ON BARBADOS, AND BEING FREE
after a six day trip to barbados, new york (and my life) have welcomed me back with the bitterness of the ‘second breakup’ — the one where you already knew shit wasn’t working out, and hesitantly go back to for round 2, ended up with another L, and now you’re really mad
my freedom in barbados was punctuated by the suffocating reality that has become my actual life. i flashback to crisp breezes sweeping me up with the brisk release of a glass of ice cold water that removes the grip of NYC’s burning cement-sealed heat from your throat. bronze bajan sunsets set my eyes ablaze as i dared to convince myself i could actually live like this — i could leave everything in nyc behind... this could be my life
YEAH, i know, but let me feel this out
i was giddy with hope and want. in this short-lived moment i was fortunate enough to be 27 for an entire week — I could be naive, careless, and briefly put myself above all else. it was the first gasp of air i'd have in a while and I was flying
animal flower cave
after 6 magical days of island exploration with my travel homies (and dedicated hosts), it was time to jet back home. back to the weight of a life uncertain and overshadowed with daunting responsibility
i keep thinking back to my surprising comfort levels in barbados, i tried to attribute them to my time spent in the dominican republic. i think to myself: this is because I’m incredibly familiar with island life, basically growing up between new york and dr. one island is all islands, right? (a quick comparison of dr and barbados determined that was a lie)
one of the highlights of my trip was the ease of sleeping in a 2nd floor loft space — furnished with a small, but cozy, home office, two pull out sofa beds, an impressive art and liquor collection, and TV — it felt so freeing to sleep with the double balcony doors wide open, fan on, the moon watching over me, and the rain singing me to sleep. disconnected from life back home, uninterrupted and blissful
i tried to put my finger on my obsession with that quiet moment each night where everything finally slowed down and dreamed of either taking it all back with me or somehow making this my new normal. then (*light bulb*) i realized for the duration of this trip, after so long, i was completely being looked after, a young sash completely protected and guided as the days were curated by folks who knew better than her. it was incredible
i was the student again, the child, the little sister who didn’t need to have the answers. i didn’t need to organize or plan anything. i had no assignment other than making sure i had what i needed throughout the day: bag, towel, cash, passport, an appetite for mount gay rum (sweetened by sugar cane, and bottled by God himself) and an adventurous spirit. making my stint in barbados one for the ages at a time in my life where days are easily catapulted into chaos and my grasp on sanity is constantly carried away by a raging current i cannot control or get a handle on
atlantic coast of barbados
please note these aren’t the complaints of a whiny twenty-something, but instead the reflections of a gracefully-burdened individual who, for a second, in the vast expanse that is the spectrum of time, was carried by the wind and was unapologetically free
