For my Best Friend

You know I miss you right?

It’s been four days, two hours and 30 minutes at this very moment that I’m writing, and after seeing you smile and hearing your voice on that video call, I can’t help but hurt a little and miss you some more knowing that it will be a while before we meet in person again.

In April 2015, we went on a trip to St. Lucia, CSME , you were goods and I was services, like two peas in a pod, together but separate in our own rights, we became friends. It was like fate, our rooms were at the end of the hallway on the third?? floor, right across from each other, and with you being the big scardy cat that you are, you couldn’t sleep alone so we rotated between whose room we slept in the entire week. We were friends before then, but that trip changed it for the two of us, I found in you someone who I could open up to, something rare as I tend to be closed off, a bit emotionally unavailable and “in my head”.

Since then we’ve fought, stopped talking to each other, and argued over some petty shit. I regret all the time I wasted being mad at you, those wasted days would’ve been days we made memories together and for that I am sorry. At times I am blunt, a little mean and I take the tough love approach to life and friendships, still on my birthday even though we were mad all through out September you threw me a party … I smile thinking about it now, because you are so beautiful not only in outward appearance but in soul like Lisha even when I  mad at you , you still down for me, never had a friend like that before. You’ve heard about my wins, loses, series of unfortunate events and you’ve seen me hurt.

Watching you leave was hard, but that look in your mom’s eyes when that plane took off let me know that you are destined for greatness, so don’t you dare forget the struggle and hardship you had to go through just to make it to your destination. You can literally say you drove with a dark cloud over your head , just waiting to rain on your parade, flew through stormy weather , and traveled through Walmart with a single strap, but hell yes you’re the sun that pushes through the clouds of grey to give new life to the world, you’re gonna be huge. Fuck the glow up, we blowing up, little dreaming black girl making waves.

So till we meet again EZT , let these words bear testament to my love for you, you are my best friend, forever and always.

So whenever you need me, “Find me where the wild things are.” Alessia Cara- Wild Things

 

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My Day with Mr. Gill

So I land in Barbados after an eight-hour flight from Gatwick, London after having been delayed in Copenhagen due to a snow storm, and so I had to run from Gatwick’s South to North Terminal at lightning speed so I wouldn’t miss my international flight. Oh and guess what the handle on my suitcase became dysfunctional, it wouldn’t lift, so I had to hold on to the pretty floral cloth that I used to identify my worn out, traveled out bag and lug it across the airport floor. Man, over the holidays in Denmark I put on like 10 lbs, I swear I lost 4 lbs that day. Anyway fast forward,  lol started from the bottom now we’re here, I heaved a sigh of relief as a made it to my gate, “British Airways 003183 , now boarding economy class, duh the only class I could possibly be sitting in at 19, so I got on board , didn’t get a window seat like I did with all my other flights, but ended up sitting next to a Grenadian  working in Barcelona on a cruise ship returning home for a visit, Sheldon Buckmire, man was he great company for the duration of the flight. It was rich meeting someone else from the “lesser” of the Antilles.

Anyway jet lagged, hungry and in need of some warm Caribbean sun, I arrived in Barbados (Rihanna Accent). Aunty Flora, a family friend picked me up, she put my stuff in the trunk and off we went to her humble abode in St. Michael’s Parish. It was there that I met her husband, he was a blind, bajan artist, wheelchair bound and tattooed with pigmentation from vitiligo. He had lived in London and had sold a number of his artworks to the government of Barbados. I tell you he was so rich in thought, in character in knowledge in belief and so we sat and talked for hours about art, poetry, music, culture, blackness. He had known racism, radicalism and had loved Nikki Giovanni, James Berry, Michael Anthony and Andrea Levy as much as I did. We only had a few hours, but he seemed to take a liking to me. He trusted me enough to take good care of copies of his artwork. He was so kind, the way he was reminded me of how I hoped to be in old age, firm, patient,very passionate, wanting to impart knowledge on youth, and sure of myself and the majority of the decisions I’ll have made.

So here goes, song of choice : Nina Simone – Ain’t Got No, I Got Life