I consider myself to be a true child of the islands. No matter where I go in this world, my roots will forever and nostalgically be planted in the warm soils of the Caribbean. If I’m being honest, however, the decisions that I have made about the kind of life that I now live are seemingly at odds (according to some) with my Caribbean upbringing.
Whether it’s a house lime or work party, there are some cardinal sins to stay away from this season – either to save yuh from looking like the less appreciated relative of reindeers (an ass), or being automatically uninvited from future limes.
Friends also provide random company on any given evening to come and eat the groceries you just bought. It is a well-oiled machine when the relationship is intact, but when the breakup comes, what happens to the friends? Do they get split up? Who gets to keep who?
Sometimes I dream of installing a Mactruck’s horn in my hatchback, so that I could scare the living daylights out of discourteous and dangerous drivers (and de people who take dey time to cross de lights by City Gate). I also dream about ramming into them (de drivers, that is) just fuh spite. But on the roads, reality rules.