this was an attempt that wouldn't go through because overdose never worked for me before. However, I took this as another sign that I'm not supposed to go out like that. 

Yeah, those who claimed friendship left me out, tossed me in the gutter, etc., etc. But a wise person once told me, "When one is born to lead, they often feel alone. Those who truly support your leadership will be there for you forever." And I repeat this every time I feel alone. It's not that I don't need friends, nor am I worthy of them; It's just I haven't ran into any true friends. I am a Junior in college, and I'm wondering if that's possible. ......Time will tell....

In the meantime....

"When one is born to lead, they often feel alone. Those who truly support your leadership will be there for you forever."

Your thoughts?