3 Weeks Spent Dating an Enigma


It was a cold Tuesday night after school when I met her sitting by herself in the 24EX JUTC bus. She sat over the left-hand side of the bus, directly in front one of my girlfriends. Her hair had a puff (bun) and was all-natural. Her fairly dark skin scintillated by the bus’ 1800W lightings. She had on a creamy coloured skirt that went below her knees, notwithstanding her black coloured cardigan over her barely visible navy blue “v-neck” blouse. Her hands were folded, probably because of the A/C. “Hey,” I said, greeting her graciously yet cautiously. Her replies were hesitant and nervous. After the conversation escaped us, I finally recaptured the courtesy and introduce my name, majors, age, and the area where I reside. When I was near my avenue, she took my contact and I existed the bus.

Week 1: Introductory phase
We had gotten to know each other comfortably. We arranged to meet up on campus and waited to journey with each other often. I even invited her to a gospel event that my good friend Abigail and her partner Noel were endorsing on campus which featured gospel artist Jermaine Edwards and speaker Reverend Blair. Getting her to go was a bit challenging seeing that she wasn’t the party going type of Christian.

Week 2: True Self
She told me that we were two different and that she isn’t used to my opened lifestyles. Yes, she was seriously sheltered and cut off from reality. Normalcy for her was abnormal. She had freaked me out couple times but I was determined to go a bit further because I actually wanted us to workout.

Week 3: Continuous Relapse
By now, she had deleted and readd my WhatsApp account from and to her phone about 4 times, periodically after each onset. Furthermore, she urged me to delete her pictures and contact because she didn’t want to befriend me anymore, and that our separation should be FOREVER! While, at another instance, she would readd me and tell me that she is sorry and that she wants us to continue seeing each other because she’s gradually falling for me. Honestly, I couldn’t take her irrational impulses so I had allowed her to “go” after the 5-6 outburst. Sadly, I was being persistently patience and wholeheartedly loving to the wrong person.


Gullible in Love


Don’t believe everything you’re told, I had to learn the hard way. Jane is cute; good curvature, neatly-fitted glasses with complementary braces. Her smile radiates and trajects across the ozone. Her good stance and posture reflects her superior state of mind. She walks piously– always in front, always ahead of her shoals. A classy girl– every guy would want to venture, guessing of their insecurity complexes. (Every guy seems to like the same cute and goodly physique girl!) I stare at Jane as she walks by flamboyantly, every Monday morning next to the watercooler, holding her featherweight textbooks.

“Hhhii…” stuttered in speech. Maybe, just maybe I’m not the “Guild President” for her– I’m just no competitor at this phase. But wait, what’s this? Isn’t this Jane’s? I should… no! She might say I plot it… I’ll just hold onto it a while longer… maybe she hasn’t noticed it has gone missing as yet. Sighs… if I could but muster the courage… “Hi, Jai” says Jane “By any chance have you seen my UWI ID? I swore it must’ve fallen here!” I was shocked! Frozen and left in ice by her acknowledgement. “Uhm… he–ere” “Thanks, sugar, you’re a lifesaver!” But were I truly?

I always like to admire Jane from the shadows, call me her “Dark Knight;” watching, waiting for the ideal moment to approach. “Hey, Jai? Wanna get me a patty?” Raised eyebrows “whh- what?!” “I’m asking if you can go and purchase a patty for me, please?” Oh, sure! “Don’t you need the money?! She shouted. “No, I’m fine. I got yah!” Why did I just agree to get her a patty? Well, at least $150 won’t put a major dent in my drought wallet. “Oops, I should’ve asked her the type patty.” No… she wants beef, everyone’s safe card is beef-ish. “Here you go Jane, one BEEF patty! I smirk hesitantly. “Its beef, right?” Yea… “Thanks, sugar!” The words I don’t mind hearing all day from her.

I wonder if Johnathan can loan me $150 till tomorrow morning? Sighs… every Monday its the same thing with us. At least, I’m her sugar! (Chuckles**)

Patois: speech medicine


Although, Patois is considered to be the substandard language to its counterparts, its exquisite and grandiloquent expressions today, rivalled that of the most influential poetic literatures. Its broken phrases fits comfortably into any dialect while maintaining the desired context. Should we say, “how are you, John?” in English as opposed to, “wah gwaan, John?” in Patois- the latter here is seen to be used effortlessly and with few syllables.

But is this all there is to Patois? We’ve witnessed in the above paragraph, a glimpse in communicating with this inferior usage. In Patois, words can be easily stipulated to mean the same thing as in English with fewer or no ambiguity. Similar to English, Patois has its own linguistic structure: grammar, syntax, semantic, etcetera. A phrase in Patois that is misapplied and misrepresented as with English is deemed “ungrammatical,” resulting in unacceptable or incorrect usage.

English is complex and often its difficulty arises in its pronunciation and enunciation of words. To enunciate the “th”, “h” and other sounds are sometimes harder to do in English than in Patois. Moreover, these sounds can be substituted to a more broken version for instance, “ear[th]-ear[te]” and “[h]eart-[h]awrt”; do you get it? Given the suitable replacement, the content of the message is thus retained and the understanding thereof.

Apart from Patois being pitiable and ethnocentric, it’s flowery and dramatic usages does spring life into any [dead, monotonous, tedious] conversation. Such warning, “Nuh bengeh guh roun’ dey!” as used in dialects spoken in the Western parts of Jamaica, facilitates nothing but stomach crunching laugher. The English version is, “Don’t bother go around there!” Wasn’t that expression funny? I did think so.

Change Of Heart: two sides of love

51+s6ThljjLEvery 3 o’clock, I would sit on the veranda’s rocking-chair and wait for you to return home to me but you never did. I checked the door locks a thousand times to see if they were the ones we had installed. I kept peering through the drapes across the street to look at the neighborhood guy you used to bang every quarter-passed 4. Surprisingly, I knew you were an infidel but I retained your secret. It was our secret and I felt if I’d preserved it for you, long enough– you would love me eternal.

Every 15 minutes to 6, I organized your L’Oréal, Jordanna and Black Opal makeup collections, exactly as we’d practiced. I ironed your underwears and folded them down the middle then across, making the  two “wings” meet. I made your favourite fish casserole with a side of boiled cauliflower and broccoli garnered in white cheddar cheeze sauce and perfumed your seat at the kitchen table to entrapped your aura.

I had to keep your secret; how could I’ve not? The Police assumed that you must have ran off with the neighborhood guy, which I didn’t cater for. Every half hour to 9, I walked aimlessly through the various neighborhoods, having the slightest hope of rendezvousing with you but it never happened. I cried my eyes out every 15 minutes passed 9 when it’s, “pretend love-making time”, the hour when you usually mourn loudly for the 10 minutes of dried-humping.

But how could I tell you your secret? Am I insane?! It has been 3 years now and the Police stopped their investigation. Everyone knows I weren’t the suspect because I’m too gullible for your love. Now I love feeling the skin of my rocking-chair. It is so soft and gentle and filled with different fragrances. The heels of it are so polished. How could I’ve spilled your secret? For I swore to cherish you unto death; our love transferred to chair. But this rocking-chair that you’ve become is what suppressed my abnormality. And the neighborhood guy, let’s say, his skin made the most comfortable head cushion.






Shakespeare’s voice: opinion art opinions; aren’t these thine opinions?


Don’t change because someone deem it, change you because it is the necessary thing to do” _D. Riley.

Why should I listen to thine opinions? Isn’t ‘twis thine subjectivity of me? Because you say, “I’m good for nothing,” doesn’t mean, I should model myself according to your labelling. I don’t have low self-esteem, so why should I depersonalize myself? Neither am I bulimic, so why should I take laxatives?

Isn’t ‘twis thine subjectivity of me? Aren’t these thine opinions? Are they facts? Are they statistics? Are they reliable and valid? Are they God’s? Why do you think I should change because you’re at fault with me? Are thine opinions my reality? Can I use them to feed my stomach? Can I use them to make transactions? Why should I care about what you say then?

Isn’t twis thine subjectivity of me? Aren’t these thine opinions? Your opinions do not facilitate my learning, and even if I were being evaluated, your opinions won’t get me the marks I did not receive. Why do you blather profusely? Why is thine counsel yet darkened? Are your opinions written on my birth certificate? Do they constitue my being or do they proliferate my dreams?

I would like to know because you clearly seem to have all the answers to life I seek. Isn’t twis thine subjectivity of me? Aren’t these thine opinions?

[Expressing the mind of a dare friend]

Not Every Attraction Means A Relationship


We’ve become good friends. In my mind, you were way too good for a friend. You invited me over and I cooked for you, and when something was short in the house, I would opt to use my own money. We did the dishes together and I splashed the soapy water in your face and hair– oh, no, not the hair you had just combed. You loved how you styled your hair; shit, am I now in trouble?

You acted as if you were mad, then stormed out of the room. I know I’d overdone it this time, yea, this time it was my fault. Suddenly, I felt you on my back with your feet wrapped tightly around my side. You pulled us to the floor but I didn’t allow myself to fall on you, so I twisted. Now, we were both soaked laying on the tiles, laughing at each other, even though I was irate as hell.

Your mom called out from a distance, but we quickly got up and you lied, damn, you lied. I smirked and called you “unsaved”, but when I reach over to take the breadfruit peel from out of your hair, that’s when you kissed me– why did you kiss me? We always shared the same space, and if I was hungry, you’d meet me with lunch – vice versa. You wore my name so many times, I swore it was borrowed, and you used it as a scapegoat to repel your mom’s paranoia. “Mom, I’m going with Jai, love you, soon be back” [door slammed!]

A quick question: what have we not done together? Park strolling, picnic, and experimented with different flavoured ice-creams? Hugged and rode Dolphins? Dressed similarly? Watched movies, operas, and listened to orchestras? Jockey back riding, sleepovers which led mostly to pillow fights? Polished your toenails, scrubbed your feet and helped cornrow your stubborn hair? Being the solely audience to your karaoke? Gossiped over people’s relationship? Texted each other, talked over the phone for hours with nothing constructive to say most times? Kissed your scabbed-knee when you had fallen? Explored many chapters of the Bible, prayed and fasted together and visited each other churches? Visited various restaurants and took pictures? We DID all and more, for we weren’t average friends.

However, the day when my friend tried to persuade me to “sleep” with you- that I didn’t do; and although you might look the part to ride the mystical dragon to ecstasy by others, you were not an object to be used in this magnitude by me. I respect you. I love you, and would do anything for you, than to be this closely attached to you.