Soulless Elf
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Registered: 11-2003
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Island In A Hole.
Jamaica. The word brings me a mixture of feelings; an indescribable pride, a gnawing missing... and shame. Shame that I forget my little, violent, sunny homeland until it is brought up again. I pride myself on my accent. Yet, when I return, the lilting accents, the colourful patois, the interesting combination of words, make we wince.
Listening to lectures about Port Royal, buccaneers and pirates puts me to sleep, makes me wonder why my country is so dull. Gaw, I wish she’d shut UP. No one gives a crap about Port Royal.
Watching Pirates of the Caribbean, knowing it is set in Port Royal, my country, makes my heart swell, my eyes brighten, my attitude to become fierce. I’m from the Caribbean, you know. Jamaica, in fact… Yeah, I’ve been to Port Royal--
Why can’t they speak proper English? I find myself thinking scornfully. Eby is an annoyance, keeping me stranded in that HORRIBLE house… until I leave. Eby is then a sweetheart, my baby sister, my love, the thing that keeps me up at night.
I cannot remember how I spoke in Jamaica. The thought chills me to the bone. I have no reggae, I have no remixes. I have rock. I am becoming someone else.
I am open-minded. I am obligated to my music. I am not obligated to anyone.
I cannot remember how I used to speak. It brings tears to my eyes.
I am losing Jamaica. Yet, I do not want to live there. Or do I? Do I want to live with dad?
…. Don’t I? I love him to no end.
Have become too dependent on my mother? Yes. I do not trust my father enough… not financially, not emotionally… it brings a lump to my throat.
It is all ho-hum.
Until I leave. Until I leave that warm, sunny island with its warm, sunny people and come to a cold, strange place… I have no idea what I’m leaving behind. There, I scowl and roll my eyes at the “bad English” and behaviour of my fellow Jamaicans. There, I pride myself on being able to speak “properly”. Here, I scowl as I struggle to keep my accent and “bad behaviour”, my already weak drawl disappearing in a tangle of America, Canada, and even England. Here, I curse myself for not being able to sound more Caribbean. Here, I curse my mother for teaching and speaking “perfect English”. I have never learned patois properly. It shames me. It heartens me. It pains me.
Who am I? I am no one. I live nowhere. I want to go. I need to stay. No one understands me; I am stupid, weird, and annoying. No one understands me; I am unique, weird, and funny.
One is Jamaica.
One is Canada.
One is home.
Both are me.
*~*Jo*~*
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11/12/2003, 9:04 pm
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wanderingsoul
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Registered: 07-2003
Location: Wandering
Posts: 403
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Re: Island In A Hole.
Isn't it amazing how we are filled with contradictory feelings about some things that are close to us, part of us? You speak so eloquently about Jamaica--how it pains you, how it fills you with pride. And you speak of your sister--your love and your annoyance. It is easy to see you love them both. It is easy to see they both exasperate you.
Jo, your words make me feel what you feel, see what you see. You have a gift with words--something I noticed a long time ago in the chat room. But in the chat room, your words are filled with humor--ROFL type humor. They entertain, but hide the depth of your thoughts.
I am so glad you have come to my site. Glad to see you in the Therapy Room! I have always KNOWN that you needed therapy!  I'm glad you chose to seek it here--where your words and your experiences can enrich the rest of us.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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11/13/2003, 6:28 am
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