Beneath The Surface

I’ve always found images depicting a cross section of the skin fascinating. I’m not a science whiz or anyone close to that actually – I’m a communications person – but, from the first time I saw a cross section of the skin I was enthralled. To me, my skin was always just this caramel, acne forming aspect of my body that I took care to moisturize regularly and was careful not be too harsh with because it’s sensitive. My skin is one aspect of me that ties me to my ancestors and the struggles faced by blacks the world over. I’ve learned to love it. Yes, learned to. There was a time when I would have traded it because I was ashamed of it and what it represented, I hated that some of the struggles I faced were based solely on the premise that I was born black. And I didn’t want those battles. So yes, I’ve had to learn to love my black skin and the strength, beauty, passion and power that comes with it.

There’s no struggle now though, where the colour of my skin is concerned. I mean, it irks me that  I’m plagued by acne whenever I’m stressed but the little suckers have grown on me and I’ve accepted them as a part of who I am. Don’t get me wrong, I am treating the marks left behind because I don’t want permanent skin damage as a result of acne but I don’t feel the need to hide nor apologise for the existence of little bumps on my skin. So yes, I’ve learned to love the skin that I’m in. I’ve digressed quite a bit from the point I wanted to make though so let me revert to my initial train of thought.

The cross section of the skin fascinates me because it appropriately highlights how beneath the surface of what we think we know are so many other layers. The skin is so thin and fragile at times it’s baffling that such a thin layer has other layers to it. I find it intriguing how it’s affected by our lifestyle as well; the things we eat and drink, the hygiene products we use, where we live, our sleep patterns, you name it and it probably affects our skin. And of course, it makes me think of me. How many layers of myself are there that I’m yet to discover? Am I truly aware of how my choices and my relationships affect the core of who I am?

I’m an insomniac and an overthinker: of course one lends itself to the other but what that means is I’ve had many nights to think about things and for a long time I spent those nights thinking about my life, assessing who I am and my place in the world. I would replay situations, scenarios and conversations and evaluate my response to them and dissect them so I could gain a clearer understanding of who I am and how I respond to various stimuli. I map my thoughts and actions back to Christianity and Christ most times because that’s the core from which I operate and I adjust my behaviour as I see fit. Suffice to say I know myself very well, my EQ is above average but I still find that I don’t know everything there is to know about me and that bothers me. I want to understand myself completely but I worry that if I take a closer look at the layers beneath the surface I won’t be pleased with what I find. I don’t know that I’ll be as fascinated with the layers to be unearthed as I’m fascinated with a cross section of the skin.

I’ve read many articles that say, as you grow you learn more about yourself. And as cliche as that sounds it’s true. The more I grow, the more I mature, the more I learn and the more I interact with people is the more I see things within me I didn’t realise was there. Whether they were always there or are new emergents I can’t say. What I can say, however, is it’s interesting to see and evaluate the new things that pop up every now and again. There’s always a new piece to add to the puzzle and figuring out where it goes and how well it works with everything already down on the table can be intriguing. We’re all just a bunch of layers and sometimes we don’t realize just how many layers are beneath the surface but I think they’re worth finding out about.

I think we’re all just a bunch of layers and sometimes we don’t realize just how many layers are beneath the surface but I’m sure they’re worth finding out about. People should know what they’re made of, we should understand ourselves as completely as possible. We should take the time to dissect each layer, understand how they work in tandem to others and how outside forces affect them ie. work, school, people.

What may seem like a complex mix beneath our surface may very well be what we need to become all that we’re destined to be. With all of that being said, I’m very much aware that this will be easier said and done but I think I’m ready to devote some time to peeling back some layers and truly understanding what I’m made of.

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The Most Beautiful Place on Earth (for now)

This weekend I visited the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen in my life; Blue Lagoon in Portland Jamaica. Before this the most beautiful place I’d seen was a snow covered village at the base of Mt Olympus in Greece. It was the first time I saw snow, and looking out from the mountain top I stared at the gorgeous blankets of white atop houses and my heart was giddy with joy. In that moment, even though it was -15 degrees and my Caribbean bones were not accustomed to the cold, I was happy and that image was moved to the top of my list of beautiful places I’ve ever seen. Since then I’ve seen other amazing sights: canals at sunset in the Hague, old Chapels in the middle of Boston, the sun perched high above the ocean from a mountain in St. Vincent, Eisner Steg bridge with locks of love in Frankfurt Germany, and still Mt Olympus was the place I visited most frequently when reminiscing on places I’d love to be.

That changed this weekend though. What was supposed to be a quick stop to take some pictures turned into the most satisfying part of a roadtrip on Saturday. I tend to go against the grain with preparing to visit places. Unlike the average person I don’t google the places beforehand but I wait to see it in person. My eyes nor my heart was prepared for all that is Blue Lagoon. To be honest I’ve seen my friends pictures when they visited but I never saw professional shots of the treasure that is Blue Lagoon. Even though I saw my friends pictures they  never did justice to the immense beaty that captivates your soul once you lay eyes upon the blue green mass of water.

To get to the Lagoon we drove down a narrow road and came to a dead end with little shacks selling hand-made crafts and clothes. As the vehicle slowed to the end a couple men approached the car and enquired whether we were interested in a boat ride. Quick digression, I keep saying we becasue I went with three other persons on the trip – my friend Kim, our classmate Sheldon, and his friend Javielle. Now where was I? Oh right! So we decline the boat rides because this really was a quick stop on our way to Boston beach, which was about half an hour away. I was the first one out of the vehicle and when I walked out onto the jetty I screamed. Literally screamed and repeatedly said “oh my God” while beaming at Sheldon who was so kind to invite us on this trip and suggest we make the stop. I should mention that Sheldon is now one of my most favourite persons in the world (yeah he moved wayyyyyy up the list this weekend). As I looked out I saw a small area of sand across the lagoon and there were three beach chairs on it. I could see fishes in the water close to me and when I could contain myself no longer, I stripped off my shorts and dived in. As I got deeper I felt two distinct temperatures on my skin, one ice cold an the other extremely warm and it was then I learned that Blue Lagoon is comprised of both fresh and salt water, as a river and the ocean converge there.

I cannot find the words to adequately express all that my heart feels in this moment as I try to recall every emotion I felt at Blue Lagoon. The highlight of that trip was swiming out to the centre of the lagoon while holding on to Sheldon’s shoulder (I panic if I’m alone in the water so he had to take me out). Being in the middle of something so exceptionally gorgeous felt liberating; in that moment I had no worries, no stress, nothing seemed important or urgent, and I was happy.

Blue Lagoon in Portland Jamaica is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen in my life and my heart will visit it many times in the future. That space made my soul come alive and my heart remember that it was made for more than pain. Everybody should see Blue Lagoon. Everybody! I hope Saturday reminds me that it’s not enough to exist in this world but I must take time out to live.

What do you call this?

My thoughts are scattered today so if my writing lacks cohesion and that irks you or causes dissonance of any kind feel free to step out of mind for now and return at a later date when I’d be more inclined to follow the rules of good writing and storytelling.

I’m a sceptic. I doubt things and people. I don’t believe anything is ever what it seems and I look at what isn’t being shown and listen to what isn’t being said. Scepticism has kept me sharp and protected me many times but there are days when I wonder what it feels like to embody an easy-going, naive existence. Today I’m thinking of death and deceit and celebrations I’d like to have but can’t because my resources are limited on this island. I’m conscious of my emotions and my capacity to wreak havoc with my words if should let them loose on those who are naive to my potential. Today I wish I wasn’t an emotional intellect. I want to be naive and do as I please with the protection of “I didn’t know that’s how you’d feel” to cushion the blow of any backlash my words would cause. But I don’t have that luxury. I’m too aware of myself and others to live such a reckless life.

Tomorrow will be the one-year anniversary of my brother’s death. Weeks ago I started writing a tribute to him but I can’t seem to finish it. I’m so angry with him for leaving us without warning. I hate that he fell in love and sacrificed his life for the woman he loved.  I wish she had died instead. I know that’s not what I’m supposed to feel. By society’s standards I should celebrate my brother’s heroic act and feel proud of him but I don’t feel that way. I hate that he drowned saving that girl’s life and I hate that his death corrupted the place where I’m most at peace. I hate that I don’t have closure because I couldn’t bear to see them pull his lifeless body out of the water so I didn’t go to see it, and now every time I go into the ocean I expect his body to bump into me as though he was never pulled out and never buried. I’m angry, bitter and sad. I want to scream at him and hit him so hard! I want to tell him how stupid he was to go into that water. I want to ask him if he thinks it’s fair that he broke his mother’s heart the way he did. I want to be the big sister that sets him straight and stops his foolishness but I can do none of these things nor be that big sister to him anymore because he left me. He loved a woman and chose to give his life for hers and didn’t care that he was shredding my heart to pieces in the process.

Today I’m tired and tomorrow will be worse. Wednesday, there’s a hope that Wednesday will be a better day (fingers crossed).

Beautiful Failure

Bullshit! I think it’s utter bullshit to romanticise failure; to paint it in some beautiful, nostalgic light which radiates hope in moments of disappointment and despair. And yes, I know there are hundreds of thousands of speeches and quotes and memes that tell us how great it is to embrace failure and I’m sure these concepts were coined by some ver brilliant minds, but I just can’t buy the whole “failure is beautiful” argument. I think if we were honest, truly honest with ourselves, we’d admit that failure is a stench we’d be happy to let our nose live without.

Have I failed at anything before? Yes. Have I learnt from my failures? Yes. Have some of my failures made me stronger? Oh, definitely. After answering yes to the last three questions do I think failure is beautiful? Absolutely not!, Hell no! NO NO NO NO NO!!!

I can admit that my response to my failures has produced beautiful results but failure in and of itself was never beautiful. Failure is dark and dismal, it has the potential to place you at the bottom of a pit and force you to find ways out or die. Failure is having your foot stuck in a bear trap with a pack of wolves quickly approaching and you feeling every thump of your heart in your chest while willing your lungs to intake air so you don’t faint from a lack of oxygen and succumb to what may very well be imminent death. Failure crushes you, even if only momentarily, and forces you into survival mode. So yeah, the results of bouncing back after you’ve failed, you being an overcomer and not allowing failure to define and determine your destiny, is beautiful, but failure, in an of itself, is ugly.

If I were to have my way I’d never fail, at anything. I’d be successful at every single thing I become a part of and I’d do a lot of great things because my successes would motivate me to do more and take on greater tasks than I did before. I know what you’re thinking:

“Akeela your failures can have that same effect if you let it. Once you’ve overcome failures you’ll know you have the power to overcome obstacles and that can motivate you to do better!”

True. Very true actually, but trying again after I’ve failed means focusing time and energy on accomplishing something I could have already accomplished if I hadn’t failed in the first place. And I’d never choose to continuously work on perfecting one thing instead of being able to focus that same time and energy on accomplishing something else, something greater even.

Am I saying it’s all doom and gloom after we’ve failed and we should never pick up the pieces and try again? Oh gosh no! I believe quite the opposite. I think when we fail, and our butts hit rock bottom, and we look around and only see darkness, and we feel hopeless, we should centre ourselves and try again. I think we should flip failure the bird and really kick ass at what we’ve set our hearts on doing. We should learn the lessons that failure teach, we should allow our journey to help develop our characters, but with all things being equal, we should acknowledge that failure is what it is, an ugly part of our human experience that we’d be better off without.

I’ve failed, I’ve tried again and I’ve failed again a thousand times over. I’ve failed, I’ve tried again and I’ve overcome a thousand times more. Failure has brought me both laughter and tears. Because of it, I’ve grown and evolved. I appreciate the potential for greatness after failure but I cannot, and I will not ever, regard failure as beautiful.

Vegan Vibrations

Can I tell you that I have no idea what the title of this post is really saying? I’ve learned that the best way to attract people to your online content is to give posts a catchy title and that’s where “Vegan Vibrations” came from. Don’t worry you’re not about to read a post that has absolutely nothing to do with veganism; quite contrary, I’ve recently become a vegan – more out of necessity than anything else – and I want to tell you about my journey so far.

First thing first, I hate this new diet! I am a food lover and a meat lover. I love eating meat, I love seasoning meat, I love cooking meat: I love meat! (almost as much as I love coffee).  But I love life more; I’m currently high risk for breast cancer (my mom has it and I’m currently waiting on test results for my diagnosis), and so it’s imperative that I change my diet. The funny thing is my diet wasn’t particularly bad before: Most of my meals were home-cooked, I hardly ate fried food, I ate a lot of vegetables and of course I exercised. Just goes to show that even when you think you’re doing enough there’s always something more that can be done.

So now I’m vegan and it’s tough. I should add some balance by saying it’s also a bit fun because I absolutely love cooking and trying new dishes so I’m enjoying that aspect of the journey. What I don’t like though, is the limited options I have when I go out to dinner with my friends. It’s so tedious having to settle for salads because there’s nothing else on the menu that caters to my diet. And yes, I could look for vegan restaurants but my options for that are limited and I’m a student on a budget in a foreign country.

On the bright side, I’m an optimist. So although I hate this change right now I’m anticipating that it will get better. I’m currently trying to find my niche – my go-to foods that I can make at any time – while trying to figure out which textures and flavours work well with each other. Hopefully, in a couple months my feelings of resentment will subside and I’ll be the all natural, vegan woman you can turn to for some great meal tips.

If you know of any great vegan recipe sites or if you have tips on how I can remain steadfast on my journey I’d love to hear them. Until then, it’s back to experimenting and adjusting through trial and error!

 

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One of my first vegan meals: Baby Spinach, Garlic Herbed Potatoes and Fresh Salad

 

Gracious Goodbyes

I don’t convince people to remain in my life. I don’t try to convince them to stay when they decide it’s time to walk away and I never turn leaving into a long drawn out emotional process. I simply accept that their season in my life is over and I let them leave. I know my position may sound cold and maybe even unrealistic, but my life experiences have brought me to this place and I’ve embraced it.

This wasn’t always my stance. Once upon a time I wanted people to like me, to genuinely like me and see me for the wonderful person, I think I am. So, I would work hard not to offend anyone and if someone pointed out a flaw in my character I immediately got to working on it so I’d be the type of person they could like. The problem with that though is how tedious it was. I could never catch a break because every time I “fixed” something or changed something, someone would point out something new that they didn’t like and I’d have to fix that too. God forbid somebody tried to leave me in the midst of “becoming a better person”, I would be devastated and depressed. That all changed a few years ago.

I had a friend that I loved dearly. She and I were friends for 17 years and we did everything together. I thought it was a perfect friendship; a space where I could be me and not worry about being judged or misinterpreted. I shared my joys, my sorrows, my shame, everything with this person. I let my guard down completely and I figured this would have been my best friend forever! Imagine my surprise and pain when one day I got an email from *Sandy highlighting everything she thought was wrong with me over the past 17 years and her analysis of how terrible a person she thought I was. I literally broke down. I was shattered and I believed every word she’d written because she was the person I thought knew me best. Words can’t explain the devastation and guilt I felt after reading that email. At that point, I decided it would be best if I let Sandy walk away because I was no good for her and she would be better off without such a terrible person in her life (me).

In devastation, I sprinted in God’s direction and I prayed, and prayed, and prayed to God for forgiveness for my wrong ways. I got up every morning and asked God to heal my friend’s heart before attending to mine because I genuinely believed I was wrong and that I’d been a terrible friend.  That continued for a while and it wasn’t until about 2 weeks later that God responded and showed me who HE thought I was. He reminded me of my growth and my heart for others and my intention behind my actions. It was only then that I realised that people will always have an opinion of me but that doesn’t mean they’re right. People will always want to leave for one reason or another but other people will come and life will go on.

That’s why I don’t fight to keep people around and I don’t force friendships or relationships to work. When the time is up I accept it, I embrace it and I allow life to continue harmoniously. Goodbyes are a necessary part of life and I embrace them. I allow them to happen and I respond graciously because I’ve accepted that some people are a part of my life for a season and when that season is over I can accept it and say a gracious goodbye or I could prolong it and risk the relationship turning into a toxic, bitter space riddled with resentment and regret. For me, I’ll always say a gracoious goodbye and leave room for the possibility of rekindling what we’ve let go of if we so choose later on in life.

Stop Licking The Cup!!!

 

 

 

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Me at Gatwick Airport, London; awaiting my flight to Thailand (2014)

I’m an avid coffee drinker. Okay, that’s a lie, I used to be an avid coffee drinker but I’ve been drinking less coffee recently (it’s no longer the first beverage I have on a morning) but I still enjoy a good cup of coffee during the day. In the past I’d have a minimum of 5 cups of this luscious drink a day with 3 of them being before 10 am, but now I’m down to one or two cups on a bad day.

 

My love of coffee transcends into my love of coffee shops. I make a point to visit cafés and coffee shops whenever I travel, much like persons who collect t-shirts or shot glasses on their adventures. For my trip to be considered successful and to say that I’ve had coffee in a particular country there is one criteria which must be met: I must have sat down and drank the coffee in the place where it was bought. Of course sitting down to coffee usually means it’s served in a beautiful ceramic cup, served by (hopefully) a perky but not too chatty person and ideally I’d get to sit close to a window where I can people-watch and savor the flavor of the hot liquid running down my chest.

Today, unfortunately, this desire has been challenged.

I visited Café Blue – a coffee shop chain in Jamaica – and I sat sipping a latte and studying for my final exam next week. Luckily I got a seat near the window on a high chair and there weren’t too many people at the shop to distract me. As I sipped my latte and tried to make sense of the information I was consuming I looked up and to horror I watched a lady lick the outside of her cup each time she took a sip! What the hell? Why would she do that? Why did I have to see?

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Wandered into a coffee shop in Frankfurt Germany for my birthday (2016)

I immediately started side-eyeing my own coffee cup wondering how many persons licked it before it got to me.

I know you’re probably scolding me inwardly for behaving like a germaphobe and some of you are pointing out the obvious – they wash the cups before serving other guests in them – but I couldn’t help it.

The thought of drinking from a cup that’s been licked by a stranger disturbs me. I honestly wish I never saw it because now I’ll probably only be comfortable drinking from “to-go” cups or I’ll become the weird lady at coffee shops who sanitizes the exterior of her coffee cup before consuming her begerage. This strange woman has caused me to revaluate what was a perfect relationship between me, coffee and coffee shops.

In trying to understand why someone would lick a cup in a public place I’ve concluded that maybe it’s as a result of force of habit or maybe she was so engrossed in her conversation with her companion that she did it absent-mindedly. All the same, I’d like to make a plea to public-cup-users every where; please, for the love of all things sacred, do not lick your cups!

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Coffee I had at a café in the Netherlands while working on position papers (2017)