Waiting for the One

In a world where sex in relationships is always the answer, it’s extremely inspiring to see Devon Franklin and Meghan Good subversively go against the grain and refrain from sex until after their nuptials. The choice was a mutual one as they wanted to connect on a personal, emotional and spiritual level before they took the dive into the physical and that is very commendable. Nowadays females believe if a man buys her flowers, takes her out on a few dates or holds the door for her, he deserves the goodies but where are our standards as women if we continue to perpetuate and accept these low standards of behavior from men? These are things that they should do.
Some men need to know that it’s going to take much more work than a few dates to get the goodies. But we are not allowing this to happen if we condition them into believing they deserve sex after dropping a few dollars. I believe in building an emotional connection with a guy. I believe in intimacy with someone only after a strong bond has been built but I also believe in celibacy and waiting until marriage before having sex with someone. These pure ideologies are almost forgotten in today’s world. People believe sex is the answer and forget that sex before marriage is a sin. I love that both Meghan and Devon can be role models for future relationships especially since they are such an upscale couple. They reinforce the fact that it’s ok to abstain from sex with someone that you love until you have developed a strong foundation or until marriage. It takes a strong and positive couple or individual to abstain from sex especially in the oversexed world that we live in today. Meghan Good is truly an inspiration to women.

Appreciating Our Breasts

I may never be able to shake the memory of the first time I saw my grandmother without breast. We were in Jamaica for the whole summer and I was only 10 years old. She was changing her shirt and my back was facing her as I watched television. To her surprise, I turned around to ask her a question and saw her bare chest with scars that looked so painful; stitched up to shield where her breast used to be.

I could recollect a time when my grandmother had breast, I used to lay on them as a child just to listen to her insides and be that much closer to her. I loved to hear her heartbeat, but now those memories were just memories, I could never use her God-given breast as a means of comfort or security anymore, and if this hurt me I could only imagine how much it hurt her.

My family chose not to tell us that my grandmother almost died from this cancerous disease called breast cancer. Now at 24, my mother has still not outwardly broken the news to me, because she assumes that I may just know. Writing this is very hard for me because I think about the numerous women who complain about their breast being too small or too big, meanwhile, there are women out there that are sick and without breast because of this disease. This year during Breast Cancer Awareness Month I volunteered on behalf of my organization, Reserved at “Avon Breast Cancer Event Eve” and it was a very humbling experience. Being among breast cancer survivors who were so full of life reminded me just how important it is to take advantage of every day that we are healthy, alive, and well.

Click the link below to check out #TeamReserved’s Breast Cancer Campaign:


Desensitized to Hollering

Walking along the streets of New York can make the most unattractive girl (and I mean this respectfully) feel beautiful. There’s always that construction worker, dope boy, or high school junior who thinks he has a chance. Men are socialized to “holler” at a woman when they like what they see. Women are socialized to play hard to get, try to ignore the comments, and continue with their day. The way some women cope with the unwarranted attention is by plugging in their headphones in and turning up the volume high.
I want to believe the first time I got hollered at on the street was at age 11. Coming home from junior high school, I never looked older than my age but the boys on the corner tried to talk to me and I ignored them in fear of this new and unnecessary attention.
Around age 13, was the first time I was cursed out because I refused to respond.
By age 14 Franklin Avenue boys decided to throw water on the girls that walked by. Of course, innocent ol’ me was hit in the crossfire on my way to picking up my 8th-grade yearbook; as a result, I went to school drenched.
By age 15, around the same time of year (June), en route to my house the same Franklin Avenue boys decided they wanted to throw water on me and my friends because we refused to speak to them. Let’s just say things went from zero to a hundred real quick. I had back up this time. 
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