Dear Michael...

I feel like I’ve lost something. But I’m not quite sure what. I feel like I never got the chance to witness and experience something truly extraordinary… and that is the problem exactly: I feel like I’ve lost something I never got the chance to have.

Dear Michael,
I don’t know you. But you must be somebody great. I hear people talking about you – about how much they miss you, about how much good you’ve done and how you’ve touched the world because you tried to heal the world. And it’s amazing to sit and listen to people go on and on about you. And I wonder if they’re saying all these things because you’re dead, and how sad it would be if they never took the time to tell you all these nice things when you were alive. Because, from what I’ve been hearing, you needed to hear them.

I heard people talk about how shy and soft-spoken you were, and how animated you became before a crowd – how you transformed into this other person who was innovative and creative and just went out of your way to make people happy.

And I saw the videos. I saw the way you stretched your arms wide and tilted up your chin during the applause after your performances… how hard you breathed, and how you seemed to be absorbing every last drop of praise from those people. Was that it, Michael? Was that what made stage life so great for you? Was it the adoration from the fans? The feeling of being valued? Of knowing that, in that second, for that moment, you could allow yourself to feel loved and appreciated? You could find satisfaction for that basic human desire for acceptance?

And that was exactly what was wrong with you, wasn’t it Michael? You were too human. And they nearly killed you for it. Because who were you to be a full grown man with a boy’s voice? To like to laugh and give hugs? To walk with your heart in your hands, ready to give it freely to anyone who wished? Who were you to be so very very simple and basic and human, yet miraculously gifted and talented? Who were you to bare your shattered soul to humanity and ask them to love you anyway? To make yourself so vulnerable? What did you think you were, Michael - a kid? A king?

Michael, I miss you. I don’t even know you and I miss you! I watched your funeral and I bawled shamelessly. I didn’t even know when the tears started falling… but fall they did. And they’re falling still. Because I loved what people had to say about you. I loved the way I felt when they showed the picture of this little five year old boy-wonder singing about missing his baby. I loved what Smokie Robinson said about watching you sing – about you being a kid but somehow knowing. You know what it means to be a kid knowing, Michael. A kid being able to feel what adults think is reserved only for them. A grown man-boy who never really grew up...

I reckon there are a lot of things in this world that I still don’t understand. And I figure that if I stay around long enough, I may start to understand some, but others would still evade me. But I know. Michael, I know- that when I die, I want people to talk about me like that too. I want orphanages and charities to remember me. I want my brother to sing my favourite song with tears flowing down his face. I want my mother to wear a big ole hat to hide the grief she cannot bear. I want my sister to get quiet and pensive. I want my baby to tell the world what a great mommy I was, and how she loved me – regardless of what anybody else thinks –she loves me! I want people to sing my songs and remember me for all the good that I’ve done. And sit in a town square and rock and cry. And remember. And recount. And appreciate. And cry.

And I want the world to pause, for one brief moment, and acknowledge my existence like that. I want them to say, without the shadow of a doubt, that -love me, hate me, can’t make up their minds about me– they all MUST acknowledge the fact that I lived. That I really lived. That I did what I did. And I did it well.

Michael. I don’t know you. But I know you lived an extraordinary life... You were something special... you were something else... *sigh*... something else...

There was nothing strange about your daddy. It was strange what your daddy had to deal with. -Rev. Al Sharpton to Michael Jackson's children at the Memorial Service

I Must Not Forget

Most days, I want to think of myself as something pretty special. I want to tell myself that I am truly one-of-a-kind. I want to believe with all my heart that I'm a fighter... a survivor, and that I made it this far because of my hard work and on the raw force of will-power alone.

But other days, like today, I face the truth. I look myself in the mirror and tell myself what a lucky person I am. Because had my parents been any less devoted to my success, had my teachers been any less relentless in their demand for excellence, had the foundations and principles of my life been only a shade different, and had there not been a God, I would not be the person I am today.

Days like today, I remember: I may have seen this much and come this far, but I did NOT do it on my own.

I've spent the last four years living in Kingston: going to school, working, and getting acquainted with urban life. Yesterday, I sat at home in rural St. Mary remembering, for a good long while, how easy it is to forget the people and places that comprise the 17 years that precede the last 4.

Is it really that easy to forget the pride in my father's smile, the warmth in my mother's arms, the loud, cheerful rings in my siblings' laughs? Is it so easy to forget music-filled streets and Miss Mabel's corner shop, and the names of classmates who stayed home to help build their parish, while I was whisked away to urban Jamaica with lofty dreams, in search of something (supposedly) better... in search of something (supposedly) more?

I sat listening to my siblings' jibes. My sister is a woman now. And my brothers have beards, or stubble... How weird that they have lives -whole lives- that I have very little knowledge of. How weird that my parents are growing old. How weird that my teachers and neighbours and classmates have never forgotten my name, or my face, and that, with the extra wrinkles in their tired faces, they smile when they see me, and remind me -again- why I should never give up. Why I should never forget.

I must not forget past classmates carrying babies in their arms: theirs and their little sisters'. I must not forget street vendors missing teeth, the sight of once-firm flesh now sagging, jangling and dangling as they offer passers-by their wares. I must not forget scruffy young men, congregating on street corners, already beggars, drunks and drug addicts... I must not forget that for every step I take, someone gets left behind. That for every rung on the ladder I climb, someone stands on the ground, wistfully looking up or cluelessly gazing around... I must not forget that they toil relentlessly. And I must not forget why: because too many children, by virtue of location alone, are abandoned and forgotten. They're bright. They're smart. They're awesomely talented. But they're oblivious to how much they're being robbed.

They have no access to what this world calls success. No access to urban Jamaica and all the secrets it hoards and hides... They remain where they are: seeds of potential. Undiscovered. Undefined. Unfulfilled.

They look at me and smile. And I think they feel proud. But, really, what's there to be proud of? I am no better than these. I am a daughter of St. Mary soil, just like anybody else. While I am in Kingston trying to realise fairytale dreams, they are at home fighting through the despondence of habitual disempowerment, finding new ways to survive a world that denies them the privilege - nay, the right- to fundamental amenities.

And it's a long road ahead of us. We have a far way to go. But if we ever expect to look in the mirror and feel any sense of accomplishment, it must be because we never forget. It must be because I never forget.

I cannot forget... help me to remember... I must NOT forget.

Only in Jamaica

1. From the STAR (newspaper)

"There is absolutely no truth to the fact that he was involved in anything alleged..." (Uh... what?Is this legalese for guilty?) This from a lawyer defending his client.

2. From the Telly

"Children are different from human beings..." this from a gentleman explaining why children should be treated differently from grown-ups...

3. Courtesy of my own circle of friends

From Lee: "A three baby mother me have, and mi nah cheat pon none a them!"

Gabs: "I was in my room with my sister JJ when my brother, Jude, came in laughing. He told us about this American woman he saw on TV. The quizmaster asked her how many Eiffel Towers were in the world, and she replied, "I think it's ten, but I'm leaning towards nine." Me and Jude broke up laughing. JJ joined in after about a minute, then she left the room. Me and Jude were in the room having ourselves a good cry-laugh when JJ came back in and asked, "so, really, how many are there?"

Brandy: "We were in class talking about which planet we would visit if we had the chance, and everybody was giving different answers. Then one guy stood up and said, "I would go to the sun." The class went silent. "What?" I asked. "Dude, you can't go to the sun! If we so far from the sun and it so hot, you can imagine if you GO to the sun? You would roast!" The whole class was laughing at him when another boy marched in and ordered us all quiet. "Oh shut up," he asserted. "Di whole a unnu a eediat. Di bes time to go to the sun is night." Class mash up.

Thought For the Day

Just because a body is doing nothing doesn't mean a body has nothing to do...

(maybe a body just doesn't know where to start...)

Caribbean Newspapers Falling Short?

Things and times certainly have changed… and the big money says they will continue to do so as long as things and times exist. Newspapers and journalists cannot afford to have a myopic approach to the many new developments on the internet. We better turn with the tide, or else get turned over.

Speaking from a Caribbean perspective, I think a reanalysis of the relevance of (Caribbean) journalism to today’s socio-technological climate is loooong overdue. Caribbean news-houses, especially our newspapers, are lagging behind in their use of modern technology to optimise content and capture new, untapped audiences. And it’s funny and sad, because their online presence as a textual authority provides (in my opinion, at this point) many more opportunities for a wider scope and reach than other forms of traditional media outlets, which have not as yet even begun to make their presence felt online.

In her address to a US Senate hearing on the future of journalism last month, Google's Vice President of Search Products and User Experience, Marissa Mayer, explained that one of Google's latest and most innovative products, Google Wave, can be especially useful to media houses, if they take the initiative to use them.

Mayer’s points are well worth taking note of. And our newshouses must realise that whether or not they pay attention to what she has to say, her words still stand as truth and prophecies that, if not now accepted and acted upon, will be later remembered and (unfortunately) regretted. Google (with their awesome, enlightened selves) will continue to break new ground and be at the helm of new technological innovations. They will continue to reap the benefits of their insight and foresight, whether or not newspapers pay attention.

It stands to reason, therefore, that our newspapers should quickly act on this invitation to be a part of the 21st century, and see Google as friend, not foe. We should be making every effort to tap into the multi-million people market to which Google already has access. How else do we plan to optimise our reach in the face of ever-growing technological innovations? Best advice is to take Mayer’s advice: act fast, act now!!

Recession

I was walking along Silver Slipper Plaza in Cross Roads. Just looking. When I saw them. I stared. I drooled. I downright ogled. I got all panicky in the tummy in that sicknsweet way that gives delight wrapped up in anxiety. My belly went jelly and my knees grew ridiculously weak. I nearly passed out.

Wow! Gorgeous... goh-je-uss!

They had to be the most beautiful pair of earrings I had ever seen. I had to get them. It was a compulsion. I could. not. leave. without. claiming those beauties.

Then I felt my pockets: Empty. Broke. I shrugged. And sighed. Oh well, they weren't all that fabulous. And with drooping shoulders in a dejected slump, I continued walking.

Recession? This too shall pass.

Here I Come!!

I'm not worried.
And my friends can't understand it.
Especially the ones who graduated last year and still haven't found stable employment.

They just don't understand why I'm so calm about the whole job-seeking thing. They think I'm being naive, and a little (or maybe more than a little) foolish. But I don't think so. I'm just not worried. At all. About finding a job or making a decent living. Even in this economic climate.

I keep trying to explain to them that I'm being calm (because it goes hand in and with rational and thoughtful, lol) and because I'm more excited than anything else. And because I have a plan. And I've already begun to execute it. See, I'm not just leaving University and then going back home to deep rural St. Mary to sit on my beautiful bum and send out countless resumes to people. I have a PLAN!!

I've been doing my research. I've already seen loopholes, gaps and spaces in the world of PRINT and ONLINE journalism/production where my skills can prove useful and profitable. And what I don't know, I'm making every effort to learn to make myself even more marketable. Yes I'm sending out resumes. Yes I'm dropping the word. But I'm also looking into self-employment options. Looking into the world of entrepreneurship. I'm exploring *profitable* volunteerism, and all that wonderful jazz.

I guess maybe if I sat at home just waiting for something to fall into my lap after sending out some CVs, I'd have time to get worried. But I'm NOT worried because I'm working my amazing azz off to make sure I don't have anything to worry about! *Plus I'm praying like crazy (lol)*. And I am seeing things happen...

I'm in a weird place. Transition, I guess you could call it. I know I'm leaving a season. And I'm also entering a new one. Exciting? Yes. Absolutely. I'm at this point where I can see my whole life before me. I see everything I want. And it's all within my grasp. I mean, it is all really and truly right there staring me in the eyes, kinda daring me to come get it, to get up and do what is necessary to get them. And I just can't keep still. Because this is not a dream any more. It's all a real and very visible and tangible reality.

All the things that were supposed to limit me... lack of qualification, experience, age, location... they're now the very things that are empowering me. And if you ask me, it's about time! I can't explain this (supposedly naive) feeling that has engulfed me lately. But I also can't lie to myself. I feel ready. Ready to work. Ready to be successful. Ready to actually see what I've been studying and planning for... I'm ready, world. I am ready!! Are you??