I remember in the middle of the night being so warm under my bed sheet that I would peel it off of me, turn toward my standing fan and inhale the cool, fresh air that it circulated.
I remember being at peace.
I remember sleeping (this is big, because I've been an insomniac for several years).
Now, my childhood was quite unorthodox; having moved 13 times (not including my move to college).
But my time in Jamaica was the best part of my childhood.
I was used to getting disciplined by family, neighbors and strangers alike.
Jamaicans some of the most loving, caring, hilarious, blunt, harsh people that I have ever met.
When we would go to my parent's friend's homes, I expected to be treated like one of their children. I didn't expect to not have to clean up or put away my dishes. I also knew that if I didn't clean up, that the first adult to notice would freely tell me. I knew that if my parent's weren't around, my friend's parents would step in without hesitating.
I remember visiting the United States and thinking that everyone here lived in a movie.
In Jamaica, we always had a decent sized back yard, but the grass was rarely cut, the fruit trees in our home in Mandeville shot up out of the ground bearing fruit relentlessly during their peak seasons.
The white station wagon my parents drove could somehow manage the unpaved, pothole laden roads--- we would drive for hours to the other side of the island with no air conditioner, windows down and, if my dad had any say, the voices of Al Jarreau, Elton John, The Fugees or Bob Marley and the Wailers were most likely seeping through the speakers.
We would drive for miles and miles on roads that haven't seen tar in probably over a decade. Trees, grass, flowers grew uninhibited...wild and free.
When I would visit the U.S, I literally felt like I was floating through space and time. It felt like another dimension.
Homes were organized neatly and all painted varying colors of beige and off-white (granted, I'd never been to Miami or a Trailer park at this point). Every one must have measured their grass with a ruler, because no one seemed to have unruly grass. Vaulted ceilings in homes, grocery stores that didn't smell like fish and mangoes (and the mangoes here are shiny!), air conditioner everywhere! for no reason! it wasn't even that hot! and everyone was so nice. Like, weird nice.
"Oh, what a cute dress you have on, sweetie." *Pats you on the head like a dog*
"It's so nice to see you, Marlene!" *Waves and keeps walking* No hug, no reaching out for even a handshake?
"Your name is Paige? What a sweet name. My name is Jennifer."
Wait, this adult wants me to call her by her first name? But I'm seven! (In Jamaica, everyone was Uncle ______, Aunty ______ or if you were older you were Grandma or Grandpa. It doesn't matter if we just met; if I'm seven, I do not call you by your first name.)
Everyone was very friendly, as in, they would all talk to you. But there was limited physical interaction, even between friends. You could see the hesitance between two friends who were trying to decide whether or not they should hug each other. People were big on personal space, you could see the minor twitching in someone's face who's personal space was being violated. If you're less than a foot away, you are probably too close.
I remember feeling this superficial warmth. It felt like...putting a small space heater in a large, cold auditorium. Warmth was present, but it was mostly coldness.
When my parents announced to me that we would be moving to America, I was actually a little bit excited. I was devastated to be leaving my friends, extended family and my dog, but even as a young child I was always ready for a new adventure. I didn't realize that where I was moving to didn't have a beach 10 minutes away, or a waterfall an hour away. I didn't realize that there would be no mountains in Florida, just tall buildings. I didn't realize that the kids could actually talk back to their teachers and get three strikes before anything would happen to them (and they didn't get hit!)... I didn't realize.
The thing that surprised me the most about this country was the lack of honesty.
I remember a boy had a crush on me when I was eleven and I never knew, but apparently everyone else knew. But this kid teased me relentlessly and would always make a point of embarrassing me. I never understood why. At the end of the school year, he wrote down his feelings for me in my yearbook. Confused would be an understatement.
I've seen people lie blatantly to their friends and family members.
"Carol! You look so skinny!"
No, she doesn't.
"Did you lose weight?"
No, she didnt.
"What? You actually have gained 6 pounds? You totally can't tell!"
Yes, you can.
I had a friend get legitimately upset at me for telling her that I didn't like her haircut, when she asked me if I liked her haircut. I wasn't being a douche, I was just being honest! She was a good friend and I felt like the haircut didn't flatter her.
I quickly realized that a lot of people didn't want the truth, they wanted you to tell them what they wanted to hear. And a lot of people didn't want to tell the truth...because the truth is painful, hello.
I've just learned to not say anything.
A lot of people complained about me hurting their feelings my first few years living here. I never intentionally tried to hurt anyone's feelings, but if you tell me that you think you've put on a couple of pounds, I will probably agree with you- because you have obviously put on a couple of pounds. There is nothing rude about that, it's just the honest truth. If you have spinach in your teeth, would you rather someone tell you that your teeth look perfect?
I've learned to not say anything, or I'll just ask, "Do you want me to tell you the truth?" I feel like prefacing a potentially hurtful truth always lessens the "blow."
The truth is, if you don't want anyone to say anything negative to you ever, stop pretending like you actually care what other people have to say.
This is not to say that Jamaicans don't lie, because of course we do.
But I promise you, if you're overweight, go to Jamaica and ask a random person if you're fat; chances are, they will tell you yes.
I remember when we were in Jamaica, my dad put on a few pounds because of some medicine he was taking. We were at the gas station and this person who my dad apparently met once or twice exclaimed, "Reverend Richard! What a way yuh fat, eeh?" ("Reverend Richard, my, how you have gotten fat.")
I mean, I literally had never met this guy in my life, but he felt fine telling my dad that he was fat*.
*Fat can simply mean that you put on a little weight, by the way. My grandma grabbed my cheeks one day and said "Paige, yuh a get fat! What a way yuh face round!" ("Paige, you got fat. What a round face you have!") I am 115 lbs on a good day.
If you're overweight in America (or if you put on a few pounds), ask someone here. Ask a friend, see if they actually tell you that you're overweight or that you gained a little extra cushion. Chances are the answer will be something like:
"Overweight? What?! You're crazy! (avoiding the question)"
or
"Have you put on weight? Not that I noticed. Maybe you're just self conscious."
"You know, you may just have big bones."
(My feelings about obesity in this country would be a whole other entry entirely.)
We just all want too badly to be polite. We don't want to step on any toes. We don't want to hurt anyone's feelings; so, we lie or avoid the truth completely instead.
We don't laugh at ourselves enough, we don't cry in public.
We keep up appearances.
Now, of course this may be a hasty generalization; it's just what I've seen.
I have some friends that I can be honest with, but I still feel like sometimes we have to clarify that we still want honesty. We have to actively say, "I want you to be honest with me," because otherwise, nothing will be said. I know they won't lie to me, they just won't tell me that my boyfriend is a tool and that I have an entire broccoli sprout in my teeth- without prompting.
And the fact that I've been to a couple of countries has confirmed my theory.
(In Paris, this European guy--- I think he was Polish--- called my not-so-big friend "Big Mama." He obviously thought it was endearing. She obviously did not.)
This doesn't make them any less nice. The concern is just not to provide a fake squishy cushion of false niceness.
If you're lying, you're not actually being nicer. You're just lying to make someone like you or feel "comfortable" around you.
What I've learned is that because we are so consumed with being nice, we have a lot of superficial friendships.
So many people feel alone because there is no one for them to be honest with and no one to be honest with them.
Of course, this is not the case with everyone. But I do see it a lot here. SUPER superficial relationships based on materialistic things or physical similarities. Not relationships based on the fact that you are mutually honest with each other and respect each other.
I know that this issue isn't exclusive to the United States, it would be incredible naive of me to say that. I just see it so much here.
So much so that it has changed how I even communicate. I don't talk much about everything (you don't want to freak people out with the idea that you have emotions or hardships or trauma). Everything is "good," "fine," or "okay"--- even when it really is not. I know that even I now become taken aback by people who are overtly honest. I actually don't even know how to take it, sometimes.
Calling someone beautiful or handsome is threatening because it's a more vulnerable compliment. So we would rather call people cute or sexy because you don't have to really put yourself out there for that, even with our friends. We are terrified of that level of honesty.
In Italy and in Paris, strangers on the street would tell you that you're beautiful and it makes you feel like the most incredible person in the world...or extremely awkward, because we don't know how to take that level of honesty. That's why those cities are romantic to us.
The honesty is intoxicating*.
As always, I have no idea how to end this entry. So, I'm just going to wrap it up.
I do think that the U.S has a lot of wonderful things to offer. I'm just afraid that we've painted this pretty picture of ourselves as being so happy and polite, when in reality we just lie to ourselves.
I miss my country. I miss the breeze, the beach and the candidness of so many people who lived there. I know that we have so many issues in Jamaica, we really do. But we're pretty good at being honest (bluntly so). Ask me to be honest with you, and I will be. If I ask you to be honest, I expect the same.
Maybe we wouldn't be so disillusioned if we were more honest with each other.
*While honesty is usually intoxicating, just because you're honest doesn't mean you're not a prick. You need to know when to say things and when to keep your mouth shut. Telling your friend that she has a strange alien baby is never a good idea. Just compliment the baby's shoes and chubby cheeks and try to get out of the situation.
A picture I took at Hellshire beach in Jamaica.
xoxo.
No comments:
Post a Comment