Making a run for it

Another friend of mine at my old company, recently contacted me about the best way to quit as an international hire. Seems like ALL the minorities are making a run for it. Ha!

The Mother Land

Hopped into a taxi the other day at Logan airport and the taxi driver wasted no time in asking where I was from.

"Jamaica" I said proudly, and he was shocked because the driver of the taxi behind him (who had seen me approach and enter this cab) had sworn that I was Ethiopian or Somalian.

Now I had never thought I was an odd looking black woman until I went to Ghana - where my people (and most Jamaican people) are actually from. There, a Ghanaian man looked at me dispairingly and said I couldn't pass. Then while I was at Oxford, back when I frequented a Lebanese store, the owner was one day shocked to discover that I couldn't speak Arabic. Apparently I have the look of some mysterious arabic-speaking people. Then I began to think... one grandad was a whitish jew, the other was a dark skinned black Cuban of unknown decent and unusual features. One grandma had the Ghanaian roots - with some Scottish (?) mixed in - and as for the other... no one really knows! I do, however, know that my brother has no cheekbones and epicantic folds in his eyelids and that my own Ghanaian people would disown me if all they had to go on was looks. Which country would open up it's arms to me? Where can I go and blend in? Everyone should have a mother land - it would be a comfort to know that while I stick out among all these Bostonians, there is somewhere where I can go and be called one of "us".

So I was thrilled when this taxi driver finally named a country for me. I have no idea what Ethiopian or Somali women look like... but perhaps they look like me :).

The Outliers - Malcolm Gladwell

Just finished this book today while stranded in a tunnel on a delayed outbound Red-Line T(rain) ride to Davis. (I'm glaring at YOU MBTA)! I felt a small smug feeling when I found out - in the last chapter - that Gladwell is of Jamaican decent.

Otherwise the book just left me with a feeling of being bombarded with interesting bits of new information, that were arranged in just the perfect way for me to be unable to draw any kind of logical conclusion. What was the point Gladwell? Was it aimed at policy makers; encouraging them to generate more opportunity? Was it aimed at the ordinary man; giving them a way to blame lack of opportunity for a lack of success? Or was it supposed to generate a kind of fatalism? You could be a genius that worked from dawn 'till dusk... Those things are necessary but not sufficient for success... you can still fail, chances are, you will fail. People will still stand in your way, things won't work out, you will be stuck in the drudgery of the everyday... unless you are granted the random opportunity given by luck to those of "good" birth, "good" means, and "good" skin colour.

What am I supposed to do now Gladwell? No answer? Thanks for nothing. Wow, I am a ray of sunshine today.

Retired confessions... that is all.

I got paid yesterday. Kaching!!! So I am DETERMINED to retire this confession:

" I don't know how to manage money. I spend too much. Where did I get these expectations for the kind of life I want to live? Perhaps I have illusions about who I am. "

This check is going to last a looooong time - if I can help it. I'll let you know when I decide who I am. In the meanwhile I have a new confessions, based wholly in my job, my anger and my frustration:

"me hate authority. Authority hate me."

This is in part in honour of the pallindrome that is now Na's age. Welcome to 22 Na and thanks for the shoutout. You boosted my mood. With the crap that's been happening, I'm due for an upturn in life.

Cool Runnings

So, every Jamaican who has ever left the island has had to encounter the world's obsession with certain Jamaican things. They play Bob Marley in McLeod Ganj - a small Northern Indian city near the Tibetan border, home of the Dalai Lama. They fake Jerk Chicken in Williamstown - a small one street town in the bushes of Massachussets. But everybody, and I mean EVERYBODY has watched and LOVED Cool Runnings.

Yeah it's a heart warming story. Sure, I'll give you that. And those fake Jamaican accents are so cute and charming. But really... can the world get over it please? The actors werent even Jamaican! Did you know that they show Finnish children the movie and have them send money for the Jamaican bob-sled team.

Either way, I came face to face with this odd phenomenon yesterday when my co-workers insisted that we have a bonding cool-runnings party. They did it in good faith and in good taste. Maybe I'll play along this time...


Today I retire today's confession : I am lazy. Instead let's confess something else: I don't know how to manage money. I spend too much. Where did I get these expectations for the kind of life I want to live? Perhaps I have illusions about who I am.

My work place

Is this a bad sign? What does it say that my work-place is across the street from a Nieman Marcus?

It takes about 50mins for me to get to work from home. Shittastic...

I'm here Bitches!

The other night when i was out on the town, some old white guy stared the shit out of me. I have officially arrived in Boston!

BOSTON!

Well folks.... I moved to Boston. Still don't know much about it yet. I haven't really explored. I don't even have furniture in my room yet. Last night was the first glorious night sleeping on my bed.

I had the weirdest dream though. I was traveling with friends. I was broke, but I scrounged together some money and went back to India and then Russia. There was all kind of scandal happening and so I decided to go back to India from there, while some of my friends continued on - to China I think. Sometime during the dream, my dream-self lost consciousness. I weirdly just attributed it to the fact that I was dreaming. But on the way back to India someone sent me a package. It was a box. Inside the box was my gall bladder. Someone had knocked me unconscious, opened me up, taken out my gall bladder and then mailed it back to me. I think I was set to find/ meet up with this person in India back at school.


How messed up is that? What does a dream like that even mean?

...

Boston and Hospital Haikus

Written just before my ultrasound:


Pain sings like echoes
stuck rebounding between these
narrow pelvic walls


I move to Boston on the first of September. I'm kind of pissed actually. I am in Jamaica now feeling that olympic frenzy. I arrived on the 20th and only planned to leave on the 30th so I could make it to Boston in time to move in with the roomies. Turns out the boys struck a deal and are moving in on the 30th. In response, Didem is moving in on the 31st. I will be last to arrive and last to pick a room. What portends! Is this what is to come? Am I ready for Boston and this new life...

Than again, things have always had a stunning way of working out in my favour. Maybe Boston is not ready for me... :)