A Quote by Bretman Rock
To be honest, once you are comfortable with the person you are and you know the things that you could offer to the world, none of the hate comments can really get to you.
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I'm from the ADHD generation, to be honest - I genuinely was on Ritalin in middle school - so I'm most comfortable with a hundred things going on at once. It's deadlines that get pesky.
Some people think I can only do fancy; I don't know why. I'm a pretty easy person, really. Low maintenance. I get on with things, and I'm comfortable anywhere.
Today, I wanted to spend some time reading and responding to comments of fans on my Facebook page. Yes, there are great comments, but there are also a lot of people who are very opinionated and judgmental. So, initially, when I read these judgmental comments, I don't feel vulnerable, but rather I get defensive. But once I get past that anger, it sort of becomes hurt. It becomes pain.
Until I was eighteen, I did not know that you could study fashion design or art. I really didn't know. I already had my nose in the art world; I was already looking at things, but I didn't really get it that you could study that because my school was a very different environment.
One of the things that really does annoy me is just comments on my hair. Like 'your hair's not tidy,' or 'Ooh, what's this?' Just little comments that I just think are so inappropriate. Sometimes I'm just like, 'Is it really necessary?' But you know, as a black female, you do learn to just brush these things off, which isn't the way it should be.
I had to be honest with myself and that I felt hatred then, but as children say "I hate you", it's not really hate, you know, it's anger.
Someone said to me the other day, 'Oh, you're really jhujhi.' What does that mean? Fancy? Fabulous? Some people think I can only do fancy, I don't know why. I'm a pretty easy person really. Low maintenance. I get on with things and I'm comfortable anywhere.
I hate the concept of the clog! It's fake, it's ugly, and it's not even comfortable! And I hate the whole concept of comfort! It's like when people say, 'Well, we're not really in love, but we're in a comfortable relationship.' You're abandoning a lot of ideas when you are too into comfort. 'Comfy'-that's one of the worst words! I just picture a woman feeling bad, with a big bottle of alcohol, really puffy. It's really depressing, but she likes her life because she has comfortable clogs.
I get really negative comments all the time, but the comments that really bother me are the ones that question my character.
Hatred is a disguised form of love. You can only hate someone whom you really wish to love, because if you were totally indifferent to that person, you could not even get up enough energy to hate him.
No one could really hate a saint, could they? They can't really hate God either. When they want to Hate Him and His saints they have to find something like themselves and pretends it's God and hate that.
The full thing is God-given. I don't know how I got my swing or what I did. I know I worked every single day. I know I did as much as I could with my dad. But I never really looked at anything mechanical. There was nothing really like, 'Oh, put your hands here.' It was, 'Where are you comfortable? You're comfortable here; hit from there.'
...because I'm sure that as soon as things really get back to "normal," once our kids or grandkids grow up in a peaceful and comfortable world, they'll probably go right back to being as selfish and narrow-minded and generally shitty to one another as we were.
I didn't know what hate felt like, not the hate that comes after love. It's huge and desperate and it longs to be proved wrong. And every day it's proved right it grows a little more monstrous. If the love was passion, the hate will be obsession. A need to see the once-loved weak and cowed beneath pity. Disgust is close and dignity is far away. The hate is not only for the once loved, it's for yourself too; how could you ever have loved this?
I like playing characters that, you know, a couple could go see the movie and one person could love him and one person could hate him.
For what is modesty but hypocritical humility, by means of which, in a world swelling with vile envy, a man seeks to beg pardon for his excellences and merits from those who have none? For
whoever attributes no merit to himself because he really has none is not modest, but merely honest.
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