This morning I came awake with a memory of a particular period of my life while still living in Jamaica. It was a period of discovery, adventure, self analysis and experiments. I have never been one to allow what others think of my appearance, style or approach to life to stifle any of my expressions, as long as it wasn’t affecting their well being. I grew up in a culture that can be very critical and judgmental, a people that can take themselves so seriously that lives may suffer. Sad but true.

Between 17 and 19 years of age I ventured into the dangerous realm of individuality, and wandered down pathways of discovering what I truly liked, wanted to be, and how I needed to live! I cut my hair (the processed tresses that my mother loved) and went natural. I wore toe rings (way before it became popular), went around barefoot, donned armbands, wore my shirt unbuttoned to my navel (obviously I didn’t have much in the way of breasts) and embraced everything artistic and “out of the box”.

My friends were all artists, actors, dancers, and struggling. We communed at one house or the other on weekends, hitch hiked across the mountains to the North Coast and the white sand beaches of Negril and rode bikes up and down sandy roads which regularly contributed to one of us landing on our ass in the hedges or pebbles on the side of the road. We smoked and drank Red Stripe Beer while watching the orange sun kiss the temples of the Caribbean Sea, and we were happy.

On my own however, when I ventured to the streets of my mother’s community, or walked in the city to get a bus, I became a target. I was too different for women not to scold me for having shaved my head, or children not to laugh at. I was too independent looking for men not to yell obscenities at me or challenge me for wearing pants and shirts that showed my chest “like a boy”. I kept on going however, I never faltered and I didn’t stop being me. I weathered the challenges and grew strong.

I left Jamaica in 1985. I was untethered from the scorching eyes and questioning lips. I released the breath that held my insides together for so long and looked towards being me in this huge USA. My memories of these times sometimes make me look at that young girl and wonder how she did it, where she found that strength at such a young age? I wouldn’t change it if I could. I believe that those years filled me with something that allowed me to find my way no matter what. I love Jamaica and I visit often. I cherish all it gave me, the precious memories and the harsh experiences. I am here now and I am strong and I am loving the fact that I always did it my way.