Island Soul City Dreams

I love New York, but my heart has a Caribbean beat. It pulsates to the traditions of my people. Attuned to the rhythms of this City, I stay West Indian to the bone. I reflect. I analyze. I speak my mind. ~ I Keep it Irie ~

Archive for the month “September, 2012”

Her Death Taught Me To Live

“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.” ― Rose Kennedy

This past April, I wrote the hardest piece I have ever had to write. It was my Uncle Moses’ eulogy. Moses was my favorite uncle and one of the dearest people to my heart. He succumbed to cancer of the liver at age 51, less than a month before his birthday. But his was not the first eulogy I wrote, nor was he the first loved one I lost. I have lost too many loved ones to count. Death is never an easy thing to handle, especially for someone as sentimental as me and as a person who loves HARD.

From my early 20’s to now, I have lost several loved ones ranging ages 16 to 72 (my grandfather included) to various types of cancer. When I was 26, I bade farewell to a close friend from childhood, Lemuel – the first person to teach me tolerance and an unconditional love for anyone regardless of their sexual orientation – to AIDS. A couple of years later, my beloved 14-year-old cousin Alex died of a heart attack – two weeks before Christmas. Yes, I have had many moments of donning black dresses, signing books of condolences and being in a funeral march. But the one that haunts me most is when I lost my best friend. At the time, we were giddy teenagers high on life.  She was three months my senior and to this day, I have not met another person with whom I’ve shared more in common. Read more…

City of Blinding Lights

I spend a considerable amount of time by myself. In fact, I do most things by myself. Whether it’s going for a run or reading and doing New York Times’ crosswords in the park, working out at the gym, going to the museum, or staying at home watching Netflix, and cooking big Sunday dinners after church, I do it alone. For the most, this is not by choice, but it’s often very therapeutic. It has allowed me to really grow to know myself, to be introspective, reflective, to find holistic ways to entertain myself, to be focused. Above all, it has taught me to find my own happiness, how to be happy with, by and about myself. Read more…

Even If It Hurts, Give It To Me

As a child, I was a most voracious reader. I grew up in an era where Enid Blyton fairy tales and Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys mysteries were the rave among my peers. I often found escape in the fascinating world of make-belief created by Blyton, where with the wave of a magic wand, life was made perfect. In the aforementioned mysteries, my curiosity was stimulated along the passage with the young sleuths. I would always piece together clues to try to figure out, “whodunit” before the plot was fully revealed. But the stories that captivated me most were non-fiction. I had a special love for history and committing to memory key facts, figures, dates, events and people who shaped the world in which I was growing up. Read more…

Feels Like I’m Home Again

“Raga Beenie children fall in line.” – Anthony “Rebel” Bailey

I officially retired from the party scene in 2006 – after almost 20 years of partying and more than a decade of covering entertainment as a reporter. Considering my now ripe old mid 30’s age, some might say that I retired young. Those who knew me in my prime party days growing up in Barbados knew that I was in the dub (Reggae/Dancehall party) from as early as 14 years and in the Calypso tents and nightclubs from a couple years after. My “Uncle Mac” – Mac Fingall, one of the Caribbean’s top emcees, introduced me to the calypso tents and for many years took me to countless performances during our annual carnival known as Crop Over Festival. Even before then, I was already a fan of Calypso and its “offspring” Soca  music. Read more…

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I love New York, but my heart has a Caribbean beat. It pulsates to the traditions of my people. Attuned to the rhythms of this City, I stay West Indian to the bone. I reflect. I analyze. I speak my mind. ~ I Keep it Irie ~

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I love New York, but my heart has a Caribbean beat. It pulsates to the traditions of my people. Attuned to the rhythms of this City, I stay West Indian to the bone. I reflect. I analyze. I speak my mind. ~ I Keep it Irie ~