Foreign Fixation

Although I said I would try to keep up with this website thingy, the length of time between each post seems to be getting larger and larger; partly because I lost the Internets, partly because I have to write 8,000 words for some papers by the 20th.

But never fear, I have returned with a compilation of stories from the past few days. AND NEW PICTURES.

What a treat.

In the mist of being in a new country full of sights and smells (good and bad) that I've never seen before, I forget that I too, am a rarity in the lives of these humble towns people.

So naturally, I draw more attention to myself than usual. And after my ego shrank and I realized everyone wasn't memorized by my blinding beauty, I found the true reason - I'm odd.

Not everyday normal odd, I'm talking like "if this creature is roaming the streets casually then h*ll has surely opened and Vishnu is about to send another avatar" odd. It's almost as if I embody everything that the Indian public cannot handle, yet I wear this uniqueness proudly, even if it gets me condemned by society for the next few months.

But why am I such an oddity? Let's take it to the list!!!!

My Hair

Because my tress taming skills are lacking, I have yet again tangled my locks into numerous braids. And because the only people who have hair not in a single braid are the same people that renounce clothes and society as a whole, it's not a common hair style. I'm sure the last time someone saw my spaghetti string hair it resembled the bowels of some demon that Kali had destroyed carved on the side of a temple, so I can see why most would be hesitant to touch it.



Don't insult her cooking


Only no one is hesitant.

In fact, my environment and health professor had to tell a gaggle of school children to "be careful because it could break." and what exactly is the 'it' in this situation???

Must...touch.....hair.....

I will admit I do enjoy getting the same amount of attention as if I jumped out of a cake at a party with pockets full of candy, so I let the kids have at it. Its the adults that are creepy.

One thing is its good to know that I always have a nice ice breaker right atop my noggin.





My Hot Chocolatetyness

It does seems strange that while every other country on the planet knows the history of America better than most Americans, still they seem to forget that at one point Africans were brought to aid the southern  economy in the agricultural and service sectors. I say this because no one believes that I am from America. It usually comes about in the following manner -

Local: (to group) So where you from?

The Group: America

Local: (looking at me) ALL of you?

The Group: Yes

Local: Hahahaha, you gotta be sh*ttin' me.

While this reaction has led me to just brush off the unintentional racism, it still amuses me when people try to assign me nationalities. During an altercation with a non-toothed passerby that I had insulted (I wonder how, he seemed to have a lot going for him, gnawing on bars of gold or however he lost those teeth) he claimed that "all Jamaicans are rude."

Sorry Jamaicans for representing your culture in a negative manner.

I was also even thought to be Indian because there was "something in my eyes."



Clearly I stand out the most



I'd put my money on it that the something in my eye is the Kum Kum* that keeps disappearing by the end of the day.



My Bracelets


If there is a legal limit to the number of handmade bracelets, I must have surpassed it three times over. If people aren't staring at the aforementioned physical features I possess, then they are fixated on the threads on my right wrist that remind me of family and friends. Silly me, I thought I'd fit right in, being in bangle country and all...

What? What bracelets?

But as I prance around thinking I'm enjoying life and all that, I'm being judged for my non-glass/metal arm attachments. In fact, I was fitted for some traditional jewlery once, but even my boney arms are too big for the local wear, so they snapped.

Alas, I will forever be an outcast.


Look how small this fresh a** orange slice is. Oh yeah an the bracelets.






My Inability to Stop Dancing

I have been cursed with rhythm and my body tends to express its capabilities whenever there is music around. And this hardly ever occurs at appropriate times.

Grocery store tunes. An oddly melodic cell phone ring tone. Trucks backing up.


Sometimes even real music... wait that's just a coconut and foil.




And seeing as though dancing in public for women is as outlawed as in the town in the film footloose, I have no problem collecting angry glaces from ladies.

I did however stumble upon an outdoor concert complete with drunken singers and a rowdy crowd - but that's for another post...

looks like someone's being ominous... teehee

*red powder that is used to make a bendhi (dot.)