Business Cards or Lingerie

I just watched "Waiting to Exhale." You know, that Whitney Houston movie. It's a far cry from an academy award for best picture, but for me it did serve its purpose of mindless entertainment and even self loathing. Indeed, all I’ve learnt from television is how to be an actor, although in my case the stage is actually real life.

What? Oh that’s right, it’s not cool to admit that we’re all just putting on a show for each other. I suppose I never got the ‘being real is the new being cool’ memo. Well kidz, I actually don’t always keep it one hundred with the people around me (hence my predicament). In fact, it’s laughable to assume that anyone does. That’s what gets you shot, soooo all the genuinely real people are probably dead... either that or they’re alone watching TV at 3 in the morning.

That being said, I’m going to pretend that I’m not at all upset about my own solitude. Usually, I’d actually be okay with this here me time. Oh boy! I’m getting to know me! Plus you can tell from my lack of blog maintenance that I’m a busy girl so any down time in my schedule is much appreciated. Now that I have this time though, what exactly am I to do with it?

Really, what I want to be doing is having alfredo with extra oregano, or maybe dinosaur nuggets and sweet tea. Heck, even a JR Burger with a caramel latte! I wanna be where you are folks. At the moment I’m in winter wonderland, but without the wonderland. Nope. My wonderland, every possible version of it, is beyond the reach of my little neglected fingertips.

I suppose it’s partially my fault. You see, my relentless fight to be successful takes me to places that necessitate a separation from fairy tale shenanigans and the Prince Charmings that come with the package. I wonder though, in the end, would I rather be blowing out the candles on the cake made for the 50^th anniversary of my kick ass company; or simply blowing kisses at a lover lazily under the sun?

To Deal

I write.
And take pictures.

And then I write some more.
It makes me feel better.

betrayed by the self

Against my will I stand before my reflection. You wouldn’t even recognise me anymore. And its not just the slight swelling of the jelly fish sting. Or the two new shades of black from the scorching Inagua sun, nor my kinky salt ridden locks. Heck it’s not even my new found, slightly impressive Kalik belly. No, not even that could account for the changes.

That glimmer in my eye - you know, that innocent one; yea, well that’s being tweaked a little. It’s a different kind of light now. No matter how hard I try, the naivety is being wrenched out of me. Maybe there isn’t good in everyone. Maybe, just maybe, every person has an ulterior motive. I’d better start working on mine to catch up with you kidz.

I had a gait in my step. I was on a platform because the world was mine for the taking. It still is, but now I have to grapple with this idea of maybe sharing it. My steps are now ordered, controlled. My childlike curiosity is fast being replaced by an understanding of the dangers that lurk behind closed doors. Doors that should never be open.

I have an accent. It used to be pure, different. There was no mistaking that I am foreign. Teased though I was, I vowed to never compromise my voice and diction just so the CoolKidz would accept me. Nope. In fact, they needed to be accepted by me. But this assimilation thing is a sneaky little devil. Not only that, but my vocabulary has gotten a little more colourful after messing with these people and their fuckery.

Pick a lane, pick a lane! That's all I ever heard. But I'm just tryna swerve, without hitting a curb...
- Drizzaaay

exotic – yet another one of my labels. I swear no one just calls me by my name anymore. In DreamLand they love to point out my unorthodox look; my rich chocolate, even-toned skin; my slightly Asian eyes, red enough to be reminiscent of a Stoner, but still childlike enough to prove that this isn’t so; my ‘good’ hair (because dark-skinned people aren’t supposed to have good hair?) and of course my ridiculous metabolism that allows me to consume way more than I need but still maintain the figure of a Gucci-wearing stick on a catwalk in Italy while myriad paedophilic lights consume her slow dying skin and bones, until finally, she meets her end splashed across the glossy papers of Elle or whatever the leading fashion magazine is. But, nothing exposes me more than the riddim in my hips at the sound of music. Tropical drums move in and through me, taking my body on a whirlwind adventure through the hearts and minds of men(maybe women too) who cannot understand the pairing of my sex appeal with my conservatism. Lately though, these frickin’ CoolKidz taught me this Wu-Tang and Swag Surfin’ nonsense. Sad to say, but I absolutely enjoy them.

unleashed. here i go!

Top Student. That’s what they call me back where I was as much an icon as I was an upstart. Not sure what it means, but I guess you could say that I scored really well on a bunch of tests, wrote a couple of profound papers and somehow managed to appear wise beyond my circumstance. Maybe even broke a few records to the point where the BigBoyz opened their fat wallets to give a saintly, impoverished student the ticket to her dreams. But like I said, that’s who I was back there.

Not so much now. Today (and please pardon the cliché-nesssss) I’m the small town chick in a big city, inevitably going through changes in this here new environment. The difference here though, is that my losing my homeliness may not be as bad a thing as can be expected. More of a necessary evil, if you will. By the way, where I’m from and where I am now are both irrelevant at this point, especially since the story will remain the same regardless of my position on a map. It’s the people that are different; the physical place: not so much . Plus we’ve only just met.

Been here a few years now and the CoolKidz have been chiseling away at my walls. To the disappointment of my protégés, a few holes have indeed been created. I suppose I secretly always wanted to do those things anyway; just needed the right amount of impetus. For the record, I’d rather confess to secret deviance than to open malleability. I like to choose my poison, seen? So why did I need to be uprooted before I could ‘free the me inside?’ Well you see, there are 2 main reasons why I did and still continue to embrace the goody two shoes name, even amidst my occasional undesirable desires:

1. I believe in Jesus and thus I genuinely try to be a moral person. To me it makes sense. You don’t have to like it, but I’ve seen Him work.

2. I believe in doing what I have to do until I can do what I want to do. Chances of the BigBoyz being nice to a drugged out village bicycle are slim to none.

In Recent News: I took off for a little bit to work and all the while address my pesky inner conflicts...on an island actually. The plan is to figure out what’s really important to TheTopSutdent and then return to the DreamLand where I’ll continue to read for my awesome degree in style... but this time, my style.

With that being said, this blog will track my progress on the island, then my consequent stylingzz in DreamLand, before finally, the triumphant return home about a year from now. I must admit however, that the posts may not necessarily be regular. I’m far too busy for that, but I will make a valiant effort. Most likely once per week; or at least no less than fortnightly. And, if you’re lucky, I may even talk about something that you CoolKidz actually care about.

Oh, you should jam to my music. It’s important, I promise.

T’was a Pleasure!