I Come From Foreign

L-R: Triniti, Kes, and Maximus Dan (captured by the bf)

It cannot be helped. I am a slave to the dance.

I call this a review of sorts because I’m not a very good recorder of life events. Not in the conventional way at least. It’s not what you would call a strength. I like to say that all I know is in my head. And that’s what this is–a review of what was in my head the night I went to see Kes the Band, Triniti, and Maximus Dan at Temple Bar last Saturday (May 10. 2008).

My childhood in Trinidad may not have been typical, but like any true Trini, I love a good fete. A party. I live for it. And by good fete I mean plenty winin’, dancin’, jumpin up and wavin’ and misbehavin’.

Dance kills the overthink, you know? It’s primal. You just move. You don’t think. You lose yourself in the vibes. You just let the vibes ketch you and you let them take you. It’s pure. It’s vital.

It represents one of the biggest holes in my life here in foreign.

Saturday night was more of a concert than a fete, but it had the same vibe as a good fete, and isn’t that what really matters? Hearing Kes, Triniti, and Maximus Dan in a bar two blocks from my apartment in Santa Monica was the little piece of my home that I was desperately craving.

It was the first time I’d heard all three artists live and they really exceeded expectations. I brought a string of American friends with me and I can’t say I wasn’t a little nervous as to what their reactions might be to Trini music. The beats per minute, as one friend pointed out, tend to be a lot more than the American ear is used to. And I’m not so good at explaining. I honestly don’t think they knew what they were in for, musically. They were probably thinking more along the lines of reggae, Bob-type stuff.

But Trini music? It’s hype, it’s fast, it’s non-stop. To me, it’s so infectious that it’s impossible not to get caught up in the energy. I live for those moments when I am just in it. I was hoping the friends would just “get it” and let it wash over them and love it as much as I do. Luckily, I think they did.

Kes, man, Kes was great. A consummate entertainer. He knew how to work the foreign crowd. He taught them to wine, explained the significance of the legendary soca/ calypso superstars. He made it accessible. All the things that I struggle to express about what being a Trini means to my identity he presented effortlessly on stage. I felt that my friends had the opportunity to learn more about me, the real me, in that one night than a million conversations could ever accomplish.

Do you understand, people? This, to me, is the heart of my Trini-ness. The root. My adolescent years did not consist of going out to bars and getting drunk. I went out and I partied. In the true sense. At least three times a week from the time I was 16 and every summer and Christmas I came home from college. Every Carnival Monday and Tuesday, this is what it was about. In the streets. Chippin’ down the road. I dance. I wine. I sweat. It’s my stress relief, it’s my release, it’s me. This is me. There’s no ambivalence. You start up the music and I’m there. Pure and unadulterated. Do you know how rare that is?

To me, that was the real beauty of the night.

I walked into Temple Bar and Triniti was going, sexy glow stick costume, dancin up a storm and I was gone. It doh take much. Some of the friends had to stop and stare at the dancer girls’ rubber waists but me, I just let the music take over, I let the dance embrace me, and that was all I needed. I was in it.

And Maximus Dan–what a presence. Another one to get the crowd going, but also to get to the heart of the matter. A message worth hearing. Love Generation had to be my favorite (listen to it here).

It’s impossible to live in foreign for any length of time and not see your country and your culture from the view of an outsider. That happened too. And I still loved it. Positive vibes.

I never realized just how happy and positive music from Trinidad is. It’s peace. It’s love. It’s community. It’s family. It’s yay Trinidad! At the end of one song, Kes bawls out: Trinidad, we love you! My friend asks if it was some kind of national, Trinidad song. I thought about it for a sec and told her, actually no, pretty much all songs from Trinidad are about how much we love our country.

In that moment, I reaaallly loved my country. I don’t always. I miss it. But it’s not perfect. At its best, soca music represents the ideal of Trinidad society–how we wish it could be all the time. Happy and dancin’ and lovin’ up and everybody is your family.

My hands were in the air. I was waving my rag (actually, my zip-up) and jumpin and wavin for the whooooooooole night. I went outside to smoke a cigarette and I still couldn’t stop jumping up and down like a mad ass.

Honestly, the amount of in it I was in it probably made me look more like a tourist than a Trini. My winin could probably use a little practice. Now I can admit I was a little over-excited. If my friends from back home were there I might have toned it down a little. But in the moment? I was too in the moment to care. It happens too infrequently for me to study how foolish I look. It wasn’t about that.

It’s funny how it all comes together, no? I start this blog to explore my relationship between me and where I’m from, and here ups and comes an opportunity to do more than just intellectualize it. Far, far, far, away from home, I felt all over again what it means to be a Trini. That hasn’t happened in foreign for a long, long, long time.

All in all, a bess night.

For those of you in LA who missed it, Kes the Band is playing tonight at Molly Malone’s in Hollywood. You should do it.

Arrrite people, so I have a very serious question for you.

One thing I’ve noticed since I’ve been in foreign is my inability to speak in anything other than the Queen’s English when giving a presentation.

(you know, like Dominic Kalipersad on Panorama back in the day)

Whenever I have to speak in public, it’s like I’m back in front of a classroom, hands clasped at my chest like I’m reciting a poem, and English English English!

It’s the only way!

So here’s the thing…

I’m supposedly conducting an audio interview at the end of the month…

An audio interview that will be posted online from now until eternity…

What do I do?

Okay, so let me give you the full background.

Besides maybe having to control my presentation accent, which is not really the Queen’s English, but a Trini Queen’s English, and totally foreign sounding, which might be good if I were giving a state of the union address for one of the colonies but for an interview something more accessible might be more appropriate.

Yes, so besides that.

Besides that I kind of have the tendency to sound like a six-year old girl.

Like I answer the phone and the freaking telemarketer, in that sickeningly, sappy voice they reserve for kids, asks: “Is your mummy home?”

BAH.

Yes, I love to torture myself.

I actually really enjoy public speaking, although it makes me a nervous wreck.

My first real taste of public speaking was two jobs ago when I started doing training workshops. I was so proud and excited that I was chosen to teach these professionals in the field how to do their job!

Well hear this.

Talk about a step back into reality.

A couple days before the first workshop, my benevolent boss comes around with a NYT article (as he was often wont to do) specially selected for me.

The title?

Wait for it..

…

“My Voice Has Got to Go”

OH SNAP!

Well yeah I can laugh about it now but back then, I, the recent college grad who had not yet developed the tough shell necessary to advancement in the U.S. rat race, went home in a state of shock, which subsequently turned into hysterics. Once the shaking and hysterics subsided, I began to plot my exit strategy.

Anyway, whatevs. Every experience prepares you for the next one and the one thing I can say is that I now know how to stand up for myself and that’s probably one of the most valuable things you can learn in business.

And… back to the story.

Actually wait. Let me put a disclaimer. I really don’t think there’s anything wrong with my voice. I’ve definitely gotten more compliments on my voice than complaints. My students (yup, still tickles me to say it!) always gave me great marks and I truly enjoyed the experience. Who doesn’t love a stage? Yes, the voice is a bit high-pitched, but—in spite of never having read that wretched article (principle)—through sheer bloodymindedness I have learned to gain better control of my lower chords for a fuller, deeper tone.

Okay, now back to the story.

Well, the question.

What should I do?

Should I do what comes naturally? This stiff, Queen’s English, reciting the Constitution type of thing?

Start practicing rounding out my vowels and pronouncing my R’s so I don’t freak anyone out with my weird (to them) foreign sounding voice?

What do you all do?

Even if at no other time, do you try to minimize your accent when you talk in public?

Has your accent gotten you in trouble before?

Taken from The Onion (I’m secretly dying to write for them)

For most of us living in foreign, especially in North America, we’re here for the opportunity, for a chance at a “better life.”

When what you’re leaving is a sweet, island life, “better life” usually means “mo’ money,” cause you know that living in foreign doh mean more time to lime.

So now that the U.S. economy is in a serious downturn, the middle class is shrinking, and we may or may not be in a recession, (hmmmm… who do I believe? Bush or the Economist?) I wonder how many of us in foreign are asking ourselves:

“Why are we still here?”

I’m not big up into politics. I’m more democrat than republican because I think that being a citizen means you bear some kind of social responsibility. I listen to NPR every day, which might label me as a liberal, but really I just like to know what’s going on. I’m more of a disinterested observer looking in than anything else. It’s that whole I don’t participate thing. Chalk it up to my j-school training.

What I do know, though, is that whatever is happening in the U.S. today is not working for the majority of its citizens and something (whatever ’something’ could be) is seriously out of whack.

So, why am I still here?

The economy in Trinidad is supposedly booming. The majority of my best friends and family are back there. I have tons of connections I could parlay into job opportunities. And of course, there’s something special about island life that the U.S. will never be able to give me.

So, why am I still here?

Well, let’s be honest.

America as a whole may look like it’s going down the toilet but I’m still sitting fat and pretty. My lifestyle has not changed with the increasingly dire stories about the housing crisis, burgeoning deficit, and tax cuts for corporations. And until it does, I doubt I’d give repatriation any serious thought.

And let’s go back to opportunity. The reason we came here in the first place, right? If I had stayed in Trinidad, I’d probably be a doctor or engineer or something science-related. They stream you from young and it was science, business, language–that’s it. Full stop. I probably would never have had the opportunity to explore my first love (fiction) or get into communications if I’d stayed home. Sure there’s scope for what I do back home, now that I’m reasonably sure about what I want to do. But I needed to be in the U.S. to see what was out there before I could figure it out. I feel like once you go home, your life is kind of set. Here, the world is my oyster. And I don’t really think I could give that up right now. Maybe when I retire.

Plus, you know how hard it would be to go back? One of my friends back home described herself as trying to live a first-world life in a third-world country. Trinidad has come a long way but the level of comfort and convenience available in the U.S. is hard to come by anywhere else. I’ve been here for almost 9 years now and when I go home, I love it to bits, but I kind of love it, again, as an outsider looking in. I don’t know that I really see it as home anymore, but as my former home. It’s a hard thing to write but an even harder mentality to break through.

And then of course, there’s the bf. Nuff said <3

So, shambled U.S. economy be damned, I’m still here.

Living in foreign is the only life for me, it seems.

So I think I’m finally ready to become a U.S. citizen. I’m so ready I already filled in every time I’ve left the U.S. for the last 15 years on the freakin form. Uh huh. Yeh. It’s a process.

I’ve been eligible since I was 17 (greencard) but I just… well I just never really wanted it that bad.

A part of it is about accepting where I am. The bf has to remind me sometimes. This is where you live. This is your home.

Okay, he’s right. But am I ready to officially renounce my Trinidadian passport, written-in name and all, and become a U.S. citizen? It’s the philosophical issue that gets me, not the practical one.

Practically, I’m old enough to see the benefits (unrestricted travel, voting rights, a guaranteed safe harbour in the event of a Trini-American war) and in the long run, I know I should do it.

Practically, I don’t even have to give up my Trini passport because the U.S. “recognizes that dual nationality exists,” although it “does not encourage it as a matter of policy.”

Philosophically, it’s a line I’ve been wary to cross, an official acknowledgment of where I’m planning to spend the rest of my life.

I’m not going to lie — the $675 price tag is a consideration. When I first decided I was going to do it it was only $400.

Actually, I do lie.

The cost has been more of an excuse than anything. It’s a reason for me to keep putting it off. But next year, my Trini passport expires (they’re going biometric) and it’s going to be a bitch and a half to renew it from Cali so I figure I should just bite the bullet and just finally get it done.

Can you imagine?

In the airport of my own home country and having to go in the visitors’ line?

It might just break my heart.

With every year I’m up here in foreign I feel like I’m cutting another tie to my old, Trini self. Which I guess would be okay if I had a developed Miami or Cali self I could slip into but I’m not there yet. I’m hanging on to an old self that doesn’t fit any more.

I’m a self-imposed hybrid who’s everything and nothing and wants everything and nothing and works herself up into a tizzy over the things she cannot change or refuses to change.

I long for home. But I’m not going back. The Trini I knew, the one my 18-year-old self had a blast driving around town in the supa dupa trooper with my girlies, it doesn’t exist anymore. It’s a memory. A delicious memory.

I’m here for good. Let’s face it. That’s probably the first time I’ve ever said that out loud. I always hem and haw and maybe we’ll see and I want to do half and half and I’ll retire back home and a bunch of other pipe dreams that have no bearing in reality.

I like it here. There I said that too. I’m happy here in LA. Even though it’s not home home, it’s still home. I have opportunity and dreams and I’m excited about building that new life, that new self, about building it here in LA.

So I’ll go ahead and become a citizen. But I’m keeping my Trini passport until it expires. And I might just renew it anyway.