For the longest part of my life, I was a certified simp. And I say this with full awareness—every tweet, podcast, or viral video from Amerix, Andrew Kibe, and Tate felt more like final boss fights than helpful advice. They hit harder than high school Organic Chemistry, and let me tell you—I aced that class. Academically? Gifted. Socially? A disaster. But that’s not what today’s story is about.
Let me rewind a little. This story starts when I was in Form 3, where I first met the guy who would shape my school adventures in ways I couldn’t predict—let’s call him Kiongos. This dude? A jack of all trades with connections for days. Think of him as a high school cartel; if you needed anything remotely contraband—market leave-outs, miraa, a smartphone, or even a personality upgrade—he had the plug. Oh, and girls? He didn’t just have them—he owned their attention like Elon Musk owns X (formerly Twitter).
If you missed the last episode of “How I Moved from Simp King to Chancellor,” you might want to catch up because this story dives deep into the chaotic chronicles of teenage ambition, misplaced priorities, and life lessons wrapped in cringe.
The Locker Door of Dreams: Where Castles in the Air Crumbled
One boring History lesson, while half-asleep, I opened my locker to get a pen—purely out of boredom. Kiongos peeped over my shoulder and burst into laughter.
Why? Because I’d carved two names into the inside of my locker door—two crushes from a neighboring school.
One name was labeled “Shy,” and the other “King’s.” Yeah, I was that guy—manifesting my future relationships like they were personal projects. My strategy? Daydream about these girls until one day, by some miracle, I’d meet them and sweep them off their feet. Spoiler alert: It didn’t go as planned.
When Badminton Betrayed Me (And Why Chess Almost Saved Me)
Now, here’s the thing about being in high school. If you didn’t play a sport, you missed out on everything. You didn’t just miss games—you missed phone numbers, attention, and—let’s be honest—the adventure of youth. And athletic champs? They were practically swimming in admiration.
I thought I’d found my niche in badminton. Big mistake. I sucked. Badminton didn’t open the doors I thought it would—especially not to “Shy” or “King’s.” One was a chess queen (brainiac territory), and the other? A cheerleader who didn’t notice I even existed. And there I was—jumping around on a badminton court, trying to look cool, while real players collected numbers like trophies.
After a disastrous weekend tournament, I knew I had to pivot fast.
Chess, it was. If King’s was into chess, I’d learn it—even if it killed me.
Science Congress: My Last-Ditch Effort for Competence (And Romance?)
After failing to blend into the chess crowd—I couldn’t even keep my mouth shut long enough to fit in—I joined the Science Congress. Why? Because at this point, I needed a win, any win.
I created a prototype for an automated calf pen—a genius invention if you ask me. (Shoutout to those early woodworking skills that later became Eric Woodworks!) But let’s keep it real: I wasn’t there for the glory of science—I was hedging my bets. King’s or Shy would be at this event, and I wasn’t leaving without a phone number.
The Water Bottle of Humiliation
At Science Congress, things took an unexpected turn. King’s showed up—not as a participant but as a presenter. Her project? Some fancy yogurt-making gig. I couldn’t care less about the science; all I saw was her.
She started fidgeting nervously, batting her eyelashes in that way girls do when they want attention. And I was right there, clutching a bottle of room-temperature mineral water—like the simp I was.
I handed it to her. She gulped it down, smiled, and gave me a polite “thanks.”
That was it. No sparks. No magic. Just a thank you—and then she bolted off to find Kiongos or some other dude who knew how to play chess.
The Lesson: Competence Is Your Adventure Passport
Here’s where the story gets real. That day, I learned two things:
- It’s not enough to just show up. If you want something—whether it’s winning a girl’s attention, landing a client, or making a mark—you have to bring value to the table. Competence is currency.
- Adventure requires courage. Badminton, chess, science fairs—none of it would have mattered if I wasn’t willing to take a real shot. Hiding behind badminton matches or science projects was just me postponing the inevitable: The need to face fear head-on.
Looking back, it wasn’t King’s rejection that stung. It was realizing that I hadn’t built the courage to back up my competence. I had the brains—but I needed the guts to match.
From Simp to Professor: The Journey of Becoming a Prime Man
Fast forward to today—King’s and I never happened. But life works in funny ways. We ran into each other many times over the years, and by then, I was no longer the awkward kid clutching a water bottle.
I had built something bigger. I had become someone of value—a professor of sorts, no longer chasing approval but commanding respect.
And that’s the essence of competence and adventure. It’s about becoming the man you were meant to be—not through shortcuts or wishful thinking, but by mastering your craft, overcoming fear, and embracing the adventure of life.
Takeaway: Competence + Courage = Charisma
To every man reading this—don’t be the guy waiting on a locker door fantasy. Build your skills. Take the shot. Be the man who shows up, not just with competence but with the courage to match.
That’s how you move from being the king of simps to the master of your destiny.
And if you don’t believe me—just ask Kiongos. He probably still has the receipts.