Baby, Love and Going Home

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Baby, Love and Going Home

midnight, wondering if I have what it takes to raise a happy, well-adjusted human being. Every failure highlights itself as proof that I am ill-equipped. Every friend who has not shown up for me makes me question my judge of character. In these moments I wish I had someone with which to share these questions, these concerns, these fears that only become more and more real with every week I spend expecting.

Was I a fool to do this alone? Was I naïve to think that what I need would materialize? My closest friends are oceans and oceans away. Skype and phones and all the other clever inventions of our age are not good substitutes for flesh and fellowship and food given freely in the wingspan of a hug, or a pat on the hand, or a history co-piloted for decades in a culture common to people who have lived it all their lives. I miss my island home. In this my time of greatest uncertainty, of wanting something I do not yet know that I will have, I so long for my Jamaica. Quarrel or no, homophobia and poverty, violence and corruption, I miss the place where my grandmother lived and worked and delivered me and died. Grateful as I am for the freedom of my voice, and my career and the room to chase some of the most beautiful women in the world, I ache for mangoes that do not taste chalky when I sink my teeth into the orange flesh. I yearn for the commonness of dogs meandering unfettered from yard to yard, for children who yawp the language I first spoke when I began to question the world I was born into. I miss the too-loud speakers on the sidewalks, the men who drink rum more than they drink water. I miss the texture of the culture I know I am romanticizing. Deep inside me, I know the answers to these questions will take years to come. And I know they do not all lie in the place I am from, but tonight I am eight years old again, feeling lost and wishing things were as easy as wishing, as simple as walking some yellow brick road towards the familiar. Tonight I want these answers to find me now. From this sterile hospital bed in New York, I wish I could click these heels gone soft with inactivity, and take my child across these troubled waters to find both our hearts at home.

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KilledMyHeartWifLys's picture

I <3 this

I <3 this