I am a dreamer. I can tell you almost every dream I had since I was dainty little tomboy with wild hair destroying almost every dress my mother put on me. I find dreams to be mysterious and an adventure. I have always enjoyed listening to the adults talk about their dreams and how it relates to an island superstition. I love these stories or as scholars call them “folklore”.
I miss telling my grannies and my great aunts my dreams ( God rest their 4’5 in souls). When you told them your dream , you had to give detail , nothing could be left out. Then the memories of interpretation would happen, pulling out a old Bible with shaky cursive writing, a note would be made in the front , back,side page or something would be referenced and poof a meaning. My ancestors were great interpreters, I find myself missing the stories from my youth. While many kids were read Cinderella , I had tales of mermaids, spirits and what the beating of a tamarind drum could do. There was no censorship in my house. God, the Devil and all in between was told. At times I was fearful yet , I stayed up most nights to hear.
Now, I have been dreaming in a vivid way. My dreams have felt fast forward, as if I am peeking into my future with a slight blur. I can see yet I cannot see, it is frustrating. In the past this has happen to me. It feels like deja vu, when the day dreamed happens I literary stop what I am doing, it is an eerie feeling.
I need a dream interpreter. Since I live in the good ol’South, my chances are very slim on finding a person to swap tales with. I tell my mom , but she knows as much as I do. I tried to Google dream interpretations online, they all read too new age for me; which I find utterly wrong ( by Caribbean standards). The true test for me regarding a good interpretation is a death and a marriage. A death means a marriage or a new beginning and a marriage means a death or and end. Should these two mean something totally different I cannot follow it. I am brainwashed and it’s unwashable. Since many of my “grans” have passed on the meanings of my dreams go untold, and left to my acculturated logic.
So I just dream and wonder.
The best way to spend a rainy, chilly Saturday in Georgia. Throwing tomatoes at total strangers and friends, who have had a lot of beer before noon. Atlanta had running with the Bulls and Tomato Royalb food fight, it was good. First, for all the PETA people, it was not like Spain. The bulls rain for a max of six minutes with cowboys. The people that participated, really shouldn’t have because it was like being at a cowboy show in the corral. There was nothing going on. It made little sense. The animals were completely safe.
The tomato royale, was kind of dangerous; I got hit! And it hurt. They had some green tomatoes in the bunch. Otherwise, it was a blast. I fell on people, was covered with tomato juices and had an orgy of a good time.
This world, this life, it scares me. The capacity of what the human mind can fathom , inspire , destroy and create a constant roller coaster ride with hidden doors, clear windows and shadowy nights. The beauty that has developed naturally in this world is slowly fading away as the population increases. I am privileged; I have a life of lazy security. I am a sarcastic ass of sorts yet somehow at the same time highly introverted. I am gentle, I cry over everything that is emotionally moving to me ,passive even. Somehow I lost my way.
I am not truly happy with what I am doing in life. I come from a tiny world barely a spec on the map. A country of third world standards then I was raised in this big world of advancement, modern, credit cards that I use to buy things I barley use and reality t.v (which I do find appalling) and along the way I lost what really mattered to me. I forgot what I dreamed about when I was little. I had such a plan for myself and although , I am doing some descent things I am not on the right path. This is what happens when I meet some also from a third world country, who has endured a fate unimaginable in my life span. Who’s story stirs my core, awakens my soul and I feel shame. Every time I meet someone who has overcome a major feat that truly put them at deaths’ table. I feel as if I should be more because my path was easier than theirs. What happen? Each encounter veers me more and more back onto the path of little me , with big dreams.
I forgot how special every day is , even the mundane 9-5 ones. How to enjoy the moon and stars at night when I can see them. Sunsets and sunrises, cooking new dishes for the first time and burning some of them. I have become a drone of life. I don’t want to be this way. So I am taking risk. As the US is going through a crisis I am going to quit my job. It is okay work, provides yet I have reached a place where I can close my eyes and zombie through my routine. I am scared. I am scared of being always on repeat and never on play. I am scared and excited of not knowing what I will do next. I am scared because it’s natural. This is good because the fear motivates me for what ? only tomorrow knows
Fear makes Us feel our humanity Benjamin Disraeli
I am not sure where I belong. I fit slightly yet I am still out of the realm. I live in the United States, where I am reminded through my cultural ways I am still an outsider with papers. I have even a worst time living in the south , where I some how stand out even more. I know it is natural to be different , just how different am I?
I recently went home to celebrate my grandfather’s 90th birthday. He is such an inspiration, he keeps a positive attitude while he takes care of our half land, the house, calls all of us all on his cell phone, and travels all the while missing my grandmother who passed away ten years ago. I miss him so when I am away yet he can smother you when close by and I love him. I was talking to him about belonging because when I go home I am ostracized a bit since I live in the United States. My culture is blended and somehow it’s not enough. I am either too much of the other never seen as neutral.
Leaving Jamaica was never my choice, I was a child. I never understood how important a visa could be until now, when I see what I am able to do compared to many of my cousins back home. At times, I felt like I had to be uber-Jamaican just to reassure myself I am , what I am . Whenever I am back home I hear comments in side conversations that jab at my American life, while in the states I feel like I have to represent just to preserve my culture.
In a way, this is why I find cultures fascinating. I am a anthropologist without a degree, I like learning about different people , how they live , what life is like , and pick up a bit of the language. My Papa, he told me all I can do is live my life and love people. Simple. I can do this. I struggle with this because I somehow want to fit . Where? I have no clue . I just want to fit and not be always a foreigner.