I said I wanted to immortalize us
so I wrote about us
on napkins
in ink

I watched the ink sink
into the pores of pliant tissue
like the way you saturated me
poured yourself into every inch of me

but just like the us it was meant to eternalize,
the ink faded
long before the story was even complete

things built on paper never last anyways
I should have already known this

The problem isn’t you.

The problem isn’t even him.

The problem isn’t your expectations.

It’s not even the way he’s always distant

even when he’s so close your skin

and breathing-

and heartbeat

become one.

The problem isn’t that this feeling flows from the heart of your being

but gets stuck in your throat like vomit.

It’s not even how something so fucking beautiful

could morph into something so hideous

The problem isn’t that he made you cry

even when you said you wouldn’t.

It’s not even that you stayed longer

longer than you said you would.

The problem is that you cared too much for

someone who cared just enough.

The problem is your heart.

The problem is you broke the promise you made to yourself

to never love anyone who wasn’t ready to love you back.

The problem is your heart,

-your own flesh and blood-

keeps betraying you

because it won’t look before it...

Needing somebody has always been a difficult pill for me to swallow.
I’ve always cringed at the idea of loving somebody so much I felt like I couldn’t live without him or her. Maybe I have the wrong idea of what “needing” is. Maybe I need to consult my dictionary. Again.

Needing for me is wrapped in obligation. Needing means something has to exist in the confines of my life because I would die without it. I need this thing even if I don’t like it. The very concept of needing anything for me has always reeked of imprisonment and violent lack of will. Who wants to love out of obligation? Even worse, who wants to be loved out of obligation? To be loved by default?

Recently, my friends and I were stuck in an apartment in Esson, France due to lack of funds. So we sat there talking about life and loosening our tongues with wine and got to talking about love and relationships and life. And...

Raine
August 26, 2017
2pm

“Psst, browning! Ey baby! Me woulda wear yuh.”

Browning. A thick, dark brown substance sold in a bottle, used to season chicken but weirdly, also used to darken fruit cakes at Christmas time.
Also browning. A woman of just about any shade of black caught walking the streets of Jamaica.
Also browning. The most annoying descriptor ever levelled to me.

“Slimmaz. Same how yuh a moggle inna yuh jeans, suh mi wah yuh moggle inna mi life. Come gimme piece nuh?”

Never a dull moment in this country. Saturday morning in Downtown Kingston wasn’t something you forgot. Jamaica, in general, wasn’t somewhere anybody forgot. Market day downtown was the very antithesis of peace and tranquility. From the taxi men who haggled for passengers like women downtown bickered over fresh produce; to the JUTC buses with the no good AC and bus preachers; to the god-forsaken coaster...

One of the best parts about TAPIF (Teaching Assistant’s Program in France), besides the baguettes and sharing my culture, is the travel privileges. Travelling on a budget has become my life and reason for existence. Hop across France with 50 euros? Challenge accepted.

Our latest travels brought us to Strasbourg, a city in Eastern France with buildings so beautiful I could weep. After standing and staring at La Basilique for what felt like an interminable moment we decided to take a break and visit the other parts of what quickly became my favourite French city (sorry Paris).

The bus ride to Strasbourg was a few hours of my life I’d gladly want to regain. Apart from the uncomfortable seats and the woman behind us who was snoring her way to the very gates of heaven, it was an uneventful journey. (Big up Flixbus)

Being woefully broke on vacation limits your food options in a very...

“Twas the night after pay day (two hours after to be exact) and two broke girls decided to fulfill their dream of going to Geneva.

And it so happened that a few days ago, on a stressful and introspective Sunday night, a friend, Renee, and I planned an impromptu journey to Geneva, Switzerland. Planning any outing with my friends in Jamaica, an island I can traverse by car in less than 4 hours, usually takes 5 weeks of rigorous planning, at least 2 ruined friendships and a few empty bank accounts. Switzerland would be better, I told myself. It would.

We left for Switzerland a few days ago and on avais hâte. We booked rooms at a hostel which offers a free transportation card for not only the buses, the trams and the trains, mais écoutez bien, the boats as well.

-Cue angels. -

So our itinerary was as follows: Paris to Dijon, Dijon to Geneva. It was supposed to be a gruesome 7 hour...

Travelling to a new part of the world requires a million things: a passport, a clean toothbrush, money and most importantly, a list of dreams waiting to be made reality.

It recently hit me that I made an enormous list of things to be accomplished and I have yet to do most of them. My travel bucket list before coming to Europe was a mile long. Two miles, if I’m being honest with myself. But after a few months of being in France, I’ve set more realistic expectations for my travel outings.

First, I tried to visit all the towns in my region (Bretagne), Normandy and Nantes and now that I’ve ticked quite a few of them off the list, I’m trying to up my ante to travels outside of France. But that remains to be seen. Baby steps.

Nantes, France

Quiberon, France

Vannes, France

Dinan

Dinard

Le Mont St. Michel, Normandy, France

His smile fore-runs mine

The way lightning precedes thunder

The way existence precedes essence

My lips only knew quivering when they met his

My heart only knew safety when his met mine at the door.

His eyes are the only ones I trust my body to in harsh light.

His hands the only ones that roam at midnight

He peruses the catalogs of my soul

The unpublished

The bent, dog-eared, yellowing pages,

Dips his guitar string fingertips into the depths of my depths

Into the unedited,

Untamed

Parts of me

The parts that respond only,

Unravel only at the tap of his fingertips

The hidden depths that are only unlocked at the whisper of a touch.

From him and him alone

Unlocked only by his wide open silences

Unasked questions

By his smile

By his smiles that fore-runs mine

Like lightning fore-runs thunder

Disclaimer: (this has nothing to do with Adele. I apologize in advance)

It’s funny how it feels to be on the other side of a system you’ve been a part of for almost all your life; whether it be customer service, banking or schooling. Somehow you take for granted all the effort and strategic planning that goes into the operation of this particular system, whether it is properly functional or not.

I’ve been a student long before my sense of self was fully developed. In fact, some of my earliest memories were of learning. And even though I’ve been a model student all these millions of years (despite the bickering, the random comments in class, the teasing, distracting other students, randomly singing and dancing in class…- okay maaaybe, just maybe, I wasn’t such a model student after all), I always considered myself to be a responsive and attentive pupil (i.e always offering to answer a...

Being in France is really a very humbling experience for me. If you study French and you think you can speak it, go to France.
It’s as if you forget everything you have ever learnt about the language upon approaching the French airspace. In university, in oral practice sessions and oral exams I could hold my own in Spanish (not as much in French), but my grades were well above water and I thought I was a certified Francophone. Being here has erased all those delusional notions. Ask me if I speak French and my response will be a resounding “no”.

I have so much more to learn. But that’s okay. Suuuuuuuuree, it’s a bit embarrassing sometimes (9 times out of 10 if we’re being really honest) and yeahhh I do have a crippling phobia of speaking to customer service personnel, especially on the phone. Perhaps at the end of my 7 month program here, I’ll be able to ask the price of a pair of boots...