The Much-Needed Carnival Post

February 28, 2009

The past Monday and Tuesday are two days which are known by all in Trinidad and Tobago. That’s right, Carnival. Basically, it’s the celebration of the emancipation of African slaves back in the early 1800s. (Or maybe that date’s horribly wrong. I’m far too lazy to consult Wikipedia right now) For some, Carnival Monday and Carnival Tuesday (along with the accompanying fetes surrounding them) are chances to be “dirty,” for others, simply chances to have “fun,” and for the rest, it’s a combination of the two.
My outlook on Carnival has been one of great disgust for a long time now. I mean, come on; from any outsider, it’s pretty vulgar, in a sense. Grinding your ass on some stranger’s “manly bit” doesn’t sound that whoreish at all, am I right? (sarcasm)
This year’s been different, though.
This year, I’ve actually sort of embraced the idea of Carnival.
…That’s right. Let it be known that I, Jamie, have discovered that I have a slight love for Carnival.

Before I am pelted with “OH GOD WHAT WERE YOU WAITING FOR”‘s and the alternative “JAMIE, WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE A DOCTOR?”‘s, Let me defend myself. xD
I am what people would label “a concert girl.” I like to be “wild,” in a perfectly normal sense; I hate people who carry themselves too well, I hate prudes who can’t take a joke or some mischievious antics every now and then. Actually, “hate” is a strong word. I think the proper term would be, “I want to throw tomatoes at them.”
…I dance wildly on my bed (…sometimes when there’s no music around. Now, when my mother walks during such times, she tends to just label it as me being strange) to the horror/fascination of some; I’m liberal in almost every aspect of my beliefs, I listen to pounding techno music and dream of one day going to a rave… or of miraculously growing an inch or two overnight so that I can face the onslaught of a proper mosh. I like tatooes, piercings, and bright, in-your-face hair colours, along with mismatched, Harujuku-style clothes. + Did I ever mention how much I LOVE the Victorian Era’s style?

Carnival itself; its traditional self, is pretty gorgeous. The costumes were amazing. And, even in modern-day times, the costumes are STILL amazing. A good few focus on showing as much skin as possible, but even those costumes tend to have SOME SORT of legend behind them. The creators know their audience, I guess. The more extravagent costumes — which are pretty much GIGANTIC and the way which people can walk in them is a mystery to me — are just plain epic.
I have to admit — the only big “issue” I have with Carnival, aside from the “sudden outbursts of ghetto” (as Nic puts it) which tend to occur, would be the music; and even *that* isn’t so bad for me. I mean, it’s all about letting loose and having fun. And, as I said before, I’m used to music which makes no sense whatsoever. Of course, you won’t catch me dead listening to “soca” and all that — the beat just isn’t me, and I don’t really think that the people who sing it suit my musical taste (…that sounded weird, but you know what I mean), but that doesn’t mean that I want its existance to just vanish off the face of the earth. I think.
So, this year was pretty much a breakthrough in terms of my outlook on this celebration. It’s pretty much what I’m into, except with a “Caribbean” twist. This “twist” goes into the negative, “no thank you” zone… but I think that realizing that it’s actually not utter crap — and actually uber fun — is pretty important. Who knows, I might actually take part in it next year. We’ll have to see.

(Plus, I really want to take some photos of the costumes. xD)

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Valentine’s Day.

February 16, 2009

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A PEEK INTO THE LIFE OF JAMIE LAST NIGHT. OH, THE SCANDAL.

Also, I’ll have you know that how this picture got on my camera is a mystery.

Basically, Mai & I went to Robin’s place for a ~ladies’ night~. xD
me

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bag mai hurhur Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket

BONUS. WHEN I GOT BACK HOME, I TOOK THIS:
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and…
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My pajamas. I have no clue why I am wearing eyeliner.

Oh, after we drank the milkshakes (which was Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate + Brownie flavour… mixed with ice and some milk), we turned up the stereo loud and busted out in wild dance moves.

Yeah, I’ll take this over a party anyday.

Nothing And Nowhere

February 7, 2009

At night, she would lie in her bed and stare up at the ceiling of her bedroom. Her eyes would trace over every crack in the concrete. Over and over; a repeating action. Umpteen times. It was a routine; a familiar routine, a comforting routine, whilst simultaneously being one accompanied by great unrest.
She would lie on her back, looking up at the cracks. Her heart would beat, sometimes too fast and other times too slow; and then, it would just ache – ache for hours on end. Her mind would be searching for words; words which could express what she felt. Hours upon hours would pass, as her mind journeyed everywhere and nowhere.
She would breathe in shakily when she remembered that she had to, ignoring how downright real such a need made her feel.
She felt like she could go anywhere, but she felt as if she was chained to one spot. Contained, like a small, frightened animal, in a metallic cage.
She wanted to escape. She wanted to leave that cage; to give into the feelings of freedom and never look back; never have to face the demons of the day or the hardships of the night.
But she couldn’t.
She wondered if the ceiling would cave in someday, to come falling down upon her with an almighty crash. But she knew it wouldn’t. It would forever be up there, out of her reach and barely in her sight. Yet, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from it.
Her mind was throwing a fit during all of this. It would scream too loudly for her to comprehend and talk far too quickly for her to decipher. The words chaotically flew around in her skull, tripping and slipping and destroying each other, making a great deal of noise and disorder. Their messages were impossible to decode. After many nights of trying to cling onto these words — of trying to catch them, in the palms of her trembling hands, she decided that enough was enough. She had to let go.
But she couldn’t.
And thus, it continues. Every night, this girl would lie in her bed. Her heart would reprimand her, her needs would ridicule her, and her cage would contain her. Words would swarm in her ears. The ceiling would be a comfort and a pain. She wondered if it would ever come crashing down.