We are, each of us, just ships sailing blindly trough the night. We navigate with no precise destination and we learn new routes along the way.
We are, each of us, lonely. We crave companionship, be it friendly or romantic, and without it we feel lost.
I don’t like this concept. I don’t like the notion that without a significant other we feel incomplete. I don’t like the thought that if you have not met the right person yet– or any person for that matter- that you have not succeeded.
I love my friends: I have succeeded.
I love being alone: I have succeeded.
Succeed on your own. Plot your own course and navigate through the night. Then you will be accomplished. Then whomever you meet will be significant.
We do not need other ships to help us on our way. We gain nothing from following another lost wanderer. Find your way, then help another.
Find the North Star to lead you home. Find it within yourself.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Crash into me
Life is a series of collisions.
We collide with a doctor’s waiting hands at birth, collide with a stranger on the street or a person we are destined to love, collide with a wall or a door or a moment and our lives change forever. Life is not measured by the things we did and did not do. It is measured by the experiences we have and the impact that we leave.
Sometimes you simply collide and keep on going; some interactions are a hit and run. But then there are the few, the memorable few who you crash into. You crash and then you are never the same. You crash and a part of them is embedded in you, or you in them. Like the exchanged paint on a car’s bumper that has collided with another car’s fender.
Sometimes they break you. The crash leaves you broken and bruised, damaged seemingly beyond repair. But then you pound out the dents and get a new paint job and if you’re lucky you’re better than new. Sometimes the crash hurts you or scares you, but it can always be fixed. You can always be fixed.
And sometimes it’s a good crash. Sometimes the dents are good and the scratches heal on their own and you are better off because of it. These crashes, these people are the best friends, the college roommates, the first loves and almost first loves. You crash into them and you are never the same.
Collide, and your life will begin.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Today is a day to remember.
Today I had my first full, painfully long day of classes in college. I woke up early, complained about my 8am class, agonized over my full schedule and did not give the date a second glance until I had to write it down in class. Then I paused. A full schedule is a blessing on a day like today. It means I am receiving an education, it means I am surrounded by people (some, if not most of which I like a lot). It means I am alive.
This day one year ago I was sitting in my apartment in Florence, Italy writing a memorial blog post. I was still in awe of how much I loved Florence and my roommates immediately. I was overwhelmed by appreciation for how fortunate I was. I still am.
This day eleven years ago I sat on my mother’s bed as an eight year old girl all alone and terrified as I watched the images on the TV screen of buildings collapsing into rubble and people crying out in agony. This day eleven years ago was a tragedy, for those living in New York, London, China, and Trinidad alike. It was a tragedy for the world. The entire world remembers exactly what they were doing on this day eleven years ago; it’s something no one will ever forget.
Today I sent a text message to everyone I love reminding them how much I appreciate them not just today, but everyday.
Today I saw a table full of soldiers having lunch. I hesitated, but I stopped and thanked them. I told them I am proud of them, today especially, and they told me never to forget.
Never forget.
This day one year ago I was sitting in my apartment in Florence, Italy writing a memorial blog post. I was still in awe of how much I loved Florence and my roommates immediately. I was overwhelmed by appreciation for how fortunate I was. I still am.
This day eleven years ago I sat on my mother’s bed as an eight year old girl all alone and terrified as I watched the images on the TV screen of buildings collapsing into rubble and people crying out in agony. This day eleven years ago was a tragedy, for those living in New York, London, China, and Trinidad alike. It was a tragedy for the world. The entire world remembers exactly what they were doing on this day eleven years ago; it’s something no one will ever forget.
Today I sent a text message to everyone I love reminding them how much I appreciate them not just today, but everyday.
Today I saw a table full of soldiers having lunch. I hesitated, but I stopped and thanked them. I told them I am proud of them, today especially, and they told me never to forget.
Never forget.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Thoughts from Places: College
It is a strange sensation to feel so old, yet so childish.
I am aware that I am one year the senior of the vast majority of my fellow freshmen, yet I find myself equally nervous, equally excited, equally flustered in these our first weeks of the first year of college.
I felt like my five-year-old self again waving goodbye to my father on my first day of school when a matter of days ago I waved goodbye to him outside of my dorm as he left to return home.
I felt older than everyone in the room when I attended my first college party and every other person was a freshman already drunk off life from the excitement of the freedom they have not until this point in their lives experienced.
I felt like a youngster braving my first sleepover (which was no easy feat for me) when I slept in my dorm room for the first time.
I felt old when I had to explain to everyone in my classes that yes, I am a freshman but no, I am not straight out of high school.
I felt like a happy pre-teen with her first cell phone happily texting all my friends when I got my first American phone, yet I felt peculiarly like a responsible adult when I got my first phone bill and proceeded to pay it on my own, sans parental help.
I already have a pile of schoolbooks towering over me as I write, threatening to topple over at any time. I already have homework as of yet unfinished though I have only had half a week of classes.
I have already suffered through and survived my first frozen dinner because I am already tired of the cafeteria food though I have only been eating here for two weeks.
I have already done laundry.
I do not yet have a regular routine of sleep, work and play. I am not yet overwhelmed or over worked, though I know it is all to come.
I enjoy these 'already’s' and 'not yet’s'. I enjoy the unfolding of this college experience, because I could either be scared and unhappy or I can embrace it and know that every other person here feels the same way I do.
College so far is a conflict between my mature self, braving this responsible new life alone and my childish self, still easily excited by and happy because of everything around me. I hope that does not change. I hope college life continues to excite and terrify me at times. I hope I ride the highs and brave the challenges and learn from it all. I hope I come away from this semester and this year ready for more, because I have found in life more always comes! And more often than not, it is for the best.
I am aware that I am one year the senior of the vast majority of my fellow freshmen, yet I find myself equally nervous, equally excited, equally flustered in these our first weeks of the first year of college.
I felt like my five-year-old self again waving goodbye to my father on my first day of school when a matter of days ago I waved goodbye to him outside of my dorm as he left to return home.
I felt older than everyone in the room when I attended my first college party and every other person was a freshman already drunk off life from the excitement of the freedom they have not until this point in their lives experienced.
I felt like a youngster braving my first sleepover (which was no easy feat for me) when I slept in my dorm room for the first time.
I felt old when I had to explain to everyone in my classes that yes, I am a freshman but no, I am not straight out of high school.
I felt like a happy pre-teen with her first cell phone happily texting all my friends when I got my first American phone, yet I felt peculiarly like a responsible adult when I got my first phone bill and proceeded to pay it on my own, sans parental help.
I already have a pile of schoolbooks towering over me as I write, threatening to topple over at any time. I already have homework as of yet unfinished though I have only had half a week of classes.
I have already suffered through and survived my first frozen dinner because I am already tired of the cafeteria food though I have only been eating here for two weeks.
I have already done laundry.
I do not yet have a regular routine of sleep, work and play. I am not yet overwhelmed or over worked, though I know it is all to come.
I enjoy these 'already’s' and 'not yet’s'. I enjoy the unfolding of this college experience, because I could either be scared and unhappy or I can embrace it and know that every other person here feels the same way I do.
College so far is a conflict between my mature self, braving this responsible new life alone and my childish self, still easily excited by and happy because of everything around me. I hope that does not change. I hope college life continues to excite and terrify me at times. I hope I ride the highs and brave the challenges and learn from it all. I hope I come away from this semester and this year ready for more, because I have found in life more always comes! And more often than not, it is for the best.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Thoughts from Places: A Return
It is a curious experience to return to a place you know well that feels as though it no longer knows you. Having been away from home for over a year, and being so changed and happy from my time away this is a bittersweet return.
It is as if my house from the time I was five years old now feels more like a museum than a home. I walk the halls recalling memories that no longer feel like my own, seeing belongings that have now become relics.
It’s the seeing people that you knew for so long and recognising faces that are attached to stories the way they are attached to their bodies. When these faces recognise you, but no longer know you. You do not share a life anymore, but lead different lives in different places connected only by this place, a weak cable binding you together.
It is the driving the streets you always knew, now under a new traffic plan and getting lost in a place you know like the back of your hand.
It’s eating local food you love from a restaurant you had never been to and feeling nostalgic for things you are experiencing in that moment. It is a strange sensation to feel homesick while you are home because you were lucky enough to find a new home in your time away.
There is something peculiar about falling back into old routines as a new person.
Above all it is the seeing friends so dear to you that is seems as if no time has passed and the year apart was just a dream that never happened, but all the while knowing that you are better because of that year and not willing to let it go. It’s the overlap of new memories precariously perched on top of old memories, and making new memories with old friends.
Then, all of a sudden, it takes you by surprise. It’s realizing that high school is over and everything that upset you about this place in the past is behind you. It’s realising that happiness is not limited to one place but follows you wherever you allow it. It’s finding new friends in old acquaintances and enjoying yourself more in the two-week return than in the four years you lived there. It’s the reluctance to leave after you had been so reluctant to return in the first place.
At the end of the day it’s the smallest things that stick out. Not my high school graduation or my first relationship, not learning to drive or overcoming the struggles that seemed so great at the time but now are so insignificant. It’s the jokes I found so funny I laughed until I cried, it’s the mundane tasks I had to complete, it’s the simple times that were happy times. And it’s the new memories made.
At the end of the day it’s the people that make me happy, the people that I cherish, the people I will always remember.
It is as if my house from the time I was five years old now feels more like a museum than a home. I walk the halls recalling memories that no longer feel like my own, seeing belongings that have now become relics.
It’s the seeing people that you knew for so long and recognising faces that are attached to stories the way they are attached to their bodies. When these faces recognise you, but no longer know you. You do not share a life anymore, but lead different lives in different places connected only by this place, a weak cable binding you together.
It is the driving the streets you always knew, now under a new traffic plan and getting lost in a place you know like the back of your hand.
It’s eating local food you love from a restaurant you had never been to and feeling nostalgic for things you are experiencing in that moment. It is a strange sensation to feel homesick while you are home because you were lucky enough to find a new home in your time away.
There is something peculiar about falling back into old routines as a new person.
Above all it is the seeing friends so dear to you that is seems as if no time has passed and the year apart was just a dream that never happened, but all the while knowing that you are better because of that year and not willing to let it go. It’s the overlap of new memories precariously perched on top of old memories, and making new memories with old friends.
Then, all of a sudden, it takes you by surprise. It’s realizing that high school is over and everything that upset you about this place in the past is behind you. It’s realising that happiness is not limited to one place but follows you wherever you allow it. It’s finding new friends in old acquaintances and enjoying yourself more in the two-week return than in the four years you lived there. It’s the reluctance to leave after you had been so reluctant to return in the first place.
At the end of the day it’s the smallest things that stick out. Not my high school graduation or my first relationship, not learning to drive or overcoming the struggles that seemed so great at the time but now are so insignificant. It’s the jokes I found so funny I laughed until I cried, it’s the mundane tasks I had to complete, it’s the simple times that were happy times. And it’s the new memories made.
At the end of the day it’s the people that make me happy, the people that I cherish, the people I will always remember.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Flying
There is something soothing about flying.
Once the stress of juggling your bags and clearing security pass and the plane takes off there’s something very soothing about it. I love sitting by the window and watching the world pass me by below, all my sadness and my fears miles below me anchored to the earth I am soaring above.
Once the baby a couple aisles away stops crying and the air hostesses stop all their fussing I feel perfectly at ease. Just sad enough from the goodbyes I have just wiped my eyes from and just weary enough of whatever new experience may be waiting for me once I land.
But between take off and landing there is something so soothing about flying. When the plane enters a cloud and the world around you disappears into the white fluffy essence of childhood dreams.
Yes, I find there is something quite soothing about flying.
Once the stress of juggling your bags and clearing security pass and the plane takes off there’s something very soothing about it. I love sitting by the window and watching the world pass me by below, all my sadness and my fears miles below me anchored to the earth I am soaring above.
Once the baby a couple aisles away stops crying and the air hostesses stop all their fussing I feel perfectly at ease. Just sad enough from the goodbyes I have just wiped my eyes from and just weary enough of whatever new experience may be waiting for me once I land.
But between take off and landing there is something so soothing about flying. When the plane enters a cloud and the world around you disappears into the white fluffy essence of childhood dreams.
Yes, I find there is something quite soothing about flying.
Monday, August 13, 2012
The Island of Aphrodite
Cyprus is sometimes known as the island of Aphrodite. According to legend Aphrodite was born from the sea foam off the coast of Paphos in the south of Cyprus. I knew this legend long before I ever stepped foot on the island; I knew that Cyprus is the ‘island of love’. But I never expected to come to Cyprus and fall in love.
I love the island. I love the mountains, a cool and green escape in the dry heat of summer. I love the beaches, some nicer than even those on the Caribbean island I am from. I love the landscape, dry and bare in most parts, yet very beautiful in its minimalism.
I love the nightlife. From the repetitive club I frequented in Nicosia to the dangerously exciting nights in Ayia Napa: party capital of Cyprus.
I love the cultures. I love the history. From the time of the Venetian rule to current events still being disputed today. I love learning about Cyprus because I love Cyprus.
I love my mother’s apartment; so eclectically decorated and welcoming that it felt like home from the first night I spent there. I love my mother’s new apartment a stone’s throw away from the one I already call home, but bigger and full of promise.
Above all, I love my friends.
People who I have known for two years, some for one year and some only for six months but all who seem like I have known them for my whole life. I have shared the most amazing year of my life with these people and I will never forget them.
I love the girl who will leave a party on New Years Eve to get headache tablets for my sister, and the girl I knew for 3 months before I went to stay with her in London, and the girl who would walk to my apartment at 4am because she can. I love the friend who introduced me to all my other friends, and the friend who turns up at my house with a guitar to jam in the middle of the night, and the friend that always takes a joke too far, and the friend who loves the Jetsons, and the boy that made it that much harder to say goodbye.
I didn’t expect to come to Cyprus and fall in love, but I fell in love with the island itself. I love the island of love like a home now.
Goodbye for now Cyprus, you will be missed.
I love the island. I love the mountains, a cool and green escape in the dry heat of summer. I love the beaches, some nicer than even those on the Caribbean island I am from. I love the landscape, dry and bare in most parts, yet very beautiful in its minimalism.
I love the nightlife. From the repetitive club I frequented in Nicosia to the dangerously exciting nights in Ayia Napa: party capital of Cyprus.
I love the cultures. I love the history. From the time of the Venetian rule to current events still being disputed today. I love learning about Cyprus because I love Cyprus.
I love my mother’s apartment; so eclectically decorated and welcoming that it felt like home from the first night I spent there. I love my mother’s new apartment a stone’s throw away from the one I already call home, but bigger and full of promise.
Above all, I love my friends.
People who I have known for two years, some for one year and some only for six months but all who seem like I have known them for my whole life. I have shared the most amazing year of my life with these people and I will never forget them.
I love the girl who will leave a party on New Years Eve to get headache tablets for my sister, and the girl I knew for 3 months before I went to stay with her in London, and the girl who would walk to my apartment at 4am because she can. I love the friend who introduced me to all my other friends, and the friend who turns up at my house with a guitar to jam in the middle of the night, and the friend that always takes a joke too far, and the friend who loves the Jetsons, and the boy that made it that much harder to say goodbye.
I didn’t expect to come to Cyprus and fall in love, but I fell in love with the island itself. I love the island of love like a home now.
Goodbye for now Cyprus, you will be missed.
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