the feminine minus the fangs.

The odds of a rasta trinidadian tapping you on your shoulder in a near rush-hour Manhattan street corner, while waiting for the light to change. The randomite calling himself Collin. The discomforting awareness of minimal media exposure on a small island, makes it almost believable that he "knows you from somewhere". I do the safe dismissive thing to do, and he takes offence and starts to list out for me why he is an independent, 21st century, black and obama-nated, green-carded trini man who wishes to and is eligible enough to become a 'friend' of mine. God should forgive you when you lie for your the sake of your own safety as a woman.

I realized last night that there was a connection between what we as Catholics know as the 'Stella Maris' (latin for- 'Star of the Sea'), a title used for the Virgin Mary and Yemanja/Yemoja/Yemaja deity of the orisha tradition, goddess of the sea and patron deity of women. Mary is seen as the mother of all, Yemanja is seen as the mother of all the saints. The difference between them would be their measure of divinity by the both groups. The Virgin Mary is not believed to be a goddess. I stood staring at the sea on Saturday for a long time as I always do. The sea is just as feminine as the moon.

I thought I had applied for a black college. Still looking for my kind. Still looking.

Finally, I've located a capoeiera class. Fingers crossed that the class times fit my schedule.

Into the train this evening entered two black men with drums, playing for money. It made my day. was too short. The recession is doing it to people here. regardless of colour and all prior ambition.

Tomorrow, another day.

Set Apart.

It might seem or come across as being the largest possible betrayal of West-Indian self in the history of Trinbagonian green-cardism, but I don't know why it became taboo to go to the beach here, and the bigger sin, to go swimming in the water. The same Atlantic would find us here a few degrees lower than what we may be accustomed to, but just as salted and as clear as we would have it.

New York is the dream of globalization riveted into one society. Yesterday someone said that the Chinese and Haitians are always so 'cliqueish' and never go beyond their own parameters. There was a sizable Chinese family next to our spot at the beach yesterday, at what i think was a birthday celebration. Tai chi/yoga sessions, traditional dance, (lots of) lo mein, mahjong, and what i thought to be the largest collection of fortune cookies I have ever seen. From the youngest to oldest, all involved. Maybe it's because of the way they choose to organize themselves, but they were no more a 'clique' than we were as a group of about 50 Trinbagonians with our 20 something dishes and calypso. You keep to what you know. What you know is comfortable. Who you know gives comfort.

Much of the Trinidadians here who were able to become immigrants before the post- 9/11 clamp down, seem to all be stuck in the era of smutty calypso with their brass-based, double entendre melodies. The pre-cursor to soca music maybe. Labour Day is coming up soon...and I'm not sure yet of what that means for me. Undecided.

Humus

There is a Haitian woman sitting in the cedar pew in front of mine, well dressed, and makes me wonder how she got her make-up on so perfectly. Her loa sits on her right side, and seems to be pestering her for the entire duration of the Mass. Some times their exchanges seem casual, at other times, she turns hostile towards it (if it is an it). Tells it that he/she should be listening to what the priest is saying (who happens to be a sizeable white man speaking creyol fluently)....but if I were a loa...

The bus today is welcoming for weather like this. At this stop, a medium height African-American man, slim in his 50s with all-grey ungroomed facial hair, the scent of prolonged roaming and a hinting of alcohol in his speech, boards the bus with two larger-than-life duffel bags, that look like war garrisons made from tetrex cloth. He is wearing what looks like a woollen collar from an old jacket,that spread from behind his two ears on either side, like some insects do. Today he is in a baseball jacket, and an embroidered Chinese pants, stopping before his ankles, waiting for the place where his old school nikes start. He stands at a pole near to the middle of the bus and he is a ninja. He holds to the post and ducks down at every traffic light, street traffic, and mumbles silently to himself, that they might find him. Now the bus driver is not happy.

It is 10:14am. I am sitting alone in the train, with a mother and her two daughters across from me, a young unmarried man, obliquely opposite me. A man in a jacket, shorts and thick black rimmed glasses with a back-pack on one shoulder is on the other end of my bench. We get to a stop, and he gets up from his seat and walks to the door of the train, looks around onto the platform, but doesn't come off, the doors close back in, and he is still standing, looking outside. There is a horrid smell that crawls under my nose. The younger girl's entire face clenches and looks at her sister. Seeing each other's reactions, they look to their mother for a confirming eye. we all look around at each other, the mother looks at me and we are all, laughing inside, containing breaths and laughter. soon we are all giggling and looking down the cabin at the man standing at the door. at the next stop, they all get off, and the young man looks at me and holds his nose while he gets off. I laugh, until I realize I alone am left in the cabin, with the trail and the joke. He who laughs last I suppose.

copyright © 2010 Arielle John

Rise over Run: post-algebric expression.

Buljol and boil corn for dinner tonight. There is something here that excites me about living. I have gotten way past the prospect of fast food, and I am well-attracted to the idea of becoming vegetarian again. I will prepare my own meals, so I can control and moderate what I eat now, without having to worry. As soon as I settle well enough, the school gym will find me regular. I miss my bike...don't think I could be on the road with these drivers though. things get a lil crazy.

The exam was a labour of its own, but I survived it.results would give my mixed feelings some direction. I'm becoming a lil impatient for school to begin. I have just over a month before it does, but...iono...maybe they will give me stuff to do to occupy my time in the interim.

Brooklyn is Trinidad, but for taller buildings, bigger side-walks, and lack of roadside doubles vendors, and is the epitome of Caribbean integration. There are jamaican restaurants that sometimes double as movado-blasting weed rooms, latinos who always sound like they being aggressive or angry over something, women standing in the street asking about where to get good bargains in their Haitian Creole, usually the loudest thing u can hear, Bajan store clerks in payless, Nigerians asking if you need a taxi, and a petit-blanc french man trying to hustle you to buy his watches. you ask him if they are for free, and he walks off on you.

People in Grande leave their houses better dressed than they do here. There is a general sense of "nothing here to see here" kind of living.I have seen no women in work suits here, like we have at home. every day is dressed down. Brooklyn is brick-red. there is colour and energy, korean-owned side-walk market that sell Chief products, apple J and chubby soft drinks.

The men here are different. The trick is that if you catch them watching you when you see them, is that you look away as early as is possible. they don't give the same chat as trini men do (something to smile about), but you better pray he's not talking to a friend, else he will make sure that you over-hear his conversation that is co-incidentally about you.

There is something about here that makes a bigger void of him not being here yet. Air expands and fills spaces. My life gets bigger, the space gets bigger. we don't love in a vacum though. all has it's time, and placing, and God knows that better than we do.

Moving tomorrow, both dread and excitement.

of things had and hadn't.

I am not excited over this math. since i left it behind five years ago, algebra has never assisted any part of my performing career, legal research or daily living. I don't get the essentialism in it, and the importance of it finding itself in a standardized test. Sworn enemies I tell you.

Ry said that i should leave home without regrets, and there's just one that i have, that I never made it to seeing Chief or making way up to Aripo before leaving. I must promise myself that on my next visit there, that I will make it my duty to go. But I am going back to the apple tomorrow though, and that's always good news, for long days. The light here disappears at 9pm, and starts at 5:45am. if there were ever a long day, find it here.

I am still dreaming a lot. People keep appearing there asking that I forgive them, and how they've been reacting to me lately. I don't know if those are genuine feelings floating in the universe somewhere or whether its me, in my own head, trying to justify their actions (or indifference) and tellin mehself- "Don't tote". Sometimes people disappoint you, when it seems like they've witheld their blessing. Life walks.

The team from Brooklyn- Urban Word, topped at the bnv finals this year. I hope to work with them during my time this end. get some inspiration, some experiences, and I'm pretty excited about being part of the family. soon to come. The messy part of here is the nightly shows when I have no dad for pick ups. I'm now handicapped that way. it may take a while to settle like that.

I've been faring well without dad being around. the only hurting part of me is when the medication hurls side-effects at him. He has to be on strict diet, because it can easily give srokes and heart-attacks, but there is a balm in Gilead. God sees and knows, and feels when we do.

back to the math.

heat.

it is 101 degrees in Virginia today,I have stayed at home, it might be safer here.
Yesterday we toured the monuments in Washington, got roasted while walking, and spent the afternoon at...a cemetery?!

Arlington cemetery- where all the famous 'brave' (american, korean, vietnamese) soldiers have been buried. It was just a revelation of how much blood America has taken to get her to where she is, and still...empty lots in waiting for afghan troops.

What had gotten to me most, was this tomb, guarded 24/7/365. rain, hail, sun, snow, brimstone, tornado, these soldiers pace about ten feet, up and down, guarding this marble slab called- the tomb of the unknown soldier. It sure has heck has no significant meaning to me, in my un-american-ness, but i mean....not even Jesus' tomb is guarded that way...it was 99 degree sun yesterday and I still don't know if wars can be justified.

tomorrow we go to church here, gosh i miss home for that part. back to brooklyn soon. here lacks the rush and excitement of moments. the colours i wear are too bright for these parts. stands me out more than is necessary. bnv is over, and gives me less to think.over.

I dream a lot these nights. i guess too it takes time for the location of your dreams to catch up with you. they are all at home, in familiar places. with familiar people, in not-so-familiar situations, like only dreams can deliver you. there are some bridges left to be mended, time, only time, and some effort.

the whethers

Maybe I don't cope well with luxury but today i'm outside, doing what seems to be thawing from the house. the cold air is drying my skin out beyond recognition (as my own)and i etch reminders on it in my sleep. scales and scars.

I have settled to more comfortable days this week, but the moon will not turn for me. she must have peeped into my old bedroom through my window and realized how I didn't sleep there any more. maybe she can't find me yet. more an annoyance than a problem.

i seem to be still avoiding the thought of exams next week. i am not studying. I will have to, at some point. Ryan says artists avoid numbers because they are fixed and are less able to be manipulated into something else, as music and words and colours are.the unmalleable.this is one time i cannot dance my way around things.

We're still in the business of making the right plans. opens us up to so many possibilities. wherever life takes us, it should be something to look forward to. Here's to faith that he makes it here for Christmas. Maybe by then, God will give us the smile we've been waiting for. so, maybe it's time to get back to the house.

placing.

I look at him sleeping sometimes, and I miss moments before their arrival. anticipation turns memory and dream, something familiar. My mother says I should not be so serious about love just yet, I am young and life needs teach me more of itself. I do not see the need (or the possibility) of outgrowing this one blessing, my spirit has vowed it so.

Washington is dry air, toco heat and dull shades- grey and pastel. I should get used to cold nights by the time we leave here. the poetry festival started yesterday, some hundred miles from here....and I am still on the polar end of the country. What miss yuh ain't pass yuh. Things will come up...maybe. I've recognized the need to start over, from scratch. everything, poems included.

I have not written much since I left home. I am still building image in my head. who I am here, and now. there will be change. Responsibility will make me woman and I will choose how I should live. I cannot move forward until I have consulted with my God, and made a fast. I cannot think straight enough to write on crooked lines, for myself, not here.

School is on its way. It seems a long way off for me still, but that too will pass quickly. I am tired of shopping. It must stop. now. I would like to spend more time relaxing, thinking and sleeping long hours rather than running around everywhere like sales were salvation.

This week should lend more quiet. less tears, more love and greater peace.