A girl-child's name must be
Strong enough
To fight inequity with grace
Delicate enough to hold in your hand
Historic, not tragic
Ethereal, not fictitious
Beauteous enough to draw in one's breath
Toned, though not muscular
Exotic, yet coping anywhere--
Only slightly esoteric.
Enigmatic, but not obscure
Unlikely to be misconstrued.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
BIO
Who I am
Just your average Catholic schoolgirl, with issues! I came from working class and aspiring upper middle-class lineage, bred from Indian-Euro-Lebanese stock. All restless spirits, both sides of my parentage were for the most part fortunate travellers (as Walcott might put it).
How I got here
My great paternal grandfather was a cloth merchant from Beirut, his wife, my great granny was the oldest relative I ever met: a Greek woman from a privileged family. She eloped with my great gramps and migrated to England then onto the Caribbean. I visited her on her deathbed when I was 5 and her 94.
My mother's family were staunch Muslims from Trinidad and Guyana. My grandpa on that side migrated to the USA and became a poli-sci professor in California. Granny however was undereducated and they two divorced early. But they managed to have one kid in Guyana: my mum. After the breakup, gran had it rough; she moved to Trinidad and never left. That's where I was born.
About me
In my heart I'm deeply rooted, sometimes confused in my West India-ness. For now I sojourn here in Trinidad where I feel my closest kinship. Alas, I too may someday soon leave my beloved but troubled island for other pastures, as is in my blood.
Just your average Catholic schoolgirl, with issues! I came from working class and aspiring upper middle-class lineage, bred from Indian-Euro-Lebanese stock. All restless spirits, both sides of my parentage were for the most part fortunate travellers (as Walcott might put it).
How I got here
My great paternal grandfather was a cloth merchant from Beirut, his wife, my great granny was the oldest relative I ever met: a Greek woman from a privileged family. She eloped with my great gramps and migrated to England then onto the Caribbean. I visited her on her deathbed when I was 5 and her 94.
My mother's family were staunch Muslims from Trinidad and Guyana. My grandpa on that side migrated to the USA and became a poli-sci professor in California. Granny however was undereducated and they two divorced early. But they managed to have one kid in Guyana: my mum. After the breakup, gran had it rough; she moved to Trinidad and never left. That's where I was born.
About me
In my heart I'm deeply rooted, sometimes confused in my West India-ness. For now I sojourn here in Trinidad where I feel my closest kinship. Alas, I too may someday soon leave my beloved but troubled island for other pastures, as is in my blood.
Belonging
We walk the house together
Scanning decrepit furniture,
Over-scrubbed bedlinens,
Chipped bone-china tea wares,
Mismatched champagne crystals,
Wilting brass lamp wires,
Sun washed wall art
Remnants of once-upon-a-life.
My children race up and down the creaky stairs.
From how she speaks, I can measure
Her hatred of them, of their chances, their energy,
Of this uncivilised heat
Can't wait to go, can't wait to go
Where I'm from children never behave so
I trail their movements,
Thinking of the low balconies
Which are everywhere; she distracts me,
"Are you listening?"
Oddly, I still pretend to care
I offer safe prices; she charges me
With craziness, meanness
Waves her hands, stark-raving.
This is for the rest of her singular self,
An only child, born in war
A baby carriage in the midst of landmines
How could I possibly understand
Guess her book value?
I over-bargain her history,
Her life of chattels.
Scanning decrepit furniture,
Over-scrubbed bedlinens,
Chipped bone-china tea wares,
Mismatched champagne crystals,
Wilting brass lamp wires,
Sun washed wall art
Remnants of once-upon-a-life.
My children race up and down the creaky stairs.
From how she speaks, I can measure
Her hatred of them, of their chances, their energy,
Of this uncivilised heat
Can't wait to go, can't wait to go
Where I'm from children never behave so
I trail their movements,
Thinking of the low balconies
Which are everywhere; she distracts me,
"Are you listening?"
Oddly, I still pretend to care
I offer safe prices; she charges me
With craziness, meanness
Waves her hands, stark-raving.
This is for the rest of her singular self,
An only child, born in war
A baby carriage in the midst of landmines
How could I possibly understand
Guess her book value?
I over-bargain her history,
Her life of chattels.
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