Epilogue: Two Years Later

The dictionary defines grief as "intense sorrow, especially caused by someone's death."

Grief can last a lifetime. Or a day. It depends on the person. Your grief is as unique as you are.

On this day, August 27, 2016, at the stroke of midnight, my uncle took his last breath as his heart finally gave out. His heart gave out, and my family's and my hearts (I apologize if this is improper grammar) were shattered into so many pieces we all wondered if we would ever recover.

And so, we began to grieve.

I did some research for this post, and I learned that grief has five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. It should be noted, though, that grief is not linear; you don't think of it as Level 1: Denial and so on. It's not Candy Crush or one of those other lovely games that you men spend hours playing. In the same way, sometimes grieving persons often report undergoing other stages besides the five stated. But as I said, your grief is as unique as you are.

As I stated earlier, grief has five stages. I'm going to give a brief description of each, along with how I remember passing through them. Though I didn't pass through all of them. But, leggo.

Stage 1: Denial

In this stage, life makes no sense. Did it really happen? Are they really gone?

....dis cya real. No way. No fucking way.

I found out my uncle had died by my mother's WhatsApp message. Four words that altered the course of my life.

"Jo, Uncle Gar gone."

My reaction was...what? What do you mean he's gone? Did he leave the hospital and not tell anyone, or... what do you mean he's gone? Because he couldn't be dead. He just couldn't. He was young and healthy. Young, healthy men aren't supposed to die, especially when they're my uncle and the backbone of the family.

Stage 2: Anger

The anger you feel will have no limits. You'll be angry at yourself, the circumstances of the person's death, God (whoever you perceive that to be), and even the person themselves for dying.

...how the fuck you fi dead lef me? You did fi live forever, you bumbohole, and yuh just up and dead. Pussyole.

Oh, I was angry. At the hospital, at myself, at the God of my family -- as in, "you fool people into thinking you actually exist and then shit like this happens and you don't fix it. You're useless."

I was angry for a long time, too. How dare he up and die the day before I was to have seen him again? How dare the hospital do what hospitals do and ignore him until he collapsed and died right there on the floor? How dare I stay alive after he died?

Stage 3: Bargaining

You try to strike a deal with God (whatever you perceive that to be), the universe, anything that could do the job, in order to get your person back. You'll give half your income to charity. You'll stop being such a vindictive cunt. You'll go to the place of worship as often as possible. You'll be a better person. Just give me my person back. I'll do anything. Just give them back to me.

This is the only stage I believe I skipped. I don't believe in any form of God besides it being an idea, so me bargaining with an idea just seemed weird, and I wasn't too far gone to try. I may have lost pieces of myself, but I sure didn't lose my pride.

Stage 4: Depression

Empty feelings present themselves, and grief manifests in your life on a deeper level than you could possibly imagine. This is the stage believed to last the longest. 

NB: The depression stemming from grief is a normal, healthy response and should not be conflated with mental illness.

Considering that I've been struggling with depression since I was around 14, I thought that what I felt during the mourning process was just an extension of that. Maybe it was, I dunno. But I sank back into myself, pulled back from the vast majority of my friends. To be honest, I'm not sure I can properly articulate my journey through this stage, but I did write a few posts on milestone days like his birthday and August 27 last year.

Stage 5: Acceptance

This doesn't mean that you're okay with your person's death. What it means is that you've acknowledged that yes, the person is dead, and you'll have to learn to adjust to a reality without them. I think this is the most difficult stage.

--

I think, after two years, that it's time for me to end this book of grief that I've written. I won't ever publish it, but the fact remains that I've written it. I may go back and revisit sometimes, but I won't ever try to relive moments or edit chapters.

It's time for me to let go. It's what he would have wanted.

I won't forget him. In fact, I'll remember him in happier times and smile.

I'm all cried out, cursed out...I'm just all out.

Yes, he is dead. But I'm not. I need to remember that. He's dead, but I'm still alive.

Once upon a time, I knew at least one person celebrating a birthday every day in March.
Once upon a time, there were two members of my family born in March. For a while, there were three. Now, it's back down to two.

But I've written the epilogue before the actual story, in typical scatterbrained SJ fashion.

I don't have a copy of the eulogy read at his funeral, primarily because I couldn't write it myself -- I could barely write a tribute, for fuck's sake -- but I do know, as well as I know my own birthday, that he was born on March 19, 1983.

Thirty-five years ago today. But he didn't live to see thirty-five, did he, and that's the reason I'm here hosting a pity party for myself instead of paying attention in my Algebra II class and complaining about how much I hate Mondays.

March has been a shitty month for me. In fact, it takes the silver medal for Months I Dislike (August, naturally, takes the gold by a country mile).

Though I did start this post intending to talk about him, not to sit and whine about how sad I am.

Anyway. He loved Vybz Kartel. Whenever I think of him, I remember being in his car or at his house with Kartel blaring. I remember him quoting lyrics from at least six songs every time we had a conversation. I remember him teasing my mother mercilessly because Kartel offended (and still does, along with everything that isn't gospel or "conscious" music) her Christian sensibilities.

I also think of when I was much younger, about four, when he started a tradition of taking me to Burger King for a Kids' Meal (it's my first memory of him, actually).

I remember the plans we made on March 19, 2016, to go somewhere, maybe the beach, and have ourselves a good time, just the two of us and some drinks, for my 19th birthday. Then I get sad because he didn't live to see me turn 19.

He was supposed to have taught me to drive, and only didn't in summer '16 because neither of us could find the time necessary for such an endeavor.

But then, he was supposed to have done a lot of things. Oh well.

I'm gonna close this post off before I start crying. I promised myself I wouldn't cry today.

Happy birthday, Uncle. Wherever you are, I hope you're happy. 💝💞

This post is long as FUCK. (Lmao you'll see why that's funny later on.)

Disclaimer: this post contains admittedly excessive use of [expletive serving as a verb. Or adjective. Possibly a noun or adverb as well.] Continue at your own risk. Also, this post is very fucking long. Hush.

I feel like this post should be a little organized. I actually sat and did research about it. Proof of aforementioned research may appear as me pontificating, by the way. I'm not sorry.

But knowing me and my scatterbrain, that's about as likely to happen as it is that I'll have a million dollars by tomorrow. As I've said before somewhere on here, if you know me personally, read this in my actual voice and that should make it somewhat easier.

Anyway, today I'm gonna step out of my comfort zone a little and talk about the pros and cons of casual sex. Someone's been going into some of my followers' curiouscats and asking them something along the lines of that, and I was intrigued.

No one asks me questions on mine, because I am a Twitter wallflower. Art imitating life, in a way.

So yeah. The dictionary defines "casual sex" as:

sexual activity between people who are not established sexual partners or do not know each other well.

Stuff like you fucking some of your followers (no shade. I've done it), or that guy/girl you met at a party and the light hit them just right, or that one night stand you had with someone you don't particularly like. I could go on, but I feel like I'll end up stepping on more toes than I've planned.

Anyhoodles, I admit I kinda conflated it with friends with benefits. And now I'm tempted to do a post about the pros and cons of that. Eventually.

(Will you stop yapping and get on to the actual post, sis?)

Like almost everything in life, that "likkle one fuck" has advantages and disadvantages. Which is the entire fucking point of this post. I'll just get to it.

Why you should engage inna di likkle one fuck

It's fun.

Yes, sex is fun. When it's done right. Between two consenting and capable adults, a di nicest ting. (YES, CAPABLE. YOU HAVE SOME PEOPLE PON DIS EARTH WEH CYA FUCK.)

You'll learn a thing or two.

Lol sometimes people are willing to push various boundaries with relative strangers. Something along the lines of "well mi nah see dem again, suh nutn nuh wrong if mi do suh." I would not know, though. I'm as virginal as the baby weh born last night.

It saves time. (Yes, it does.)

You're horny, the other person is horny. Somebody sends out the booty call, and two twos unnu a fuck. No time wasted going round a bag a corners and lyricizing and such. Get in, get off, get out. Slam, bam, thank you *insert gender-appropriate honorific*

Less expectations. (Kinda.)

Remember the definition of casual sex? Good. Why try jumping through hoops for somebody you'll likely never see or hear from again? (Not that you shouldn't at least try to make it good for them, but, I mean...come on.)

Hello? At least you're fucking. Better off than nuff.

Self-explanatory. Besides, sex is good for you. It's stress relief, you're getting exercise, and orgasms are always great. Those, by the way, strengthen your immune system and increase levels of sex hormones so your hair and skin and such look better. (I'd cite, but this isn't something I'm doing for school, so unnu lucky.)

Why you should not engage inna di likkle one fuck

STDs. Pregnancy. Other nasty stuff. Nyack.

I have to go there, guys, and you know it. Let's be honest, how many people would stop right before they enter the gates of heaven -- wink, wink -- and say "hey, xyz." How many people would even remember to ask? You can't tell somebody's walking around with the sexual equivalent of a fully loaded gun just by looking. And let's not even talk about getting knocked up. Pregnancy in general is nasty. Impregnating/being impregnated by a relative stranger must be torture. (Imagine getting the clap and the knock up? Fuck)

The Walk of Shame (if you've slept over)

By the way, friends, that's a rookie mistake. As yuh come, please to go. The walk of shame isn't fun. You're wearing your clothes from last night, you probably smell like fuck (and probably just smell), and based on my time at UWI somebody has more than likely heard you and called a crowd to come listen in. That's hella embarrassing.

Feelings.

Lmao I consider feelings kind of an emotional STD that's very difficult to cure. (Syphilis? Gonorrhea? I read that there's a strain that's incurable now.) Imagine: you and this person a fuck and all of a sudden somebody a ketch feelings. Hello??? Nah. Feelings make things messy. 0/10, definitely would not recommend.

Should you engage inna di likkle one fuck?

Lmao bredda do weh you wah do. I'm not here to police anybody and their genitals. Just be safe, zimme. 

Later.

Change...of a sort... (& 2 posts in one day. Shook.)

Alright so let's ignore for a lil bit that this is my second blog post for today.

I was rereading old posts on here, and came across a kind of questionnaire I'd done back in 2015. I then began thinking about how much I'd changed since answering it.

Sooooo, what I am going to do is, I'm gonna just copy paste the original, then change the answers to better reflect who I am now. If you really care that much, thank you and god bless you, you can compare with the original post right here.

Leggoooo.

Oh. Disclaimer: This post is 155 questions, I think. Bear with me. And I may be a lil too honest on some of them, so...yeah. Let's do dis.

1. Full Name:
SJ.

2. Zodiac Sign:
Scorpio

3. 3 Fears:
I think this is the first one that's changed lol (well duh, I can't change my name or my sign, can I.) Anyway:

• Losing someone I care about (whether death, or growing apart). Even though it's happened before.
• Being forgotten
• Completely losing my sight. I know myself well enough to know that I'd become a bitter old witch within the first year.

4. 3 Things I love:
Books, music, beautiful things

5. 4 turn ons:
Hmm. 

• Talk-to-ability. I have to be able to have a conversation with you that doesn't center around sex.
• Intelligence
• I love a tall man. I don't have much of a type when it comes to women. But tall chocolate men for sure. Ooh, baby.
• (Let's not discount chemistry and physical compatibility, because there's this one guy who all he has to do is touch me and bloops, splash, Pacific Ocean. Not a word. Just a touch [OR A SIDE EYE FOR FUCK'S SAKE AND MI JUST SPREAD WEH.] God Almighty.)

6. 4 turn offs:

• Selfishness
• People who talk too much
• Women, especially, who stay in other people's business
• Homophobia. Transphobia. Any kind of bigotry, really

7.My best friend :
Jav, naturally. And MoBae.

8. Sexual Orientation :
Pansexual :) If you dunno what that means, I have attached a link here for you to get a basic understanding.

9. My best first date:
Umm. I'm sure there is one. I just can't remember it. Which is a shame because I almost never date. (What I do is spend quality time with people. Sitting in their car and talking for hours doesn't count as a date btw.)

10. How tall am I :
Better question would be how short I am. Answer: 5'1"

11. What do I miss:
The days when all I had to worry about was coloring inside the lines.

12. What time was I born:
5:20 am

13. Favourite colour:
Purple

14. Do I have a crush:
I ironed all those out, thanks

15. Favourite quote:

You gotta live your life while your blood is boiling // These doors won't open while you stand and watch them

- Cha-Ching (As We Grow Older), Imagine Dragons 

16. Favourite place:
Wherever there's food, Wi-Fi, books.

17. Favourite food:
Seafood (like shrimp and suh), cheesecake, some other stuff I can't really remember off the top of my head rn

18. Do I use sarcasm:
Why in the world would I ever do that?

19. What am I listening to right now:
Stony Hill x Damien Marley

20. First thing I notice in new person:
Their teeth

21. Shoe size:
8

22. Eye colour:
Chocolate brown

23. Hair colour:
Currently like 80% black with the rest blonde (I'm wearing braids)

24. Favourite style of clothing:
Listen, as long as I'm comfortable, I really don't care. [Unless it's like a dick appointment in which case it's shorts and something.]

25. Ever done a prank call?:
Maybe. I don't remember. But late nights in college + alcohol = some weird shit

26. What colour of underwear I’m wearing now?:
Black and pink

27. Meaning behind URL:
My first answer to this was sarcastic lol but "The wayward genius" is actually pretty straightforward. I'm a genius straying off the beaten path I'd assumed my life would have taken.

28. Favourite movie:
The Shawshank Redemption (shockingly, this hasn't changed ever since I watched it)

29. Favourite song:
This list changes regularly. One constant on it though is Bleeding Out x Imagine Dragons

30. Favourite band:
Imagine Dragons (clearly), Panic! At the Disco (are they even still a band or is it just Brendon Urie now?), Fall Out Boy, Paramore

31. How I feel right now:
Hot, very hot.

32. Someone I love:
My sister

33. My current relationship status:
Lol. Um. Does being a side gyal count as being in a relationship? If the answer is no, then the answer is no. [If y'all heard Stir It Up Vol...10 I think it was, then you'll get that last part.]

34. My relationship with my parents:
Okay so my mother and I have become closer since I started college. She's honestly one of my best friends and the only person I know for sure has my back in whatever situation.

My stepfather is a cunt. End of story.

35. Favourite holiday: 

All of them, once I don't have to go to school.

36. Tattoos and piercing I have:
No tattoos, but I have my lobes pierced twice, also my septum.

37. Tattoos and piercing I want:
I’d get the semicolon tattoo. Maybe a tramp stamp. A Celtic knot somewhere. A spine tattoo, I think those are sexy. I want to get at least a double helix piercing, snake bites, a nostril piercing...maybe my tragus, idk for sure yet.

38. The reason I joined Twitter:
It was 2013, I was doing CSEC, and I wanted a distraction.

39. Do I and my last ex hate each other?:
I don't hate him. I just regret being in a relationship with him. I don't know if he hates me and at this point I don't care.

40. Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night” texts?:
From my mother, yes.

41. Have I ever kissed the last person you texted?:
Mhm :)))

42. When did I last hold hands?:
The last time I had sex

43. How long does it take me to get ready in the morning?:
If I wake up at 6:30, I can shower, brush my teeth, get dressed and all those nice things and be waiting on the bus by 7:20. What's that, 50 minutes?

44. Have I shaved my legs in the past three days?:
Lol. No.

45. Where am I right now?:
Home, in bed.

46. If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me?:
I only ever feel comfortable getting to that level of intoxication around people I trust so...whoever I'm around would take care of me.

47. Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level?:
I like my soca playlist at full volume. I like my trap and EDM playlists at full volume with the bass boosted. I like my calmer music at a lower volume.

48. Do I live with my mom and dad?:
No

49. Am I excited for anything?:
I’m excited about that free day I have tomorrow.

50. Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to?:
I’d like to believe I can tell Jav anything so, yeah.

51. How often do I wear a fake smile? :
More often than I'd like to.

52. When was the last time I hugged someone?:
Sunday when I was leaving Bae's place. [I'm not much for hugging anymore unless we're that kinda close.]

53. What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me?:
I would humble my damn self and remember that I'm just the side gyal. [Not that I mind. It's so much less stress than having somebody of my own.]

54. Is there anyone I trust even though I should not?:
I really hope not.

55. What is something I disliked about today?:
The fact that I walked home and ended up spending more money than I'd planned.

56. If I could meet anyone on this earth who would it be?:
Michelle Obama. Rihanna.

57. What do I think about most?:
The fluidity of life

58. What’s my strangest talent?:
Strangest? I actually do not know.

59. Do I have any strange phobias?:
The very definition of a phobia is that it's "irrational", so...

60. Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?:
Lemme take the picture, please.

61. What was the last lie I told?:
I think it had something to do with the state of my finances.

62. Do I prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?
I prefer texting, to be completely honest. Barring that, f2f conversations.

63. Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens?:
Ghosts, no. Aliens...a little bit. I think the universe is so vast that's it's mathematically impossible for life to only exist on Earth.

64. Do I believe in magic?:
While I love Harry Potter, no.

65. Do I believe in luck?:
Sort of.

66. What’s the weather like right now?:
It's very warm. I'm very uncomfortable.

67. What was the last book I’ve read?:
A Calculus II textbook. I shit you not. I actually want to start A Brief History of Seven Killings soon, though.

68. Do I like the smell of gasoline?:
I actually do

69. Do I have any nicknames?:
SJ, Sharz, the many manglings of my name that the Village Taker has instigated

70. What was the worst injury I’ve ever had?:
Sprained my ankle in grade 4.

71. Do I spend money or save it?:
Been trying to do the latter but I always end up dong the former.

72. Can I touch my nose with a tongue?:
No, sir.

73. Is there anything pink in 10 feet from me?:
My draws are mostly pink.

74. Favourite animal?:
Cats

75. What was I doing last night at 12AM?:
I think I was sleeping.

76. What do I think is Satan’s last name is?:
Well, I watched the series Lucifer, and his name is Lucifer Morningstar in that, so...

77. What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it?:
Bird Set Free x Sia

78. How can you win my heart?:
The gag is, I have no heart.

79. What would I want to be written on my tombstone?:
Maybe a few lines from the Desiderata. "Go gently amidst the noise and the night, and remember what peace there may be found in silence."

80. What is my favourite word?:
BUMBOCLAAT.

[DELETED A QUESTION]

82. If the whole world were listening to me right now what would I say?:
"Unnu cut di fuckry, dawg." [Fuckry encapsulates everything from Donald Trump being president to racism to economic inequality.]

83. Do I have any relatives in jail?:
Not that I know of

84. I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is the power?:
I finally have an answer for this. Either invisibility, or the ability to control time.

85. What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on?:
It depends on who's asking.

86. What is my current desktop picture?:
Something representing Slytherin.

87. Had sex? :
Yep

88. Bought condoms?:
Yep *laughs responsibly*

89. Gotten pregnant?:
Yuck, no

90. Failed a class?:
Classes.

91. Kissed a boy?:
Yes.

92. Kissed a girl?

"...and I liked it, the taste of her cherry chapstick."

93. Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain?:
As in outside in the rain? Lol no.

94. Had job?:
Something like that, yes.

95. Left the house without my wallet?:
Yep.

96. Bullied someone on the internet?:
Not to my knowledge

97. Had sex in public?:
Define "public".

98. Played on a sports team?:
Yeah

99. Smoked weed?:
Yes.

100. Did drugs?:
Lol. I take painkillers for a number of reasons, y'know.

101. Smoked cigarettes?:
Sigh. Yes.

102. Drank alcohol?:
I have.

103. Am I a vegetarian/vegan?:
I most certainly am not

104. Been overweight?:
Yeah

105. Been underweight?:
No sah

106. Been to a wedding?:
Yup

107. Been on the computer for 5 hours straight?:
Hours, days, it's all a blur to me.

108. Watched TV for 5 hours straight?:
I don't watch TV.

109. Been outside my home country?:
I have

110. Gotten my heart broken?:
Yeah, ish.

111. Been to a professional sports game?:
Nope

112. Broken a bone?:
No

113. Cut myself?:
Yeah

114. Been to prom?:
I'm Jamaican. No.

115. Been in airplane?:
Yup

116. Fly by helicopter?:
Bucket list item #37

117. What concerts have I been to?:
The ones in my head and on YouTube.

118. Had a crush on someone of the same sex?:
Please see question 14

119. Learned another language?:
Two

120. Wore make-up?:
Yup

121. Lost my virginity before I was 18?:
Yes

122. Had oral sex?:
See above

123. Dyed my hair?:
Sadly, no

124. Voted in a presidential election?:
Prime Ministerial** but no

125. Rode in an ambulance?:
Nope

126. Had a surgery?:
Nope

127. Met someone famous?:
Yes. I met Usain Bolt when I was 11.

128. Stalked someone on a social network?:
Who hasn’t?

129. Peed outside?:
As a proud country gyal who has spent cumulative years with her grandparents, yes.

130. Been fishing?:
I actually want to.

131. Helped with charity?:
I donate when I can.

132. Been rejected by a crush?:
Not really rejected. We just decided we'd be better off as friends. Also, see question 14.

133. Broken a mirror?:
No

134. What do I want for birthday?:
Money, books, the will to live.

135. How many kids do I want and what will be their names?:
I really don't want kids but I like the names Zafirah Alexandra and Dominik Stafford.

136. Was I named after anyone?:
Well, my mum did say she chose names from a list.

137. Do I like my handwriting?:
I do.

138. What was my favourite toy as a child?:
What I had was books.

139. Favourite TV Show?:
The last show I watched and really enjoyed was Game of Thrones.

140. Where do I want to live when older?:
In a nice house that doesn’t have a mortgage, preferably in an exotic destination.

141. Play any musical instrument?:
I wish :(

142. One of my scars, how did I get it?:
Self-harm

143. Favourite pizza topping?:
Shrooms.

144. Am I afraid of the dark?:
I like to say that it is representative of my soul, so no.

145. Am I afraid of heights?:
No

146. Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad?:
The tamer side of bad, yes.

147. Have I ever tried my hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end?:
Of course. I've been going to school ever since I was 3 years old.

148. What I’m really bad at:
Feelings.

149. What my greatest achievements are:
I haven't killed myself yet.

150. The meanest thing somebody has ever said to me:
That I'm supremely selfish. [Granted, it's true, but it still kinda stung.]

151. What I’d do if I won in a lottery:
Set up my mother and her parents, start a little trust fund for my sister, invest a portion, save the rest.

152. What do I like about myself:
Not much.

153. My closest Twitter friend:
The Village Taker.

154. Something I fantasise about:
Having all my shit together at last.

155. Did I answer all the questions truthfully?
I did.

If you've actually read all of these, congratulations, thank you, and I'm sorry. Pick the one that you feel applies to you and go thou in jesus' name.

Cheers.

New Year, New Me (even though the year isn't really that new anymore)

It's been January for literally a thousand years. Jesus.

But happy new year, guys. I hope 2018 is the one where we all glow and grow (not necessarily physically, cuz that ship has sailed for me) and discover what peace there may be found in silence.

Anyway. I had the vague idea to discuss "new year, new me" in this post, so...leggo.

Disclaimer: I didn't proofread or stop to really organize my thoughts. If you know me IRL, just read it how you'd imagine me actually talking to you, and it'll make more sense.

Boom.

The start of a new year is, for many, an opportunity to reinvent the self.

(Should I really call it an "opportunity"? I think what really happens is people go, "Hey, it's a new year, maybe some karmic energy is out there that'll help me in my endeavors.")

I think I'll go with the second one. It's traditional for almost everybody (even me, although I don't much go for that kinda stuff) to make at least one new year's resolution at some point on January 1.

• "I'm gonna start gym this year and lose ___ pounds."
• "I'm gonna give up _____"
• "I'm gonna learn how to _____"

Among a myriad of other things.

My resolution since 2012 or so has been to stop caring so much what other people think of me, and to just do what SJ do, whatever it is that SJ do.

I'm not ashamed to admit that there have been at least five out of the subsequent six (right? six.) years in which I failed miserably. 

But I made that resolution in 2018 again. With some editing, of course, because I'm a big mature woman now (EL OH EL.)

Live your life in a way that makes you healthy and happy. Don't listen to those long-throated cunts who don't have anything better to do with themselves than criticize.

I also resolved that 2018 is the year I take up whoring again. So far that one's not going too bad. But y'all don't need to know too much about that, do you?

Another, infinitely more important (to me) resolution I made is to spend more time with the people who care about me (not necessarily my family. I'm in Kingston almost year-round nowadays). That, too, isn't going too bad either. So far I spent a Saturday with the Village Taker and this last weekend with MoBae.

Bae noted one night that I seem happier. Strangely enough, I am. That may be due to the post-whoring euphoria, or contact highs from spending quality time with people I love. I dunno really. But I'm not overthinking it.

~

Pete Wentz said in Centuries x Fall Out Boy that:

some legends are told // some turn to dust or to gold // but you will remember me... for centuries.

That's a nice thought, isn't it? "Remember me for centuries." All we ever really want is to not be forgotten.

~

Okay, I'm done now. Peace and love, guys.

The Big Two-Oh

It's been exactly three months since I last posted here. It is strangely fitting that I start again on my birthday (although tbh the only reason I'm here is because I felt that the whole birthday thing deserves a post.)

Twen-teen?

A follower of mine, instead of telling me happy birthday, tweeted: "...you all adult an [sic] shit. Congratulations! You made it..."

I'd thought I became an adult at 18, with all the forms to be signed and the alcohol to be freely consumed, but I'm just now realizing it gets worse. It gets much worse.

I'd just like to say that I suck at celebrations. I also suck marginally less at birthdays. Last year all I did was get my ears pierced and spend a couple hours with the Village Taker. This year, the plan is to get my septum pierced, insult VT a little bit and go house-hunting after with Excelsior (remember him, guys? By some miracle, he's not tired of me yet so we're still friends). Maybe we'll buy alcohol and toast the fact that we are both inching ever closer to death. I dunno.

There's been improvement on my part though because I'm actually not going to spend the day in a "well-simmered stew of self-pity" (Norman, 2017.) Ya girl's gonna go out and people again. 

I'm not sure how I feel about being 20 now. Currently I'm a little terrified cuz I'm a full-fledged adult now, no longer a teenager, which was part of my identity for all of seven years. But I have 364 (I think; I just pulled a number out of my ass) days to get used to being 20. So I won't sweat it.

Old Jokes, Sentimentality and Name-Calling

Old jokes. Yes. Made by my mother and grandmother (who are 38 and 74 respectively). My mother has been calling me " mi old & barky gyal" for almost a month now. My grandma called me this morning laughing her ass off at her "old granddaughter" and how I soon get arthritis and shrivel up like her...

Hello? Lmao. No. I doubt I'll live long enough to shrivel. But that's a thing for another time. No negativity.

My closest girl friend (I'm calling her MoBae because I'm corny like that and she really is bae) got the ball rolling on the sentimentality.

No lie, I actually teared up a little. I've never met her mum and she's saying she's supposed to keep me. My heartttttttt.

And this from the Taker of Villages, Memelord Extraordinaire and Supreme Pussyole himself, which means all the more because he rarely ever says this:

Miss mandevillegirl she bout "happy birthday germsyyyyy" and camouflaging it with heart BIH I SEE YOU (but thanks, you succubus you)

A broom (don't ask, please) expressing his undying love for me by proclaiming me a "bloodclaat wicked gyal" - I'm not a "bloodclaat" anything. I'm just a regular wicked gyal, thank you very much.

It means a lot to me, y'know. Honestly. Like I'm actually visible. Thanks, guys. I mean it.

Conclusion? This is going on too long now

So. Yes. I'm a fully grown (at the great height of five feet and an inch) adult now. Ha.

Twenty years isn't much of a long time in the grander scheme of things, in my view, but here's to me getting to that milestone. And here's to me getting to more.

A Monday...

...wherein I got up early enough to put on gold eyeliner, mascara and my favorite bright red lipstick, and to actually sorta kinda fix my hair

...wherein I'm wearing my new favorite pair of earrings (costume jewelry, and the stone fell out of one but I love it still, I who thought I'd never wear a pair of hoop earrings in my life)

...wherein I smiled for a picture I sent to my mum and captioned it "well I actually look like someone's daughter for a change"

...wherein I felt the first stirrings of confidence, even though I haven't done the shave in a couple of weeks, and I don't have the smallest of waists anymore

...wherein I got the first inkling of what self-love is like, and I fell in love with it.

Physically starving, as I haven't eaten yet. But this poem is filling my mind.

I signed up for a daily poem to come to my email.

Today, I received this.

I'm not gonna comment on it.

Food for thought, for us all.

A post that is not a post, per se. I just wanted to share. (I've decided I need to share more, if even to readers whom I've convinced myself exist.)

I've been home since August 5.

Home truly is a balm for me (minus, of course, the fact that I'm persona non grata whenever my mum isn't here), because time literally slows down, and I can breathe, in a way that I can't in Kingston.

It is August 26, and if we're going by day and not date, today marks a year since my uncle passed away.

I watered his grave last year with (what I thought was) every tear in my body. I wondered how the hell I was supposed to resume my regular life without one of its pillars (who, incidentally, I was to have seen the day after he died).

I spent the rest of 2016 on a knife's edge, wondering if the universe could have possibly flung a bigger, steamier, nastier handful of shit into my face. (Pro tip: the answer is yes. The answer is always yes.)

But the months passed. Some of them crawled. Some raced by like the devil was giving chase. The months passed, and eventually the pain faded. It hasn't disappeared completely, and it possibly never will, because he was my favorite uncle and...he just...you know.

Now a year has passed, and Digicel has given his number to someone else, and I haven't heard his voice, or seen him, or anything. I still have yet to visit his grave, because I still remember the face I saw in that casket and it wasn't the him I knew in life. I have to tell myself that the him I knew is somewhere I cannot yet follow. He is beyond my reach, but he is all right, wherever he is.

I'm telling myself that, in the hopes that one day I'll believe it.

I go back to Kingston on September 3. I'm not looking forward to it.

It seems that my demons are strongest there, where I have no shoulder to lean on, and I can't randomly go hug my mother when I need it.

But, you know, school is a necessary evil.

I've been contemplating finding a therapist somewhere there, but I dunno what my final decision will be yet.

In the eternity that I've been here, I haven't cried once, haven't experienced the urge to self-harm. In fact, I've been attempting to self-care, eating better (and more, lmao), listening to more music, reading more. (Actually, I'm almost positive that I've damaged my eyes even more with all the reading I've been doing.)

This greatly abridged summer holiday is just what the doctor would've ordered.

Reopened Wounds and Changing Bandages

I reopened the wound. Scraped off the scab.

Now I have to sanitize it - because I don't want sepsis, see - and cover it with a newer, thicker bandage.

I think, in order for it to really heal, I need to stop worrying at it. I should just cover it with a nice, pristine white bandage, and forget about it.

But that, ladies and gentlemen, is much easier said than done.

Chance the Rapper said in his song "All We Got" (ft Kanye West) that at the end of the day, music is all we got, and he was right.

At the end of the day, when I can't sleep and I'm lying on my back staring at the ceiling, and trying not to cry, and failing miserably; or I'm lying on my stomach staring outside, again trying not to cry, again failing miserably; or I can't take the weight of the silence anymore and decide to ignore my shitty vision and go outside and sit under a streetlight because that's the only way I can convince myself that maybe I'm not all alone in this bleak black world

At the end of the day, when my people cup is empty (although to be honest there's rarely anything in there at any point) and I go to a corner and wish I could perform a Disillusionment Charm on myself (yes, I love Harry Potter, thanks) and blend into my surroundings so no one will see me sitting by myself and feel sorry for me because oh, she looks so lonely, because I actually really really am but you don't need to know that because I'm already sorry enough for myself as it is, thanks

At the end of the day, when my best friend has most likely gone to bed and I forget to be annoyed at the other best friend for still not letting me know that he's back in Jamaica, when I lie to my mother and tell her that yes, I'm okay, because she has enough to worry about without adding to the list her child's constant depression and anxiety and an ever-strengthening urge to just topple my king and tell God, or whoever the fuck I'm playing against, that You fucking win because I'm just too damned tired to play anymore

At the end of the day, when I've bathed away the dirt of the day, scrubbing my skin until it's a raw red, when I've washed away the evidence of my tears and ignored the sting of the cuts on my forearms or legs

At the end of the day, music is all I've got.

--

I'd like to thank everyone who has recommended to me an album or an artist. But most specifically mandevillegirl because she always comes through. ALWAYS.

Thank you all -- but especially you, mandevillegirl -- for the love songs, the sad songs, the happy songs, and all the others.

A reflection on the difference ten years can make, and what ten more years can do. (Not the best title I could come up with, but then my titles are rarely good anyway.)

i.

I was nine, and already excited about turning ten. It was June, and I would not be ten for another four months, but I woke up every morning and glanced at my calendar to see how much closer it was to November, how much closer I was to being ten.

I still thought I was beautiful. I was happy in my skin -- except for the times he lined that skin with licks that left marks I had to explain away. I had a lot of friends, I was at the top of my class, and my family was still whole and functional.

I was still an only child, but I'd learned to ignore those little twinges of longing I used to feel when I saw my friends with their little siblings, because my parents "can't afford another child right now". And he told me I wouldn't dare bring a dog or a cat into his house.

I was nine, and my world was still hued in shades of red, green, blue, and yellow, with barely any black therein. My smiles were wide and genuine, and people used me as an example for their children to emulate. I was quick to hug, and I had so much love inside you to give, so much joy.

ii.

I sit here, ten years in what promised to be a bright future, ashamed of what I've grown up to be. I curse the time for moving so damn fast. It is June, and I will not be twenty for another four months, but I wake up every morning and curse my calendar for seeming to flip its pages so fast. In the blink of an eye, I will be twenty, and now that I'm so close to it, I wish time would just stop for a fucking second and wait for the rest of us to catch up.

There is rarely ever a day when I look into the mirror for another reason than to fix my eyebrows or put in my earrings (all in an effort to meet society's standards of beauty, which doesn't always work anyway); I can't meet my own eyes in the mirror because I do not like what I see. I wear all my flaws on my skin, and I hate myself for it.

Those licks have left their mark on me -- some physical, but most not -- and he hasn't been my daddy ever since I hit thirteen and he realized I was beginning to move away from his sphere of control and discover that boys weren't necessarily just playmates. He hasn't been my daddy since the nights when I was fourteen (or probably fifteen, I have taught myself to not remember) and he used to come in my room after my mother went to bed and showed me what I was "looking for". 

My nineteen year old world has been leached of its color, is now ten thousand shades of grey. Ten thousand blurry shades, because I've damaged my vision permanently by trying to lose myself in fictional worlds, and those days when I used to stare up at the sun and wonder if I could someday fly that high.

I have a little sister whom I love endlessly in a way I didn't know I could love -- who, incidentally, will be four tomorrow -- who I need to set some kind of positive example for, and I doubt sincerely that I'll be able to tell her about some of the things I've done so she could emulate them.

My family hasn't been the same since I was compared to Achan, a blight on the household, since I was told that I was a whore and that nothing good would come from me. It hasn't been the same.

So much has changed in ten years. I wear all my flaws on my skin, I look nothing like I wish I did (except maybe the skin tone), and I'm nine times out of ten a silent mess because I've learned the lesson that when you trust people it can come back and bite you in the ass. Learned that lesson a little too well.

I may not have had my heart broken the way my peers have, but I've been hurt by men because I refused to learn from prior experiences and let myself cry over them and punish myself because I didn't see myself as deserving of anything better.

I have hit rock bottom more times than I can count. I've been sitting at the edge of the abyss, conversing with it, weighing the pros and cons of allowing it to seduce me into its depths.

iii.

Ten years from now, it will be June, and I will be four months from turning thirty (!!!), and I will look back at my early years, filled with innocent joy and wonder, and my angsty, depression and anxiety-filled teenage years.

Maybe I'll finally have my shit together and be someone I can be proud of.

That's the thing about the future, you know. It's not set in stone. It's like a tree diagram (the math major I am appreciates this analogy), dependent on the decisions we make. It is fluid, ever-changing.

That's what I like about the future. It can change.

Maybe, ten years down the line, I'll decide that yes, I am devoutly heterosexual, I am devoutly theist, and be that way for the rest of my life. Maybe it will be that I'm not actually hetero (and I find that I'm not as cut up as I was when I first began to question), and I will still refuse to believe in anything more than the necessity of a deity, not its actual existence -- see past post re that.

The other thing I like about the future is that I'm the one who makes it. Not my family, not my friends. Me.

I've been listening to a song called Eyes to the Sky by Jon Bellion (shoutout to mandevillegirl for putting me on to his music) for months, and the chorus and hook never fail to resonate with me every time:

I'm tryna live, I'm tryna rise

Above the shit the devil tries

Which is why I keep my eyes to the sky

Insert something really dope right here

I'm s'posed to write a hook, but all I wanna say is

I just wanna be happy

I wanna be happy, yeah

I'm supposed to write a fucking hook right here

Money and bitches, blah blah, yeah yeah

I just wanna be happy

I wanna be happy, yea

In ten years, maybe I, the comprehensively curious little girl who never stops asking questions, will finally have answers for all my difficult questions.

All we wanna know is where the stars came from

But do we ever stop, ever stop to watch them shine?

...Or are we staring with, staring with ungrateful eyes?

Ungrateful Eyes, Jon Bellion

The title of the mixtape (or album, I forget which it is) is called The Separation. Feel free to give it a listen on SoundCloud.

--

Honestly, I started this post the way I always do, a little melancholy, somewhat angry. But as I continued to write, I felt that drain out of me and now I am as close to happy as I've ever been.

This, this is why I started blogging again.

i'm too lazy to write a proper title, but

i know what i want to talk about.

i'm also too lazy to capitalize the first letter of every sentence, or the first letter of any proper nouns...which may make this post harder to read. i'm sorry.

but i am tired.

tired, i say, of being objectified.

check out this thread i made on april 5 about an experience i had.

as someone who already has a negative self-image and is uncomfortable with any form of attention, objectification is a special sort of hell for me.

i long for a jamaica, a caribbean, a world, where women can walk in peace and tranquility on the road.

and i'm fucking TIRED of seeing women making threads on twitter on how they've been harassed, how they've been reduced to nothing more than their breasts, legs, derriere, and genitalia, with just a sentence.

and to all the men (and unfortunately, women) whose favorite argument is "well if you wore proper clothes on the road he wouldn't have called to you", i say: a heartfelt fuck you.

women are harassed, and raped, whether they are wearing hijabs or bikinis. so don't tell me that shit about "she was asking for it because of her attire"

NO ONE EVER ASKS TO BE OBJECTIFIED. EVER.

break free of your patriarchal thought processes that seek to debase women. we are people too. we should be free to wear whatever the fuck we want to, as long as we are comfortable.

don't fucking tell me that i, as an adult cis female (i can't say het, because i'm not sure anymore), cannot or should not, wear my favorite v-neck shirt because i will be putting certain thoughts into the minds of men., and that i should, indeed, "cover up". don't fucking tell me that WOMEN, cis or trans, should pander to the sick desires of men, just because they're the head of the household. fuck that shit.

you know what you can say? tell the men to stop objectifying us. tell them that we women are just as important to the larger scheme of things as they are. women are goddesses and ought to be treated and respected as such.

tell the men to see us as more than the sum of our parts. we are more than our breasts, our legs, our bottoms, our genitals, just as how they are more than their dicks.

i am fucking sick and tired, i say, of painstakingly choosing an outfit that reduces the likelihood of my being catcalled on the road.

sick. and. tired.

see me inna mi tight jeans, mi short skirt, mi cleavage-baring blouse, mi battyrider, mi crop top, mi carnival backline costume, mi bikini, and leave me the fuck alone.

selah.

I think it's about time that I take up this blogging habit again. The signs are there, what with my good friend impulseprose making a post for the first time since 2015, and a young man in my Twitter DMs who let me know that I should write more. I guess those may be the kick in the pants I needed to start doing something to help myself climb out of these doldrums I've been in for so long.

So. I'm back. Hopefully for an extended period of time.

I haven't written poetry in a very long time. I should begin to do that as well, not for anyone's gratification per se, but because I enjoy it. Maybe I should even publish a few (anonymously, of course). I don't know. I'll have to think about it some more.

But, since my last post, and for quite a long time before, I've been on an emotional rollercoaster, the likes of which I have never experienced in all my life. I've become even more of a recluse since I left UWI. I barely talk at all, except to my mom and younger sister. I shut people out (although that may be more subconscious than not).

What's the point of this post, you may ask.
I have no idea. The whole point of this blog is for me to ramble along in an effort to clear my mind of some of the thoughts splashing around therein, silence some of the voices.

I live in Kingston pretty much year-round now, because I'm apparently finishing a 4-year degree in 3 years and so I have to come to school during the summer. (UGH.)

It does, however, its advantages: I'm not at home, and so I don't have to go to church with my heathen self; I'm a lot more mobile than I would have been in Mandeville.

It also has its disadvantages: I'm not at home, so I barely take proper care of myself; my aunt lives near me and seems to believe that we should be joined at the hip for that reason -- although I'm doing my best to disabuse her of that notion.

One of my best days was Labor Day, which I spent with the Creed (I'm sure I've spoken about them before on here) because one of our members was going back to his home country a few days hence.

I'm not able to be around persons for more than, say, 3 hours at best (with a few exceptions) without becoming physically and emotionally drained, but I spent the better part of a whole day with those guys and enjoyed every minute of it. I didn't realize I needed time to be around persons who understood my little idiosyncrasies and worked with them until I had it. Thanks, guys.

That came on the heels of the darkest day I can remember: about two Saturdays before, the urge to seek the Great Perhaps became stronger than it has in months, and I sought out my razor and proceeded to break a promise I made to myself at the age of sixteen that I wouldn't self harm again.

(But then, a friend of mine said to me that we all self harm in some way; it's not always drug abuse or self-mutilation.)

Fifteen neat little slices on my left forearm. They still haven't healed fully. But I look at them, and I remember the Saturday night I tried to subjugate the urge by overshadowing emotional pain with physical and succeeded. I may not win the war, but when I win the battles, it gives me the strength to continue fighting.

I still fear death, in a sense, because I'm not sure what happens after I shed this mortal coil. I think that is the primary reason I haven't committed suicide yet, even though hell knows I've been wobbling more and more on that particular tightrope. Not necessarily the people who care about me, because I know, as I've known for years, that they'll go on without me. As I've had to go on without my uncle, who was a fundamental part of my life.

Am I fundamental to anyone? I highly doubt it.

Ah, there goes that negative self-image.

As I write this, I'm sitting in an almost-empty class ignoring that annoying drone of voices belonging to those happier than I.

It is almost 12:30, I'm reading The Chronicles of Narnia (for the first time. I'm almost ashamed of myself), and I'm...at a fragile sort of peace.

Chará.

King Jaye

Dear Uncle...

You would have been 34 today.

Instead, you’ve been lying in a casket at a place that I haven’t visited since the day we laid you to rest there almost seven months ago.

You’d have made a joke about how you’re getting old now. Deadpan delivery that would have made the joke ten times funnier.

It’s very difficult facing this day that would have been yours, that was yours for the past 33 years, without you.

Every day without you is a different type of difficult. I still ask myself why you had to go so soon. I have yet to find the answer.

But the fact is, you’re gone, and I’m still here, still trying to live in such a way to make you proud of who I’ve become since you died.

I didn’t know how integral you were in my life, didn’t know how big a space you filled in my heart, until you died and left that space wide open. They say you don’t really know what you have until it’s gone.

But, in honor of you, I will hold back the tears on this your special day. You wouldn’t have wanted me to spend a day that was meant to be happy, unhappy.

I still miss you. Every hour of every day, I wish to a God I don’t believe in that you were still here.

I understand that you did what you were placed on this earth to do, which was to touch the lives of everyone you came in contact with. I wish you’d taken a bit longer to do it, though.

So, I just wanted to let you know, if somehow you can, that I still love you, through all the tears I’ve shed, on my dark days and on my bright ones. I always will.

Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy.

Happy birthday. 💓

Love,

Trish.

--

attached is the tribute I read at his funeral. to this day I still can't fully read it without tearing up.

Tribute to Sheldon Stafford Forbes, my uncle... and friend.

My very earliest memories of Uncle Gar involved both of us going to Burger King, where he’d buy me a Kids’ Meal.

The majority of our encounters involved a car somehow. From then, when I was about four or so, until recently, the last time I ever saw him alive, which was when he drove me to Kingston. He was always the one who drove me to Youth Fellowship on Fridays whenever I wanted to go. I’d just message him and say ‘yo, u free later? Wah go church’ and usually he wouldn’t respond, but I’d know to be ready by 7pm.

On all those drives, he always had a word of advice to offer regarding whatever situation I was telling him about. I can still hear his voice in my head saying things like ‘ketch yuhself a watch yuhself enuh B’ or ‘hangle yuh business, nuh watch nuh face’

He was like a brother to me. Whenever mommy and I beefed, he’d listen to my side of the story (I knew he always got hers) and he never hesitated to say ‘no Trish, yuh wrong this time’ whenever I was at fault. But whenever mommy was at fault, his favourite line was ‘a suh yuh mumma tan massah, just haffi ignore him till e come round again’

He gave excellent advice. Things I couldn’t talk to mommy about, I could talk to him about, and it was always refreshing to learn about life and love from a man’s perspective.

He was always boosting me. I remember when I graduated from Bishops and he said to me that the journey doesn’t end there. When I left 6^th form he said ‘a now the struggle ago start enuh’. This year when he was taking me to school, in the car he said I had to make the best of this opportunity I have now, because there are many people who would do anything for it.

In my successes, he was always there with a smile on his face to say ‘see, me tell you seh you cudda dweet enuh’. In my despairs, he was always there to say ‘pick up and try again’. I can’t remember any period in my life where he wasn’t there, whether in the background or at the forefront.

I remember when mommy was pregnant. Whenever I was at school, she took out her bad mood on him until I came home. Then she took it out on me. Whatever cravings she had, she just whipped out her phone: “Gar mi want this” and anywhere he had to go for it, he went.

When Gabby was born he came around a lot and it always warmed my heart to see him hold her so delicately, and even as she grew bigger and was scared of him, he didn’t let that affect him, he never stopped until she could recognize the car horn and run onto the veranda screaming ‘uncle Gar come!’ and even then it was beautiful to watch him play with her.

His sense of fun and humor was something else. Sometimes we’d be in the car and out of nowhere he’d start messing up my hair or making faces at me (while driving, mind you). I especially enjoyed watching him and mommy interact. She’s not really a hugger, so sometimes he’d come for a hug and she pushed him off...he still took his hug and laughed at her.

He was the type to tell you the world’s funniest joke and watch you there in stitches like ‘a wah do da mad gyal yah man’

I honestly could talk about him all day.

I remember the last time I saw him, he told me where he left my stuff and that he wrote my name on everything. He gave me a hug before he left and said to me, “Trish, take care a yuhself, keep yuh head pon yuh body” and drove away.

The last thing he said to me was via WhatsApp on August 26. He asked if I was ok and then said ‘remember weh mi tell you.’

I miss his strength. When I was moving off hall in May, I had a lot of stuff. I have a suitcase of clothes that weighs more than I do, and he picked it up with ease and walked down 3 flights of stairs with it. I didn’t really appreciate the show of strength until I had to do the same thing, down 3 flights of steps, across a quad and up 3 more flights of steps, by myself, and then it came to me. He never complained, he just wiped sweat off his face and carried on.

I miss listening to him talk about football, I miss listening to him make fun of me and mommy, I miss hearing the sound of his car outside our gate on Saturdays or Sundays when he came for breakfast or dinner. I miss randomly getting a message from him saying ‘yuh good?’, or from 400 saying I got credit from him. I miss the little things, I miss the big things.

It wasn’t the same on August 28 when I went back to town without him.

It won’t be the same when someone else calls me Trish. It won’t be the same when I have to take a taxi to go to church on Friday evenings. It won’t be the same to have to write my name on my stuff myself when I move back on hall next year.

I am happy, though, to have had him in my life for 18 years. I’m happy that he knew I loved him, even when I didn’t tell him, I always showed him. I’m happy that I knew that he loved me, even when he didn’t say it. His actions always showed it. So even though he probably can’t hear me now, Scott, I love you...and thank you for everything.

It's been a long time since I've been here. ...

Writers' Block is a bitch. A real bitch. I've been blocked for the better part of a year.
Not cool, inner me. Not cool.

Anyway. What have I been up to since my last post back in... March? I think it was March. But yeah.

Finished my first year of college as a depressed insomniac.
(More of one, that is.)

Ended up switching schools, which is something I'll elaborate on as time goes by if I feel like it.
Suffice it for now to say that I got a scholarship to attend the school I'm currently at.

Also, the most important thing -- I lost my uncle in August.
That was...the worst experience I've had in 19 years of life.
I don't think I've really spoken about it in depth to anyone. I'm not sure if I really can, as I've gotten so used to internalizing my pain. But talking to various friends -- and Iceburg, oddly enough...although I've now renamed him as the First Edition Fuckboy -- really helped.

Speaking of "various friends", I should introduce y'all to the Village Taker. (He'll say "kek" when he sees this.)

I met him in about January of 2016 off of Twitter (bless that app, I swear), and to this day, over a year later, he's been an amazing friend to me.

In light of this, I probably ought to be nicer to him
Sike!
Love you, though, bropal

So...ramble ramble, ramble.

How am I?

I'm not okay, but it'll be okay eventually.
Sometimes it gets too much and I'm tempted to cut -- I've got a pack of razors in my suitcase to shape up my eyebrows -- but I'm proud of myself so far for not giving in to temptation.

I've discovered new music, and it really does help.

I'm gonna start writing again. My words have been garbled, but I'm sure that, given time, they'll be intelligible again. In the meantime, I stay tweeting.

Chará.

King Jaye

First post of 2016, three months in

No, I haven't died. For those of you who cared enough to wonder. I'm still here.

My head's all over the place though. What with balancing schoolwork and a social life, I literally have no time for myself.

However, rest assured that I haven't forgotten you my faithful readers - here I assume you actually do exist - and this is why I am here.

I have great news to report.
I saw Jav.

(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

I hadn't seen this guy since 2013. Twenty fucking thirteen. And on the night of Feb 11, I got a text saying "BTW I'm at UWI."

Fam, I was about to go to sleep eh. I got the hell up and went to see my best friend.

I'm still happy about that. Still. I mean, he's my best friend. Of course I'd be a damned sight ecstatic.

Even though I saw him only twice in the eleven-day period he was here for....I saw him.

That's the bright spot in my life right now. Them and the Creed. I swear if it wasn't for those guys I'd have gone batshit cray cray loooonnnngggggg ago, what with making the difficult decisions I've been making since year start, and changing dynamics in certain of my friendships, and having to readjust my standards for certain things.

I don't dislike myself. (A snarky inner voice is saying to me "not yet"; fuck you, snarky inner voice.") I may not be peak emotionally,but I'm grateful that I can look myself in the eyes in a mirror and say "Nigga we gon be all right."

me.

Year-end Posts, Part II: Dreams for 2016

I write this in the final hour of 2015, when I'm the only one awake in this house and the cicadas are outside keeping me company.
I'm gonna do this in the form of a letter to my future self, and this time next year I'll read it.
Here goes.

Dear future me,
I write this to you in the hope that you'll be a better person than I. In the hope that you'll take each of the 366 days you are allotted and make something of them.

I'll be honest with you. 2015, I fucked up. I did some stupid shit. And you, in 2016, will probably also fuck up, and do even stupider shit. Which is fine. We live and we learn.

I dream of 2016 as a blank canvas. It's up to you to decide what type of artwork, what quality artwork, you will imprint on it. We mightn't be the greatest with pictures, but we can help ourselves with words.
I hope we can use our words to impact someone's life, if even minutely, this year.

Don't make the same mistakes I did. Make different ones. Listen to the people who genuinely care about you. Learn from other people's errors. A smart man learns from his own mistakes, but a wise man learns from those of others. Be wiser than I was.

I may have said this before in another way, but I'll say it again. 2015 wasn't lit until I decided to make it so. Make 2016 lit. In whatever way you feel comfortable.

Now. You'll be 18 for most of the year. Remember what happened to the birth giver at that age. DO NOT LET THAT REACH YOU. EVER. We too young for that.

Understand that people you came into 2016 with might not be the same persons you leave it with. Please just be OK with that. You will leave behind, and you will be left behind.

Most of all, my darling future me, upon whom all my dreams and hopes for this coming year lie, have fun. Loosen up a bit. Laugh more. Spend time with people who make you laugh. Stay out of this rut I was digging myself into.

It's your chance to shine now, and remember, I love who I hope you'll be.

-

Standing at the gate of the year, on the cusp of what I hope will be a good one, not just for me, but for all of you who have stuck with me the past nearly 2 years. I'm so excited.

It's 366 days, not to fix my mistakes, but to show what I've learned from them. Possibly make new ones and learn from those too. Meet new people, have new experiences.

Tonight is not a night for melancholic Reflections and downhearted musings. Tonight, goddammit, I will be happy.

-me.

Year-end Posts. Part I: Reflections on 2015

I had actually planned to do this on NYE. But idk how my head is gonna be set up next Thursday so I may as well do it now while I'm still OK.
Here goes....

2015, the year of fuck ups of the highest degree
I started 2015 as a 17-year-old, ready - I thought - and able - again, I thought - to fix the mistakes I made in 2014 and make all these positive changes to my life, excited to go off to university because Jesus knew I needed to escape the stifling atmosphere of my house.
I started as a happy - as happy as I could be, anyway - upper sixer, content to be with the squad under the gazebo, laughing and breaking rules and chatting about literally everything and nothing.
By February, I realized that maybe I should have prioritized a bit better and actually gone to some classes, done some more assignments, embraced my inner perfectionist which to this day I keep sedated, made an effort to get good grades in the 9 units of CAPE I was planning to sit in May/June.
March, I realized again.
April, I realized that, well, shit, these IAs were due three weeks ago. And, shit, I don't have enough time to study for these 18 exams.

Side note: these 9 units were an attempt to fix the 2014 fuck up and get a jump on 2015.

Did I learn? Nope. 

Results: failed one - thank Jah it was just the one, honestly - and clocked enough boundaries with the other 8 you'd think I was a master batsman.

I had to sit and endure my family's disappointment that I, the former speller, the girl who ranked nationally for subjects thrice previously, had devolved into this.

I had to acknowledge within myself that I really didn't deserve better, considering that I wasted the entire 2 years of sixth form.

Fast forward to August, when I had an emotional crisis of epic proportions. I was going off to university in a matter of days, and as much as I gave off the impression that I was raring to go, all I wanted was to huddle in a corner somewhere and watch the world pass me by.

Bear in mind that in the midst of all this, I was (still am) trying to fix the cracks in my psyche.

Fortunately, life started to look up after that.

I got to UWI in one piece, met a lot of people, learned a few things about myself and had quite a few new experiences. Duh, huh?

I turned 18 (at long last lol) and realized that what I couldn't bear at 17 is cheesecake now, and what I can't bear now will be cheesecake later.

2015 in a (rather large) nutshell. Cuz it's not like anything's gonna change between now and next Friday anyway.

#2015TaughtMe...

...that I make mistakes, and that's OK.

...that I outgrow people, and people outgrow me, and that's OK.

...that it's OK to be in a different headspace from everyone else.

...that it's OK to do what might be construed as different.

...that it's OK to move slowly.

...that I am young, and so am not expected to have all the answers.

...that whatever doesn't kill me serves to make me stronger.

...that being an adult is kinda hard.

...that people are gonna know me, and I need to learn to accept that.

...that in the end, I am still me.

#PeopleWhoMadeMy2015

In no particular order:

-The Cruff Creed: Syndicate - Excelsior, God of Chalk, Mixologist, Tech God, High Priest of Fuckery, Attitude Goddess and the Cocky Ninja.

-That one girl I've been friends with for 8 years, who lives 5 doors down from me, shares her condensed milk with me and lets me sleep on her bed sometimes.

-The Bajan girl who does my eyebrows and joins me in the occasional roast session and bitch hour.

-Jav, of course.

-Three people on my Twitter timeline with whom I am ever propagating Fuckery.

-Freshette Coco, who ensures that I am careful in all situations.

-The reason I smile every time I listen to Smoke+Mirrors.

-The reason I lose track of time whenever I'm under the bus stop.

Coming up: Part II: Dreams for 2016

Thank you, whoever "you" may be, for being with me on this blog as I ramble my way back to the light.

-me.

An Attempt to Clear My Mind, Part II

Hello...it's me..

Still not back to that place inside myself where I'm calm.
I am nowhere near calm.
I am about to crack.
Again.

I really can't bother putting that disclaimer on this again SOOOO just know that I apologize in advance for the rambling and whatever grammar errors and typos may pop up.

The best way for me to do this is just to write and write and write until I either run out of words - God knows that's happening more often than I need it to these days - or I say what I need to and feel empty and calm again.
Let's go.

So I like to rush, right, because I have literally zero patience. I don't have time to beat around the bush; if I want it I want it right the fuck now and I better get it.
I also am stubborn. As fuck.
 "SJ don't do this. It's not healthy for you and you're gonna end up regretting it."
Bitch please. I want to do it, so it's gonna get done, and I'll cross that bridge of regretting when I get there.

I'm there.
Should have listened to all of them. My mom, the lightskin, Jav...all of them.
Should have cut the losses I didn't have at the time and run far away into the sunlight without looking back.

But nope. I'm stubborn, so I rushed straight into the lion's den and was too stubborn to back the fuck out before I got bitten.
Look at me here now having to clean those wounds of mine and try to heal by my stubborn hasty ass little self.

[If you haven't figured it out yet I'm talking about Iceburg. Yes, dear readers, I got up the courage to break it off completely.]

You know when you first get into a relationship, how excited you are that hey, yes, I have a (wo)man now blah blah? That was me at 15. Now, at 18, I'm just looking back at that relatively carefree little idiot and wishing I could slap her senseless.

I don't remember if I've ever spoken in depth about how I met him. Can't bother to look now. So story time.
I didn't like him at first sight. I pride myself on being able to read people well, and upon seeing him my first thought was "This guy looks extremely full of himself and immature, but then somehow I sense all those insecurities underneath that exterior."

You would think that I took a big bloodclaat lesson from that and stayed far far away and continue to tentatively look the lightskin.
Ha.
"SJ, I think you should at least talk to him once, find out the type of person he is....he is kinda cute after all."
Faaaaacccccckkkkkk

Took the advice of my inner idiot. Couple of months later, there we were, in a "relationship". Looking back at it I can say that was where it started going downhill.

Sure, the first 3 months were great. As much as he was in college at the time (still is actually) he somehow took it upon himself to leave Kingston and come home to surprise me the weekend after I turned 16 - which I still think is real sweet.

After that? One big LOL.

He's played with my feelings enough since then to make me break a promise I made to myself ever since I hit 11 and started noticing boys as something other than friends or playtime buddies.
I bawled for this man on a regular basis.
I let him get to me.

I still actually do, although now it's not so much letting as him having my number (unknowingly, yes, but he still has it) and continuing to dial nonstop.

Let's skip over every single other thing for a bit cuz I'd like to actually come out of my feelings tonight instead of after I graduate.
Fast forward to last week.

After I broke it off - which was because I got bored and started doing things I really shouldn't have - I was happy as hell for a bit. "Fuck, I'm free!" and all, being mature enough to appreciate what that meant.

That was Friday afternoon.

Friday night I saw him again.
Straight back to square one.
Complete with butterflies in the stomach and feeling 15 (14+ actually) all over.
Spoke to him for a while, which was not as horrible as you might think, given how I'm rambling on now. Even hugged him (which I will never do again unless I feel like falling apart).

Went back to my room some hours later and bawled living tears.
RIP to lost love and such.

I'm not sure if it's fuckboy timing or what, but every day I wake up and say Yes, I am over him totally, I can now move on with my damn life
"Hey" or "Can I see you" or..even worse, a phone call.

NB: The phone calls I was smart enough to ignore cuz I knew I'd still be his little bitch and teleport to his room and regret it in the morning.

The sight of him now, sad to say because I do believe he's a good person, actually pisses me off now. So does the sound of his voice, the sight of his name in my phone, people asking if we're still together (No. No. Godfuckingdammit NO.)

Saw him today too, which was an extremely impulsive (read that as extremely stupid) decision, and now, here I am.

Left with all these emotions rolling around in my mind, unsure which compartment to file them away in, whether "Pure Regrets" or "Sadness for What Might Have Been" or even, Jesus, "Guilt".

When I can't rationalize my way out of things, I tend to avoid or ignore them.
Which means that for the next couple of days, weeks, (hopefully not) months, I'll be walking around with a fuck ton of confusion inside my brain. Which, as we all know, is never healthy.

I can say with all confidence, I will be doing something completely and utterly batshit insane, just to get my mind off this whole thing.

It's damn tragic to know that I'll be doing this, knowing that I'll regret it in the future, and still do it anyway. Not because YOLO but because I need to do something that silences all thoughts of this. Of him.

I'd say c'est tout now that I've finished this post, but this is most definitely not all.

-me.