I remember when my 21st birthday was in a year so far away it seemed like I’d need a time machine to get there. I remember thinking that everything would be okay when I got to 21. The aim was to have life all figured out at 18, but just in case, I allowed myself 3 extra years to get it right.

At 21, I’d know all the answers: I’d know why my jeans didn’t shrink in the machine, I’d know why I continued to like guys who were bad for me, I’d know how to prevent bubbles from forming in my nail polish and I’d perfect my winged liner. I’d unlock all the secrets to the universe by 21. I’d be pretty. I’d be smart. I’d be perfect.

I’d finally know what to say when guys said “Tell me about yourself”, I’d know the answer to “What do you want to be when you grow up?” At 21 I’d have every year for the rest of my life mapped out. At 21 a whole new world would be about to open for me.

Now I’m 20...

Let’s talk about a few things that don’t exist; the perfect wax job, matching winged eye liner, a fun foundation course, an effective Jamaican parliamentary session, Jamaican customer service and a comfortable pair of 4 inch heels.

In my quest for contentment with the life I’ve been dealt, I’ve made the bold decision to be satisfied with the fact that some things in life are just not meant to be. With this new life philosophy, I no longer get irritated when the JUTC buses never show up on time, I’ve gotten accustomed to the idea that my 24 hour lipstick will never last 24 hours and sadly, that $50, owed by that reputable West Indian university, will never find its way back into my pocket. These things I can contend with.

However, one thing I refuse to resign myself to is bad customer service. Bad customer service, in the perfect world I envision for myself, would be as probable as a...

Question 2: Share with us what you are most passionate about and what the impact of this has had on your life

                            “Feel Good Music” 

Last night I fell asleep listening to music. This morning I woke up listening to music. Floating in musical bliss for the better half of my life, it is no surprise that I intend to do the same thing tomorrow, the day after and for many years to come. I live for music. Every pivotal moment of my life can be scored with a song. Every inexplicable feeling can be found in the underlying beat of some song from some genre: contemporary or oldies. Most persons would find it odd to search indefatigably until they find the song they heard in a movie or a commercial- but humans are known to go to great lengths for the things they love. I am no exception. Music, like all the things I love; food, movies, literature, language and people, is...

I met my fake boyfriend when I was 16 years old. His name is Andrew and he’s two years older than I am.
Andrew Jameson is 22 years old and currently studies architectural engineering at the university a few minutes from mine. He’s in his 3rd year of university and we met at a party at a mutual friend’s house. He’s 6 feet tall, an Arsenal fan, drives a blue Honda Civic, plays 3 sports and takes guitar lessons (he knows that I have a thing for guys that strum).
He likes his hot dogs with ketchup, mustard but no relish; prefers the beach to going to the pool; really loves my smile and hates when I tickle his sides.

And if you’re really interested, he lost his phone at his best friend’s BBQ last week, he deleted his Facebook profile to focus on his school work and God no, he does not tweet.
Andrew Jameson is perfect and we’re naming our first daughter in honour of his aunt; who passed...

Growing up I was made to feel bad about being skinny. My classmates called me “Stringbean”, “Popeye’s Olive”, “Skeleton” and barraged me with other names.

All around me I saw girls with body parts that I didn’t have and still don’t have and I was made to feel inferior to them; like less of a female because my body proportions were different. By 9 years old, so many girls in my 4th grade class were wearing training bras while I still looked like a boy from the waist up.

They had these exciting new protrusions from their chests and by 5th and 6th grade, these little bumps were matched with hips and clearly visible asses.

Meanwhile I pulled out my General Science textbook and reread the chapter on puberty until the pages were tattered and crushed. I cherished those three lines about late bloomers and underlined them triumphantly. One day my day would come.

I’m 20 years old this...

Between my not so useful foundation courses, my core courses, and sitting under the trees and by the benches of my university, I can say I’ve learnt a lot in these few months. I learnt that soaking my nails in cold water after getting them done helps them to dry faster; I’ve learnt that setting my clock a day ahead gets me 5 more lives on Candy Crush; and yes I picked up a thing or two from the lectures and tutorials.

As I come to the end of my year, two things university has taught me is that the lifespan of a friendship is dependent on many variables and university is the ultimate test of friendships.

University has taught me, more than anything else, that friendships do not last forever. And even more than that, knowing somebody for 8, 10, 15 years isn’t enough to keep that friendship going. This past is important- undoubtedly so-but it is not enough to keep a friendship kicking...

Every girl has an idea of Mr. Perfect.

I can’t really say where it came from, but it is very real.
Maybe it’s a result of all those awesome Disney movies we’ve all watched and memorized as little girls or maybe it’s innate. Perhaps all little girls are made with the need to idealize a Prince Charming; a Mr. Perfect.

We imagine him running to us across the sand, his white button down shirt blowing in the wind, a cutesy little song playing in the background and we’re in the cutest summer dress and he comes and lifts us up and spins us around and-

Record scratches. Still single.

Whatever the reason, almost every girl is guilty. Whether mental or written (mine is both), there is a perfectly detailed list. It’s sub-conscious. We all deny having a list but we all do. Even you.
YES YOU.
People ask us, what do you look for in a guy and we start off “Gosh I don’t even know”…then we...

Being cool has evolved, it seemed.
In the 90s, it was cool to be at the top of the class.
It used to be cool to have a new Gameboy Advance. ..
At one point in human existence it used to be cool to rock an afro or be a Hippie.

Teenagers today have sourced the definition of “cool” from another dictionary.

BUT FIRST… LET ME TAKE A SELFIE!

Another fad has emerged it seems.
Instagram has brought to my attention that taking pictures or videos while driving is indeed a thing.

Am I the only person that finds this ridiculous? How is this even a thing?

Besides the fact that almost everybody knows somebody who was in a car accident, died from a car accident or in a near death automobile accident…knowledge that this practice is reckless, dangerous and extremely stupid goes without saying.

What’s the train of thought behind this?

“Ohhh, I’m behind the wheel of a vehicle on a road with...