A Trini woman's blog

A cognitive dilemma and a decision, or: Who I am and who I will be

2012-02-22T06:14:00.021-08:00

I’ve recently had a cognitive dilemma regarding the issue of self-definition. One of my past poor relationship decisions had been weighing on my mind quite a bit since the beginning of the year. The conventional wisdom - don't define yourself by your mistakes - was troubling me. Nobody ever says - don't define yourself by your successes, the implication seeming to be that it's okay to define yourself by success. So why doesn't it seem to be okay to define oneself by one's mistakes?

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Some months ago I was sitting in silence looking at the ocean. Thoughts of the ocean evoke feelings of both pleasure and unease in me. And I wrote down: I am a child of the universe, capable of being as beautiful as a sunset, and as destructive as a hurricane. Prior to sitting there, I’d been meditating on who I am, that is: without my social roles, my physical sensations, my thoughts and my feelings, who am I?

‘I am a child of the universe’ was the obvious answer … I suppose because The Desiderata is my mother’s favourite poem, so I grew up with those words in my mind. The corollary is that, as child of the universe, I, like any other part of the universe, am capable of both positivity and negativity, for example, a sea bath can be both a fun experience to share with the people you love, or one that gets you caught in a frightening current; so I too am capable of both success and mistakes.

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I remembered this event a few days ago and was able to have some consonance with regard to the dissonance that I was experiencing: I am what I have done, both the good, as well as the bad actions; and who I will be in the future is guided by my past.

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So, who will this future me, guided by my past, be? Reflecting on this most recent poor relationship decision made me realise that it resulted, in large part, from me not having a life philosophy of which I’m consistently conscious. So I thought – how would I like to react to every single situation that arises in my future? I came up with five words that I would like to characterise my deeds: authenticity, mindfulness, prudence, restraint and exuberance.

Authenticity would allow me to live out my belief in the traditions that I value like prudence and restraint, rather than, for example, me acting out of pity and doing something I actually have little interest in doing … yeah, I’m specifically talking about any kind of pity sex, people ... beware the consequences of oxytocin production! I also want to be conscious of taking the time to think, both before I speak and act, i.e. not just react to life’s situations, hence mindfulness and prudence … time to consistently ponder the possible consequences of my actions then choose the one that will be most conducive to my emotional and mental well-being … need to lessen the impulsivity; restraint for this same reason – so I choose to do what brings me genuine happiness, not just what might seem appealing in some random moment. I know these all seem to be saying exactly the same thing, but they are somehow nuanced in my mind. And exuberance because it’s the expression I see on my nephew’s face when he’s happy.

I’m sharing this with you because I felt such relief in settling on a definition of who I am , as well as knowing that in developing a life philosophy, my future can be positively guided by the mistakes of my past, that I thought it’d be helpful to share with you.

The photograph of the beautiful little flower among the weeds in a cemetery was taken by CafeProz.

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A female feting experience; or: a random penis is probably going to dry hump your ass crack

2012-01-25T19:43:00.002-08:00

As strange as this might sound, when I go to fetes, I don’t just want to party. I also actually want to listen to the artistes. Granted, some might not find soca very musical, but it’s part of my culture and so it’s one of my most favourite genres. So, Mister-with-the-canerows (we used to grow cane here, not corn, so I doh say cornrows, a’right?), even if you find five different ways to tell me: “It’s a different feeling when you go up close to the stage in the crowd”, I’m not going to change my mind about staying exactly where I'm comfortable to get the experience I want. I’ll be doing my perfunctory small wine, my eyes glued to the stage, watching the singers and musicians as they perform.

Now I’ve become accustomed to the Trinidadian man who thinks that in the fete setting he ought to come behind me demanding a flex. And, in fact, when I find him attractive I would push it back and start to wine, instead of giving a somewhat mechanical response. Thus, when I felt a random pelvis wining on my ass I actually chuckled to myself just because Trinidadian phenomena does tend to amuse me. I turned around to see who it was. He was one of those muscle men who walk through fetes in vests because they know they’re built. Not particularly my type, so I just continued my superficial small wine, while paying rapt attention to Patrice Roberts and HD. I did not enjoy their performance at the first fete I went to, largely because I didn’t really know many of the songs. This time around, knowing all the songs, I was able to appreciate her, and the other members’ of the HD family, talent.

Then I started noticing how this guy was ‘wining’ behind me: there was a kind of back-and-forth-bouncing-of-his-pelvis-on-my-ass movement which resembled coitus more ferarum more than the 'typical' kind of wining I'm accustomed to ... is there a typical kind of wining?? ... and then there was another kind of up and down sliding action. Both quite odd to me, but with him being an inconsequential man, my attention quickly drifted back to the music.

But then, his erection forced my attention back to him. How do men get so aroused so easily? There I am, barely giving him a response, and there he is getting his jollies. I stood there wondering, is this actually gratifying to this guy? And if so, is it that when a woman allows a man to take a wine, she’s consenting to him getting some dry humping anal pleasure? I pondered this for a few seconds, turned around and said: ‘Please, excuse me’, to which this man replied: ‘Thank you’! That was the most audacious thank you I’d ever heard in my life! Was he thanking me for ‘dancing’ with him, although, of course, he didn’t ask for the ‘dance’? Or was he thanking me for indulging him? I actually wanted to ask him, but decided against it.

Caribbean people have at times been stereotyped as being oversexed. And, we live up to that discursive identity (please see the Description tab). You can hear it in the double entendre of our music … pipe, anyone? And don’t get me wrong, I loved wining to 'Pipe' then, and I still love wining to it now. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to find some random man to dry hump in a fete! Brudders, jus because we in ah fete doh mean your penis an my ass crack have to become acquaintances, dread …

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Panorama! Or: my Trini identity

2012-01-19T11:03:00.000-08:00

In Trinidad, it is possible to belong to the 2% of the population the Central Statistical Office reports as stating their religiion as 'None'. It is also possible to still feel God although that is where I belong.

Just a tiny bit of historical progression before I begin. Slavery was ‘abolished’ in 1834, however the enslaved Africans were only truly emancipated in 1838, after a four year ‘apprenticeship’ period. In 1857, the first well was drilled for oil in Trinidad. By the late 1940s, pan pioneers Winston Simon and Ellie Mannette had tuned the discarded 55-gallon oil drum by ear, and created an instrument. These men ingenuiously transformed the percussionist African ancestral culture using the resources of their new milieu to create the steel pan!

Even as a teenager, during the days when I had faith, I felt closest to God during Panorama, not during the Sunday mass. Today as I look at and listen to our pannists, I still feel an overwhelming surge of surreal emotion that makes me think God might be real ... it is somewhat mysterious to me that such beautiful music can emerge from a people whose history was built on a foundation of misery.

Panorama stimulates my (possibly overactive!) imagination. It makes me think of many aspects of my Trini heritage. I think of boats from Europe, Africa and Asia … the Spaniard decimation of our indigenous Amerindian population … encomienda, slavery and indentured labour on sugarcane and cacao plantations … Amerindian languages, Spanish, French and English coalesced into one dialect … Christianity, Hinduism and Islamic syncretisms … racial miscegenation – mulatto and dougla children …oil and asphalt … cricket and football. The melee of Trinidadian ethnic formation … the panorama that forms my identity.

The picture is of my parents, my sister and I takin een some pan in 1988 :)

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Memoria praeteritorum bonorum (The past is always recalled to be good)

2011-12-10T22:10:00.000-08:00

In a culture of coerced reconciliation,

memoria praeteritorum bonorum, or rosy retrospection,

can be a dangerous misperception,

so, be aware and take caution –

don’t use it to make a decision.

Along with his humour and innovation,

there was disappointment and frustration,

which wreaked havoc on your constitution.

You were tormented by myriad negative emotions,

from which escape was the desired solution.

If there is genuine contrition,

and an action plan for rehabilitation,

maybe there can be reconsideration.

If not, be confident and have gumption

… or once again, you’ll be in the same situation.

Photo by Aaron Gayah.

Thank you to the model for allowing her picture to be used for this post! :)

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Current in Maracas; or: Dear Jon

2011-12-07T18:34:00.000-08:00

Jon and I swam back to where we’d been before going to shore. I don’t even remember why we went to shore.

I also don’t remember if I knew we were in difficulty before a guy in the water wearing a white shirt started beckoning to us, his gestures indicating that we were inadvertently going too far out. He looked like an air traffic controller, looking and signalling once toward us, once toward the shore, repeatedly.

Just like when we’re in the pool at school, I pushed Jon behind his neck and told him to go forward, while attempting to do the same myself. Fighter that he is, he was kicking urgently and using his arms doing what he told me before is his ‘swim stroke’. He uses this stroke to get to the deep end of the pool, where he plays comfortably, doing the ‘cube’, the ‘dolphin’, and other contortions he manages to get his seven year old body into, often pushing himself to the bottom, and propelling himself back up.

However, it seemed that neither of us was actually moving from where we were, as every time I attempted to stand, I couldn’t get my feet to the seafloor. I kept trying to push him forward as I do in the pool when he seems to get tired of the laps I encourage him to make as I swim alongside him, telling him: “Keep going, Jon.” “Use your legs, Jon.” “Good job, Jon."

His head kept disappearing underwater, and for the first time in my life, I open un-goggled eyes in the sea so that I could see him. He kept his head back when he did get it over the surface to inhale as much air as he could. I feel so proud of him now, think back about that.

Again, I told him to move forward while pushing him, and he said, “I’m trying, Aunty”. Poor thing, he really was trying with all his might, as was I to stay afloat, with my arm outstretched toward him. He was brave, his expression never changed to one of fear or despair, but I could tell he was struggling. We were definitely caught in a current, because where we were was not some different place from where we’d been comfortable swimming for about half an hour before.

By now I noticed that the other bathers in the vicinity were looking at us, and I shouted for help. A lady swam strongly toward us immediately. Then I felt myself almost sitting in the lap of a gentleman who’d come from only-goodness-know-where. I never turned around to see his face, because I was looking only at the lady holding Jon above the water.

The life guard the gentleman in the water wearing the white shirt had apparently called to, took him from her and escorted us both back to the shore. Regrettably, in that moment, I didn’t think to thank him, the gentleman who pulled me to safety, or the lady who rescued Jon, nor could I distinguish them from the bathers after.

In recounting the incident shortly afterward, Jon told my sister that she was there. She wasn’t, she was laying on a bench, unaware of what was going on. I think he saw her because she’s a symbol of safety to him, so in his mind, he was swimming toward her. His love for her actually amazes me sometimes. I’d taken him to a little concert at school a few weeks before, and he spent quite a bit of time at this concert under my jacket, which he’d made into a little tent above his head, looking at a picture I have of her on my phone, and texting her ‘I love you’ messages. Such a sweet child.

Anyway, I’m writing this so we’ll remember the correct details of today: when Jon was so brave, and I felt so proud of him. And so practical too – he now has a strong desire to learn to swim properly. So do I, as well as some life saving techniques.

I hope he doesn’t become intimidated by water bodies of water because of this experience. And that he always remembers those four people with gratitude. I also hope that he learns that anyone in the world is someone who can potentially help him, or whom he has the potential to help. And that kindness will therefore characterise his interactions with other living beings.

As for me, I’m pretty sure I’ve evolved into an atheist, because at no point during or after this ordeal did I think of “God”. I was comfortable at the idea of death, perhaps because I’m not concerned with the idea of a “Hell”, and I’m curious to know what happens after … hmm … maybe I’m still agnostic after all, then … hehehe. As I looked at him, my two thoughts were that it was somewhat sad that Jon might not get to experience more of life; and that it was selfish of me to even think that I wouldn’t mind dying in Maracas next to Jon, seeing that if he lived he’d probably go through a range of negative emotions regarding that experience, and if he didn’t, my sister might never possibly never feel joy without feeling guilt again. Strange the things you think in moments like those.

The photo is of life guards training at Maracas Bay.

For my dearest little, Jon, if my time on this earth is prematurely cut short and I don’t get the opportunity to relay this story to you a million times, well into your adulthood, like a proper sappy Aunty, I want to immortalize your bravery on that day (Sunday 9^th Oct, 2011) and my pride in you for as long as the Internet exists.

Dissolution

2011-12-07T13:32:00.000-08:00

The albatross has been removed

…

I awaken to a sensibility of relief,

I dwell on a sensibility of loss.

Why I am longing for uncertainty?

A presence, yes, but only transitory,

thinly spread, and never mine only?

Is the affect really more than the cognition,

loneliness that powerful an emotion?

I should think of liberation and renewal:

vistas I can now explore,

competencies to master,

self-actualization to acquire.

Enthuse about potential personal well-being,

and revel (finally!) in detachment from suffering.

…

Thankfully, the albatross has been removed!

Photos taken in Balandra, Trinidad, the first one in May 2011, the second in August 2011. While being single might feel as solitary as a rock in the middle of a choppy ocean with grey skies above, remember that with time the ocean gets blue again and skies clear up (maybe not until three months after like the time span between taking these pictures!) ... every little thing is gonna be all right ... you see the three little birds at the top right of the second picture, right? :)

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Woman! And I am loosed!

2011-12-02T14:29:00.000-08:00

I have covertly and overtly been compared to other women by a few men I’ve been in relationships with over the years. This made me intensely jealous of these women, and also made me feel like less in a variety of ways.

I have come to the conclusion that men who do that are struggling with feelings of inadequacy themselves. After all, they’re next to beautiful, socially mobile, creative problem solving, emotionally stable, sociable and sexually confident YOU, (okay, okay, maybe not ALL of the aforementioned for all of us all the time :), so they employ some emotional manipulation to make themselves appear worthy of your time and energy.

I believe that a man who feels whole, and who truly respects a woman, will not make her feel compared, or create reasons to make her feel insecure. I believe that a woman who feels whole, and who truly respects herself, will sever such a compensating dickwad from her life the second she recognises him for who he is*. I believe that if we are with such a dickwad, we’re probably actually a lot more similar to the woman or women we are being compared to than to him; but also that our idiosyncrasies actually make every one of us INCOMPARABLE to the other, and that we therefore NEVER have ANYTHING to be jealous of.

I am not a poet by any stretch of the imagination, but I was moved to write one (it's below) to release the jealousy I felt for one particular woman shortly before severing the dickwad who constantly brought her attributes to my attention from my life.

And yes, I take an inordinate amount of pleasure in using the word dickwad. Dictionary.com it, you’ll see why :) Seriously, though, it's also meant to act as a marker to separate the bad seeds from the genuine men in our lives.

* I think we should all make the time to reflect, and recognise if we're not feeling wholeness and self-respect ... and I'm guessing that we all go through times like these, when we do not feel the wholeness and the self-respect we'd like to. During these times, I believe we should take the responsibility to get the help we need so we can be at a place where we are functioning optimally ... for our own sake, as well as that of those we interact with. After all, according to Jamaican psychologist, Leahcim Semaj, if you put half a man and half a woman together, what do you get? What is half by half? A quarter! Or: an extremely dysfunctional situation!

You are my sister,

so you aren't my competitor.

I am not jealous of your creativity,

or your exotic beauty,

success attained in your profession,

or your pleasant extroversion.

We each have a unique identity, sui generis capabilities,

subtracting from you, adds nothing to me.

So, I will continue to live my life

endeavouring to be free of strife,

without selfish motivation,

expecting my story’s positive conclusion.

Because you are my sister,
and not my competitor.

Photography by Aaron Gayah. Photographs taken in Chaguaramas, Trinidad.

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Is something wrong with them? Or: is something wrong with me?

2011-10-23T17:50:00.000-07:00

I recently had two alarming conversations in regards to the topic of relationships. It seems that there are people who are okay with entering into a committed romantic relationship: to alleviate loneliness, because of imposed guilt, feelings of pity or because of an awareness of increasing age. Mutual physical attraction, honest communication, shared values, similar interests, and good old having fun, seem less important than they should, in my humble opinion, be. If a bond is built upon the needs first listed, I believe relationship satisfaction will be elusive.

It might sound shallow, but if a person is going to be the person with whom you’re going to have a long-term sexual relationship, I think mutual physical attraction is a necessity.

Honest communication leads to actually getting to know someone, and therefore not falling in love with the ‘idea’ you have of who they are. And subsequently, and equally importantly, honest communication also leads to trust, a foundation for a genuinely successful relationship. Not to mention, honest communication assists in the inevitable conflict resolution!

Based on our individualities, we approach relationships with different needs and expectations. So as we know, conflict is inevitable. Hence the importance of shared values: I think there must be some commonalities between a couple!

I also find that one or more similar interest is essential, because it lets a couple grow together in the relationship. I think it allows for time to be spent sharing an activity, and lessens the possibility of growing apart.

And come on, fun! What’s the point of spending time with someone with whom you feel more negative than positive emotions?

It’s bad enough when a person is willing to, or actually gets involved because of these irrelevant-to-relationship-success motivations. Equally bad is when the object of affection knows that these are the motivations, and is acquiescing to having a relationship anyway! Just settling.

It also seems to me that you cannot presume to love someone after only knowing them for a few days or weeks as seems to be the case with these eager beavers. To me this is just a case of anoesis. Because you don’t know them! I feel that you can be attracted to them, and identify with them in some ways, but love them?? We tend to present a positive version of ourselves in initial communications.

Here's a possible scenario in which it might be assumed that the object of affection is known and 'loved', but in actuality is not known, and whose real identity therefore isn't what is 'loved'. Let's say the object of attraction, also finds the person who wants to be in a relationship attractive, but is currently involved in romantically or sexually themed activities with one or more other persons. The fear of losing the opportunity to eventually get to know the new person romantically or sexually might prevent the revelation of what and who else is currently going on in the object of affection's life.

So, it might be assumed, for example, that someone would be upfront about their other involvements prior to engaging you in emotional or sexual intimacy. Information that is probably important in deciding whether or not to allow a person into your life. Unfortunately, one must consider that this might not always be a correct assumption. Human behaviour isn't always directed by integrity, sometimes it's directed by selfish considerations. There are such lies as lies of omission, a manipulation technique designed to take away another's self-determination.

The truth emerges sooner or later, though. Sometimes after there has been some emotional investment in the object of affection, and sometimes sexual activity. At which time, the new knowledge of the truth doesn’t make detachment an easy decision to carry through. This simultaneously eliminates a foundation of trust, and creates an ever-present suspicion. And this is just one situation which oftentimes is perceived as betrayal, and which harkens back to the importance of honest communication.

I think time is necessary to learn a person's morality, their life philosophy, their identity. So you can determine if you really know the person you 'love' (read: are attracted to, identify with in some ways). Or if who you 'love' is actually just a figment of your imagination, an idea you created. And the person who actually exists is someone completely different, and if you've therefore presumed to love incorrectly. Time also reveals consistency or inconsistency, in words and actions, and therefore whether the person is reliable or not, and what, if any, expectations you can have of them.

Now, these were conversations with one woman just over 30, and one man just over 40 years old. And this is why I am particularly alarmed. I don’t get the impatience of single people of this age, who by now have had at least one relationship experience which ended, and who are therefore experienced, to so willingly invite problems into their lives. Because it seems impossible that whatever emerges from loneliness alleviation, imposed guilt, feelings of pity or because of an awareness of increasing age, will be love. And if a committed relationship doesn’t begin based on positivity, can it really be a surprise that it becomes permeated by negativity? As statisticians often say about putting data into a programme to run analyses: garbage in, garbage out.

Or maybe it is me who has alarmingly idealistic notions of what constitutes criteria upon which to base a relationship …

(I'd taken the above photo when I'd looked up and saw "natural and artificial light". I found it appropriate for this post because the little moon reminded me of the term lunacy, which either these two people, or myself, might be suffering from. And the artificial light represents what I generally try to do in my life: shed some light when I think I understand a phenomenon, in order to increase others' understanding ... humbly ... because I know my perspective won't always be applicable.)

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Forgive, or: forget

2011-06-07T14:48:00.000-07:00

I finally understand what forget, from the expression "forgive and forget" means. It is treating the person who’s hurt me in the past as if s/he NEVER did the thing that hurt me. So, my current and future behaviours, feelings and thoughts regarding this person are not guided by an expectation of what s/he is capable of doing. I know that an action (or several) can be repeated, however, I live as if it will not.

I base this on an explanation of the reason why the thing that hurt me was done in the first place. I consider my contribution to the situation that motivated the action, I accept responsibility and the sincerity of the apology expressed to me.

I don’t exist in a space in which I’ve created some version of protection from being hurt. I live! Because, in fact, when I limit what I do, feel or think based on an expectation, I am limiting my experience of this life that I only have a few years to live. I also do not make incorrect attributions. When this person does something that disappoints me again, I don’t assume I know why. Instead, I give the opportunity to explain. I have a new life because I’ve begun anew with someone with whom I want to continue sharing my time on earth. Life is beautiful because I’ve allowed myself a positive perspective.

(The picture above is a sunrise taken from Gasparee Island in April this year, for me, a beautiful symbol of a new beginning.)

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My first carnival experience, or: next year hurry up and come, nah!

2011-05-30T23:13:00.000-07:00

Shortly after my first Carnival experience, I saw my band leader, Peter Samuel, and told him I’ve been trying to write it down, but that I couldn’t find the words.

An las week it dawn on meh why dat was happenin. Ah had de good fortune to read a lil passage from Ways of Sunlight, and Uncle Samuel Selvon make meh to understand dat is because ah was tryin to write dong de ting in kiss-meh-ass Standard English! Look, allyuh, it have some tings in dis life dat Oxford and Webster go jus neva have de words to say, de et'os jus wouldn be dere, dread.

Well, before ah even start, fuss ting ah realise is why ah do tree years ah Clothing and Textiles in secondary school. It all led up to de moment after ah reach back home from Dimanche Gras in de wee hours of Carnival Monday morning to make minor adjustments to de costume. An sayin so, yuh know sumting amazin about dem two mornings? We leave home six o’clock to reach een town fuh seven, and traffic like if people going to work! Carnival must be de only time Trinis doh operate on Trinidad time, oui, Lawd dis place sweet!

Second ting, when yuh go to a certain popular store dat does sell carnival stockins, and yuh tell dem yuh want a whole-toe stockins, and dey tell yuh dey oni have push-toe, an toe-less, fuh de love of Gawd, take de toe-less! Muh ignorance make meh take two push-toe, and whole ah Carnival Monday, ah doh understand why dat lil area between muh big toe and de one nex to it feeling uncomfortable, uncomfortable. Chups, man. Well, ah doh hadda tell yuh: ah cut de nex one into a toes-less fuh Carnival Tuesday. An on dat note, Aunty Destra singing bout how she hope muh foot nuh hurtin meh... she damn well know dat ah feel like de Devil did take up residence inside dem blasted sneakers! Fuss muh foot was bunnin! Leh meh tell yuh how hot it was een day, eh – de paint from the outside stockins melt on to de socks ah was wearin, you understandin wha was goin on een dey? Ah Lawd!

Orr right, on to de actual experience. Now, whether de government-ment-ment-ment is intelligent-gent-gent-gent, or not, I real glad I get to cross de Savannah Stage for my first time, dread. An it oni have one word to describe how yuh does feel on dat stage, eh: wotless. An hear nah, dread, dat stage does turn de camera shy into de camera un-shy, too, boi. Ah so want muh nephew to see meh if he lookin on TV, dat ah make sure ah pass in front ah every camera ah see!

An hear, nah, when ah cross and come off is a whole odder ting, yuh know. Ah was suddenly a celebrity. All kinda people stoppin me to take picture wit me, and of me! Ah really wasn expectin dat, boi. Anyway, by now so, ah jus chippin along. Every now and again, goin fuh ah cup ah ice by the bar. Sun blazing muh tail, but ah happy. And ah jus lovin random tings, dread ... like how when a man or woman come to take a wine on muh bumcee, de both ah we just automatically know dat when de verse ah de song comin to ah end (or de chorus if dat is where we did meet), is time to break away ... and like how during de course ah de day ah see Uncle Stalin si’ dong on a pavement cool, cool.

Anyhow, when de sun start to set on Carnival Tuesday evening, de band was by de Twin Towers. De soca was groovy. Couples was huggin up and dancin. An ah realise dat alldoh dis was de kinda scene dat woulda normally make meh feel lil lonely, ah was surprisingly glad to be by muhself, because ah couldn tink ah one man dat ah woulda want to share dem moments wit. Ah was jus content to be dey, wit de day turnin into night, takin een how beautiful Port of Spain was looking and soundin, an revellin in de perfect feelin dat dis is where I belongs.

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From Diego Martin to Chaguaramas; or: maybe there is such a thing as an independent woman

2011-05-01T22:54:00.000-07:00

During Carnival 2011, every soca artiste who got up on a stage and asked all the independent ladies to scream, and put their hands in the air, annoyed me. Especially when it was follow by the – “All who doh need no man?!” question. Why? Because my then opinion was that there is no such thing as an independent lady. Yes, we may not need a partner for financial stability, but surely finance constitutes only one dimension of the concept of independence. And does financial independence imply that we believe that we are competent to face life’s myriad non-financial challenges on our own? Well, today (I’m writing this on Sunday 1^st May 2011, even if I post it later), not only did I realise that such a woman exists, but that I might slowly be evolving into one of them!

It all started at 5 am when my alarm went off to signal that it was time to get ready to go on the first hike of my adult life. I didn’t know what to expect regarding the difficulty of the terrain we’d be negotiating. All I knew was that we’d be covering the hills of Diego Martin. The final destination turned out to be Chaguaramas Nation Park.

Now, for me, an unseasoned hiker, the difficulty level of that hike was 'challenging to difficult'. It started off with me walking into a variety of bushes which were often taller than I am. Then I found myself literally crawling uphill. To traverse the trail (and fyi, my use of the word trail is generous!), I was pulling myself up by rocks, tree roots, plant stalks and tree trunks – all of which were not always as embedded into the earth as they appeared, with aching arms and trembling legs. When I could actually walk again, many a time did I realise, because of several missteps that I could easily come out on the other side with a twisted ankle. At one point I thought that our army personal should use these hills for training of some sort. I even overheard an Afro-Trini, fellow hiker say – “This is shit for White folks, Negroes don’t do this shit.” – a fleeting moment of humour for me during an otherwise increasingly depressing experience.

Yes, depressing. Not only was it physically exerting, which in all honesty was not altogether bad, because when I was scrambling over those inclines, I felt my abs being exercised, and I had the dawning realisation that this is how you lose belly fat. But it was lonely! During four hours of hiking, I had a hand to pull me up the grand total of two times. Observing the four physical training instructors (PTIs) in charge of the hike made me understand something about human nature, though. While I might be thinking someone is an aggressive communicator, that person might just genuinely believe that the only (? I don’t know, I’m just assuming) way to motivate is by using a tough you-can-do-it type of encouragement, as opposed to an extended arm to get you over a difficult path. Thankfully I was able to understand that these guys really do mean well, though.

Despite this empathy, I was so often otherwise gloomy, that the beauty around me was reduced to mere monotony, and even the sounds of the forest creatures became little more than an irritating cacophony. I was so upset, that I didn’t even take pictures of the novel sight of monkeys swinging in the branches overhead.

Because of the early hour I had to rise, I was unable to sleep the night before, so I quickly developed a pounding headache. Then I started getting hungry, so my headache was accompanied by a feeling of nausea. I wondered why anyone would find hiking an enjoyable activity (the only benefit I could appreciate was developing a toned body if done frequently enough). I started to feel myself just moving - not making deliberate footsteps - simply my feet landing on random bits of earth. Seeing began to feel both warm and extra bright.

If all this wasn’t bad enough, when we began to descend, my toes began to burn, like a chipping through the streets of Port of Spain on Carnival Monday and Tuesday kind of burning. I was now close to tears. I might have developed a slight case of delirium because I found myself just wanting to stop, lie on the forest floor, and fall asleep. Such an unusual feeling – a mixture of defeat and a desire to descend unto insect infested mulch! Even more unusual, I found myself praying. Yes, praying! I was asking Papa Bois (evidently, when you’re a desperate, agnostic Trini woman, an Afro-Caribbean legend is as good a being as any in which to seek solace) to come find me and let me live out my days with him and the douens (except for the backward feet, being a diminutive woman, I would certainly blend in well, and, bonus – it’d be the one place in the world where I’d actually be taller than most!) A long time after, the ground levelled, and ants began feasting on my ankles, but I’d heard a vehicle in the distance, and I took courage that I'd soon be done.

So what does all this have to do with my burgeoning feeling of independence? Well, when I got home I was washed afresh with a new wave of loneliness and sadness. The pounding headache had not abated, nor had the soreness in my toes, and there is no one to take on the role of masseur when I walk through my door. There was also not a scrap of cooked food in my kitchen, and I didn't have the enthusiasm to stand another moment to prepare anything.

I managed not to dwell on my negative emotions, though. I had a bath and took a nap. When I got up, I calmly decided that tomorrow would be Massage Monday. I’d call my regular therapist, who always accommodates me, first thing in the morning to make an afternoon appointment. Then I had some Crix and cheese ... sounds like a plan, right? :) My short nap provided the break I needed to put my circumstance into perspective. Loneliness was replaced with autonomy, and sadness with competence. Self-determination theory in action!

You know, one of the reasons I started this blog was, while in a fit of boredom, I decided to do the activities on this list of things single women should do that I hadn’t yet done, and share my experiences. Until today I didn’t appreciate how emotionally and mentally strengthening taking up a behavioural challenge on my own can be. Yes, it would have been pleasant to have someone waiting at home to help with the pain and the food, but neither are situations I cannot deal with on my own. After all, I'd just accomplished the most challenging physical feat of my life, mostly unaided! Certainly I could manage to attend to my pain and hunger relief on my own. Perhaps the PTIs were also trying to instil this sense of independence by not lending a lot of support? So, as it turns out, I’m glad I did the hike because my perceived self-efficacy got a boost. Plus, I got to pick up the pretty jumbie beads in the picture above :)

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Passion struggle, or: dissonance reduction by rationalisation

2011-02-14T11:13:00.000-08:00

According to Donaldo Macedo: “People often identify with representations that they are either comfortable with or that help deepen their understanding of themselves.”

I recently watched the new version of Wuthering Heights, and I like it almost as much as the old version ... yes, this is the ‘new’ version that was released since 2009 ... what can I say ... I can quite frequently be found lounging under a rock :). This liking caused me an extreme case of cognitive dissonance, because in reality, I’d find several dimensions of the story unhealthy, and therefore uninviting, to say the least. Upon further reflection, I had to admit that I am actually deeply emotionally aroused by movies with some very unhealthy situations, as well as male characters. For example, the disfigured, beautiful-voiced, and violent ghost of The Phantom of the Opera, and even the moody, directionless, and also violent Tyler Hawkins of Remember me. Does this mean that I unconsciously want drama in my life? Have I fooled myself into thinking I want to be in an emotionally stable situation, and with an emotionally stable man?

I reminisced about why I liked the movie in the first place. I first saw the 1939 black and white version in my late teens. I loved the passion Heathcliff and Cathy had. I fell in love with the idea of loving someone so much that you’d only ever want to be with them and to go so far as to want their ghost to haunt you until your own death. Completely loony stuff! Now I don’t see this as genuine love, and I actually see a lot of selfishness in the characters. I mean, if I were in a relationship and I die, I’d like the guy to find someone else to love.

So why am I still stimulated by these movies? Does watching them allow me to vicariously indulge in some unconscious fantasy? In The Kids Are All Right, Laser, the son of lesbian mothers, and his friend, Eddie, come upon male homosexual porn in the mothers’ bedroom. Writer, Lisa Cholodenko has one of the mothers explain that desire can be counter-intuitive, and that because women’s sexual responsiveness is internalised, it’s sometimes exciting for them to see externalised responsiveness, like with a penis.

So how is this related to my dilemma? Well, I don’t know how reliable her bit of insight is, but I’ve rationalised to myself that like the lesbians who won’t be indulging in penis sex, I won’t be indulging in Byronic type characters (sorry, I don’t see them as heros), and the situations that inadvertently come along with them. But, for the sake of self-continuity, it is exciting for me to see the passion. Because, yes, passion is still a must-have if I get into a romantic relationship again, but, and you can call me boring, I want the lower intensity of emotional stability.

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