Entry 1 - November 1, 2024
Nov. 1st, 2024 12:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
islandchildRe-entering digital journaling after 15+ years...
A few days to mark a year since I decided to put my faith in the universe and move back to the island. Tired of America, the cold, my sister, the nihilism, and haunted by memories of these different people I had to become, over and over, just to survive here.
Lately I've been reflecting on this circular journey. My life was in many ways unconventional from the moment I was born. My father is American, my mother St. Lucian. I was an accident baby. Not planned, not expected, I just showed up and nobody knows how. Maybe my little baby-soul was curious to see Earth.
Looking back, it seems everything that's happened to me wasn't by my own design, but by accidental forces that randomly directed my destiny. My conception. Going to America. The kindness of strangers leading me across the country and the world. Random coincidence; sudden opportunity-- those shaped me into the woman I am. Is it luck? Don't know. I do feel very lucky. But never in control of anything.
Coming home has definitely been an adjustment. Hey, it's the third world. Things happen, shit breaks, nothing arrives on time. People are poor, angry, hot, mosquito-bitten and aimless.
The slave society that founded this country on the bones of indigenous people has cleverly adapted to the modern age. Ignorance keeps the class hierarchy alive and well here. We will never be free of it unless an age of enlightenment comes to this island. And all things come slowly, to small islands. Washing up on the shores. No sudden bolt of lightning will change this place. And nothing lasts-- nothing.
But we persist, because that's what islanders do no matter where we are.
One word:
Survive.
A few days to mark a year since I decided to put my faith in the universe and move back to the island. Tired of America, the cold, my sister, the nihilism, and haunted by memories of these different people I had to become, over and over, just to survive here.
Lately I've been reflecting on this circular journey. My life was in many ways unconventional from the moment I was born. My father is American, my mother St. Lucian. I was an accident baby. Not planned, not expected, I just showed up and nobody knows how. Maybe my little baby-soul was curious to see Earth.
Looking back, it seems everything that's happened to me wasn't by my own design, but by accidental forces that randomly directed my destiny. My conception. Going to America. The kindness of strangers leading me across the country and the world. Random coincidence; sudden opportunity-- those shaped me into the woman I am. Is it luck? Don't know. I do feel very lucky. But never in control of anything.
Coming home has definitely been an adjustment. Hey, it's the third world. Things happen, shit breaks, nothing arrives on time. People are poor, angry, hot, mosquito-bitten and aimless.
The slave society that founded this country on the bones of indigenous people has cleverly adapted to the modern age. Ignorance keeps the class hierarchy alive and well here. We will never be free of it unless an age of enlightenment comes to this island. And all things come slowly, to small islands. Washing up on the shores. No sudden bolt of lightning will change this place. And nothing lasts-- nothing.
But we persist, because that's what islanders do no matter where we are.
One word:
Survive.
