Give It A Break, Let Your Vagina Be Great

How soon is too soon to move on to the next one?  The next what?  The next soon to be ex lover, mate, companion, whatever you call it!?

I know there are many women and men who just can’t seem to be alone for an extended period of time.  Some wait a couple weeks, a month, but no longer.  How do you jump from one relationship to the next?  Does that mean the feelings you had for the ex wasn’t real?

Personally I wait, re-evaluate what went wrong, what roll I played in it’s demise, and what I’m going to do differently the next time around.  I also give myself time to grieve the loss of that relationship because it obviously meant something to me for me to have stayed in it long enough to call it a relationship.  That’s just me.  I ask you, how long does it take you to move on? Personally, I can’t help but wait!

There are times you just have to take a break from it all and let your vagina be great.

Nikks :P

Faux Epiphanies

You talk like this, but can you back it up?

Do you have that person in your life who talks a lot of shit, has epiphanies every other week, but never follows through with them?  At the beginning of the conversation he/she sounds as if they finally understand what it means to be a grown ass 26 year old, but at the end of the conversation your fate is deflated like a boob job gone wrong!  You realize this person was talking a lot of shit and that’s all it was.  A waste of epiphanies.

The funniest thing is when that person comes to the so-called realizations of what and who are the most important people in their lives. Who do you want your children to model their lives after?  Who do you want them to run to when and if they should ever need something?  The people who never tell you when you’re wrong?  The people who party with you?  Smoke weed with you? The one’s who don’t have their priorities straight and spend every free moment at the club or doing wrong?

For the life of me I fail to understand how some of us can turn our backs on those who’ve been there for us throughout the years, but rush to and push ourselves on those who are so brand new.  I also fail to understand how we don’t learn from our many mistakes.  How is it that we’ve been down the same road numerous times and even when we start to recognize the signs, we don’t come to a screeching halt, do a u-turn and go back!  Why continue when you know it ends the same way all the time?  It always ends at a dead end.

I say I don’t understand, but I guess in reality I really do.  Sometimes we live what we learn and we use that as an excuse to do wrong.  Why can’t we of learn from what we’ve lived and witnessed, kick a whole through the circle and do better?  Why are some people strong enough to break free of repetitive cycles?  What are the other people missing who choose to simply live what they learn?  Gotta love the faux epiphanies.

Nikks :)


I Wish She’d Told Me

My little cousin and my grandfather were very close, she has a father who is around, but my grandfather was her father figure. She spent everyday with him and they did things together that made their bond strong.  He loved each and every one of his grandchildren, so we each had our own very special bond with him for various reasons, in various ways.

My grandfather passed away when my cousin was four years old and I was sixteen, death is a very hard concept to grasp at the age of sixteen, so imagine how it felt to a four year old child.  One day he was there and the next he’s gone.  When we went home for the funeral, my mother was cleaning and my little cousin started laughing.  My mom asked her why she was laughing and she said, because he’s laughing with you and watching you.  My mom asked who and she clammed up and would only say the man over there.  There was no one there, no one we could see.

Fast forward ten years:

I’m from a culture who’s people believe in ghosts and spirits, I am one of those people.  I recently went home for vacation and had quite the experience on my first night home.  My friend Elle, my now fourteen year old cousin, and I slept in the same room, we pushed two beds together because we are chicken shit and would not sleep solo.  At some point through the night I felt like someone was in the room.  I looked around, I saw no one.  I felt dizzy.  My head felt like it swelled to the size of a watermelon.  I kept trying to speak, but I couldn’t.  I don’t know what was wrong with me.  I looked over at Elle, she was moaning, mumbling, my cousin was turning and sighing.  Elle informed me in the morning that someone was in the room.  Come to your own conclusions.  I have mine.

The second day, I did my usual ritual.  I went to visit my grandfather’s grave.  Swept some stray weeds and dirt off his grave, said a prayer, cried a little bit and headed back to my house.  I felt safer after that.  I was no longer scared to go to sleep.  A couple days later, my cousin came and sat down next me, then she got up, walked over to a drawer, took out a picture of my grand-dad and held in her hands.  She never talks about him, she doesn’t like to, I think it hurts her too much.  I thought maybe this was an opportunity to get that counseling in there with her, but she said nothing.  I thought it strange the way she held the picture.  She turned it so I could see it, not her.  I thought nothing more of it.

So I’m back in Canada and overhear this conversation between my mother and grandmother who’s visiting for a few months:

Gram: “We didn’t want to frighten Nikki…”

Mum: “Uh Mama, Nikki can hear you.”

I walk out of the bathroom.

Me: “Yes I can, frighten me about what?”

Gram: “Oh-”

Mum: “Your cousin said when you went to visit  your grandpa, you went back home and she was sitting next to you and he walked in and sat between the two of you.  He was smiling at you, staring at you, happy to see you there.”

Now that might sound crazy to some people and even frightening, but I wish she had told me he was there.  I suppose she sees him all the time, she won’t say and she doesn’t talk about it.

Now I know why she got up, picked up his picture and held it towards me.  She was telling me he was there.  I remember taking it and putting my finger on his face.  She said he did the same to me.  I wish she’d told me he was there.

Nikks :)

The Passion of Ms. Nikks

passion |ˈpa sh ən|noun1 strong and barely controllable emotion

I’m a passionate woman.  Not just in a romantic sense, but in every sense of the word.  It’s hard for me to put into words how deeply I feel when I’m hurt by those I care about.  I feel deeply, I won’t profess to feel deeper than most, but I feel deeply.  It hurts me when I’m wronged and I try very hard to wait before I react, because I am passionate.

I get quiet at times, those times I’m in deep thought.  I think a lot and I think that’s why I’m an insomniac (irrelevant), at times I wish I were different, more indifferent, but I’m not.  I’m trying very hard to accept the fact that there are some behaviors and attitudes in people and in myself that I cannot change.  Some people are the way they are due to nature and nurture and there’s nothing I can do about that.  The only thing I can do is control my own reactions, interpretations, and responses to those around me.

That being said, don’t fuck with me because I’m not the one.

Nikks :P

Options

Options, such a little word, such meaning.  I have a lot of decisions to make in the next couple months, there is such possibility and so many options.  As I sit here watching Pride & Prejudice, a scene comes on where Elizabeth is asked to marry a man she does not love and so she declines.  She’s then told she’s lucky to have been asked, she isn’t getting any younger and the options aren’t there.  So I wonder to myself, would life have been better if we hadn’t so many options?  If we weren’t so independent, would life have been easier?

I read about the days when the options for women were either, nurse, teacher, or wife and mother.  Or I see cultures where their marriages are arranged and we think it very strange and backwards.  As for arranged marriages, your parents know you, they love you, and they want what’s best for you, so who better to choose your partner right?

I have to choose where I want to relocate to?  Should I relocate at all?  Should I go back to school and pursue even more education or do I go back to my career, do I even want to continue in that field?  See what I mean, so many decisions, so many options, so indecisive.  Lord help me!

Nikks :)

Second Chances

So I’ve been playing mommy for the past three months and it’s fascinating to watch this little one grow up.  She’s been stuck with the nickname Fatima Rex or just Rex.  Why?  My 18 years old, eejit of a brother (whom I love very much) told some toddlers in my mother’s daycare that the baby is a dinosaur, so they think she’s a t-rex, hence Rexie or Rex.  Lol.  She sticks her tongue out a lot, much to the delight of the children, they all yell “Oh my God, I didn’t know dinosaurs have tongues, look!”

I was inspired to do this post because of watching my father with Rex, and also for those parents who got it wrong the first time. When I was little, I was a daddy’s girl.  I went almost everywhere with him, up on his shoulders, Princess Nikki. When I was born, the nurses placed me in the little bed/cradle by my mother as she slept.  My mother woke up to a nurse mumbling, “Hmm, I bet her father came in here and did this!”  My mom looked over and my dad had placed a little pillow in there for me, because he didn’t “like how they laid his baby all flat like that!”  Haha.

In my teen years, I became my mother’s bestfriend because you can talk to your mother about anything. My father and I are still close, but it’s not the same as when I was a little girl.  I see my father now with Rex and it’s amazing how he’s so loving and gentle with her.  When she cries, he’s the first one to pick her up.  When she’s sick, he looks worried and ridiculously empathetic. When she coos and smiles at him, his whole world seems to light up.  I guess I can see in his eyes what it was like when I was little.  She sleeps on his chest most days, just like I used to.  She’s five months old and she plays him like a fiddle.  She’ll cry and look around the room for him.  Of course he comes running and she kicks her legs and smiles.  I’m not a little girl anymore and I never realized or thought that he missed his own baby girl.

There are many people out there who may not have done the right thing by their child/ren, hopefully they get the chance to experience and correct their mistakes by being better grandparents than they were parents.  Give them the chance if you fall into that category.  Let them have that second chance.

Nikks :)