Last King (Not) In Scotland

So...I'm...in.....Barbados! Usually, this would come with a smile and a deep breath as I stepped out of the plane feeling so fly but not this time. This is the second time I was not happy to be home; the first was in September when I went to a GMO (inbox me if you want to know what a GMO is). There's a song by Switchfoot that I was learning to play on the guitar called "Thrive" which reminds me of the situation - "Always close but never enough...I get so down but I won't give up."

"As the hour drew near to take my last breath
I wasn't quite sure if I was ready to [leave] yet.
I'm walking the path of all the brothers who [tried]
And I'm not sure what awaited me on the other side." (As The Hour Draws Near - Shai Linne)

I walked through the departure lounge and I prayed to God because "it was hard to accept - my heart was heavy you know. I wasn't sure if I was ready to go." I didn't cry though because I don't have a feminine side...just kidding. It takes a while for me to miss home and a longer while for me to start crying.

The plane ride was long, the food was ok and most of the movies which showed I wanted to see. Am I old if I used movies to help me sleep better? I missed the middle half of Transformers and Contagion due to sleep.
As we flew over England I could see castles and meadows and roads and sheep (I think. Little white puffs on the grass). It was all exciting stuff which reminded me of Mr Bean and King Arthur. Of course, it didn't alert me to how cold it would be.

We landed and disembarked the plane and made our way to Border Control. "Tell me what you came in here for?" (The Ambassador). "Well I came to study," I replied. "Do you have your visa?" - "No. I thought I could have come as a visitor and then changed my status," I answered. "I don't think you can do that," the officer rebutted. While at the desk I showed him my acceptance letter and e-mails from the finance office and other letters from banks, and the government, then he seized my passport and sat me down in a waiting area.

I'd call it the public shame area because it's out in the open between the "UK/EEA passengers" and "Non-UK/EEA passengers" queue. And it's the only area with seats and people looking concerned. After sitting and praying for about 20 minutes the officer came back and said that he has to make a few checks and have me answer a few questions. I sat and after about 15 more minutes a lady came out all smiles and took me into the room. In my mind I was thinking that she was crazy or playing the good cop. I sat in a room which looked like a doctor's office with two cameras and a computer.

All smiles and laughter, she took my fingerprints and my picture and gave me a glass of water to drink. It was pretty funny when my prints had be to rescanned about 20 times because the slightest move messed up the picture, but I tried to laugh but that didn't really work. I tried but all I was thinking was that I'd have to "take off all my clothes" like Nelly said and they'd "throw some bows" like Luda. But none of that happened.

I was moved into another room with a desk screwed into the floor and four chairs chained to the floor. I sat and waited for someone to interrogate me, maybe slap the desk and send my heart flying out of my chest or the pee the other direction. I finished off my glass of water and reminded myself that only criminals should be scared of being caught and that I had watched too much Nat Geo. In the back of my mind I said this would make a great story.

The officer who took my passport came back with some paper and explained to me that he was going to write down the questions and my responses. He began:

O: Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth?
M: Yes.
O: Spreken thee English?
M: Yes
O: Annie are you ok? Are you ok, Annie?
M: Yes.

He asked me stuff about the school, my educational background, my intended length of stay, my funding, whose idea was it to come without the visa, and why I chose the school. I answered them all with a straight face and cracked no jokes (hence why all of them are in the blog). He then left and the lady who took my fingerprints came back with some forms stating why she had my prints and what should happen to them in the future. Another guy came in looking sick and he searched me, with my clothes on and gave me another form stating what I had owned and what they found. I was actually so frightened I gave him the garbage from my pockets! The officer came back and offered me some food and then sent me into a room with chairs, tables, lounge chairs and books. It even had blankets and pillows! I thought, "it'll be a long night mate" so I picked up some book about a mother who threw a baby into a well and began reading it.

Unfortunately, the AC was ripping and I got cold. I got up and tapped the window and motioned for someone to come to the door since I didn't know if I could have opened the door and ask for a blanket. When I tapped the window the 4 guys sitting outside looked up and when I motioned to the door one of them waved back! I just shook my head as he came to the door. I asked for my coat and he said "but we have  pillows and oh...where are the blankets?" and got the blankets while I got my coat and it was searched - somehow they didn't find the chocolate bar. I sat back in the room and read and as the story was getting interesting the door opened and the officer came back.

He explained that after talking with his manager, I can switch my status to anything except a student. There is just too much paperwork to be done as a student for persons to change their status in the UK. He apologized multiple times and underscored the fact that we spent a lot of money but the visa is needed before hand. He still had my passport and said that I would get it back when I return to the airport the next day. I was actually allowed to leave the airport! Of course I had to be back to check in else I'd become a fugitive and have to do like Frank Abagnale Jr.

I got a taste of the cold that day and ended up with a sore throat by the night time even though my extremities were covered and my neck was being strangled by a make shift scarf. I still enjoyed it though and soon from now I'll be running around bare back! (And barefoot like Contessa). I learnt some valuable lessons this time. For one, we live in Babylon and Babylon system got rules (no I'm not Rasta). I know all things happen for a reason and in all things God works for the good of those who love him; who are called according to his purpose, as Romans 8:28 says.

It was a pretty interesting ride from the airport to Grantley Adams. I cried that night and on the plane back home and when I got to immigration here I had to go into another office. I now have the black spot and am "famous" in airports and probably have to explain my story all over again every time I land in a country. Hopefully this doesn't block my entry into other countries. I'm hoping to go back as soon as practical.

Characters Welcomed

"There is never a dull, never a dull, never a dull moment in Barbados...there is never a dull moment in Barbados!" These words seldom lie. Actually I'd go as far as to say that if people found these words to be false the proceeding words must be true: there are no dull activities, only dull people! I went to Oistins on Saturday night with some friends of mine who live in Canada. I tried to rally the troops from church but the troops were already deployed to other areas so we three went together. I parked in the empty car park by Granny's thinking "wow. Saturday night here is TOTALLY DIFFERENT from Friday nights." I arrived at 7:30 "Canadian time" - not "bajan time". Basically, I watched the cars drive by for about 10 minutes while walking to the gas station for a phone card. There were none there so I walked back to KFC. I crossed the road, took a seat and flipped through some exciting pictures of the independence day parade and the beach day until my friends called and said there were going to get there at 7:30 "Bajan Daylight Saving Time"...around 8. So I got up and walked to the gas station further down the road. 

This gave me time to rehearse some poems I took the time to remember - hand movements and all. Interestingly enough I discovered that talking to oneself does make one appear crazy. Man! So many people stopped and stared at me from their cars. But who's crazier, the person talking to him/herself or the person paying $50 to hear the same thing they could have for free? Anyways, as I was walking back to the rendezvous point two people were waving at me so I stopped and wondered, "who are these crazy people? And why are they waving at me?" Then I realised they were my friends. 

As we sat and ate in jovial banter the sights and sounds of Uncle George's stall light up as the grill burned under the fish and potatoes. Everyone was happy and the smell of grilled food clearly is distracting me from my blog. The food was good, the sauce was a bit on the unhealthy side but mmm...mmm...mmm! I left about 6 inches from the edge of my bench when a rasta showed up in the area. He had on a black sweater with ites, gold and green stripes and a Trinidadian bandana  around his locks. As his breath pervaded the atmosphere with rum, he sat on the 6 inches of space I had left for...myself...leaned over and took up our drinks. "Wait b we ain't done!" We screamed. He stopped and put back my Plus. Taking this as an invitation he again sat down and leaned over me and my food and with his mouth so close to my face that I could hear his thoughts and his arm on mine he asked us "So what's the vibration of the sajnfioasns...tion?" Say what?!?! We were all puzzled - even his thoughts were confusing. So he said it slower. "What is. The. Vibration. Of the alsfhkajsdh...ation?" All this time he's still leaning over my food with his arm on mine. 

I closed my container. "Man," he assured me, "You don't have to stop eating...I don't want any. Go on. Eat." At first I thought he was homeless and hungry but after that I didn't care. I somehow managed to swallow my pride along with other germs I don't even want to think about when I continued my contaminated Plus. The guy, Guy, continued with his speech mentioning Selassie I, dog - I assume in connection with him - love, peace, world, a couple curse words, more words ending in "-ation" and of course many unintelligible words. Then he asked us about the fishing disagreement between Trinidad and Barbados. Alfred, who is not Barbadian, didn't know about that so Guy changed the topic to Japan and nuclear weapons. I told him that no one troubled Japan because they can blow you up very easily - I think that's what he asked. (I was trying to get him to starve off of my disinterest but that wasn't working.) Alfred began to laugh because "he was happy to see Guy." Well, Guy wouldn't buy...*sigh*. Guy got agitated at the peace and love and laughter which had settled on the table and since he began to grow edgy we sadly left him.

We thought it would end here but we were wrong. We sat by another stall relaying our story to a friend we met who was talking about the races earlier that day, when we heard a baby crying - at least that's what it sounded like. On stage, walking around with a mic, chest puffed, eyes probably closed was Ozzy the great karaoke star. T.O.K. was clearly wrong. As Ozzy belted/scream/screeched "I Believe" I do believe I heard a couple of eagles crying - or at least he was how it sounded like when they did. 

It was 3 minutes of pure yet painful entertainment, climaxed with roaring screams of those scattered around the dance floor. We caught Ozzy as he took his coronation walk around Oistins. He wore a gold tropical shirt, tucked inside his two-sizes-too-big army green trousers hitched up at the third or fourth last rib by a brown belt. He squeezed his diet coke bottle and sucked the life out of it as he smiled at his witnesses. This gladiator, now emperor paraded as if to say "Ye, you know how we do it!" Then he disappeared. 

Many tried to accomplish what Ozzy had that night but they were all pathetic "also rans", auditory nuisances, the rungs Ozzy clearly stepped on to the top. Ozzy was so...Ozzy that the VJ had to pull up and run the track again! The crowd clearly missed him as others filled the time. They asked for him. They chanted "Ozzy! Ozzy! Ozzy!". And so, they sent a search party. We decided to leave after Ozzy sang a second time because it was late and we had our fill. If it wasn't for the lyrics showing up onscreen not many people would have imagined that he was remixing "My Heart Will Go On". His walk caused nothing but a smile on my face. I was truly in awe of this character. As he got to the part "my heart will go on and on" his voice gently rolled down at 'on' like a collapsing iceberg and the crowd erupted like the water underneath.

Of course all of this is recorded on camera and phone and probably uploaded to every social network around. Barbados is truly amazing. I'm proud and pleased to know that this is my home. It is one crazy place and only snippets bleed out to the rest of the world. Entertainment knows no bounds in paradise.

Make War

"I hear so many christians murmur about their imperfections and their addictions and their failures and their shortcomings and I hear so little war. Murmur murmur murmur. "Why am I this way?" Make war!" - John Piper

Looking back on my life as a christian, I have seen some dramatic twists and turns of events. I have seen leaps and falls, and defeats and victories. But in the end, my God stands and I am on his team. Whether I am standing or sitting or kneeling or flat on my face (or back), God has overcome and because of this, so have I.

Sometimes I wonder what life I'm living. To which category do I belong? I'm not a 'heathen', an unrighteous soul, because my fruit says otherwise, yet I question my christianity because of how hard it gets sometimes. Sometimes it feels like I'm slugging it out against the devil. All of that Romans 8:37 talk somehow flies out of my head with a lucky blow. When my arms get weary and my chest burns from the constant wrestle, my mind is far from thinking about streets of gold and rest. Because my flesh won't quit and somehow it rises with renewed vigour, I go, "what form of christianity is this?"

I really thought I was free from sin. What does freedom mean? Paul made it clear when he said "death no longer has mastery of us" in Romans 6:9; we are "no longer slaves to sin" (6:6); so we don't have to sin. Our first option is not to sin, neither is it our only one. We can now please God (Romans 8:7,8). But God is already pleased because of Christ's death - hence why he resurrected. So what am I fighting for? God's approval?

No. We fight because we were born again to. We were made to make war, not love - Love has already been given. Yet, because love has already been given, we are not exempt from trying. The doctrine of grace (total depravity, unconditional election, limited atonement, irresistible grace, perseverance of the saints...lka "once saved, always saved") does not allow us to say a prayer and do as we please. It is not the ticket to total depravity but it is followed by perseverance of the saints. Tenth Avenue North put it well:

"We are, we are, we're caught in the in between 

 But we're fighting for what we already have received.

 Looking for love, we're finding we're still in need.

 It's only what we have lost will we be allowed to keep."

Our ability to please God comes with the responsibility to do so. Romans 6:13 says "Do not offer the parts of your body to sin...but rather to God." The result is eternal life. So in essence, once saved always saved is the assurance that my humanity will never usurp God's rule on my life. It is permission to do God's will forever and to be confident in the fact that "neither height nor depth nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:39).

I am number four

It's a matter of hours before I go evangelizing tomorrow. I've always had my reservations about this because of my seemingly unsuccessful mission where I've shared my faith, my heart and my story to someone but they did not accept Christ at that moment. Of course, most I never see again. It usual tends in a debate or just indifference to the gospel.

We were given tools today and we practised using them. Thank you for the downloads and I pray that you will speak through me tomorrow. But maybe that's the problem: people don't want you. Maybe they are like that ex-satanist who was so controlled by demons that there was only three seconds of herself. Maybe that is the darkness - being blinded to the truth and just having a moment to cry "Lord, help me!" before being sucked under until the next time (if it comes).

The tools we were given don't work. That's the truth. It is God who works through these tools. I pray that I would have the opportunity to rejoice because I was there when God saved a soul. Until then I'll just speak and live. I haven't been doing it much but help me to do it more.

(...the next day...)

I just came back from evangelism in Tunapuna. The fresh scent of Dove Men + Care + Degree Men permeates my space as the sounds continue. There's something about products made for men by companies who made things for women (like Dewalt tools are superior). Anyways, it's all macho and stuff but not offensive and somehow keeps my skin clean - that's what I'm with: not smelling like an animal with long fur whi pees on itself.

On a much more serious note though, I encountered the darkness today. Somehow I expected a bog debate, maybe even an altercation; anything to make an exciting story. The problem with such an expectation is that when it happens it can be really dangerous for the person, both physically and spiritually. But God gives us what we need.

I don't want to go deep into the fact that no one on my time talked to anyone who accepted Jesus as their saviour at that moment because I recognize that no man comes to the Father except the Father draws him (John 6:44), snatches him from death's road. So I count it a privilege when someone comes to Christ "by my leading". I thank God that some people came to Christ as other teams spoke with them.

We met a few interesting people during our time on the streets. People like James*, who David thinks is a conman, and who I think David judged correctly. People like Shakira, who stayed behind to listen to listen to us even though her friends were calling her to leave. I pray that in the same way she would turn to you, stay behind and follow you. People like Esther and Ruth, who follow you and rely on you to see them through.

Very interestingly, we were talking to a guy named Christopher, an Indian vendor who has a relationship with God but didn't go to church. As we were talking to him, David advised me to jusray for him, so we did. He prayed that God would increase his business, among other things, and as he was praying a lady walked up to the stall. Chris stopped her out of respect and when we were finished, attended to her. Within 10 minutes the stall was empty!

If it wasn't for David pointing it out I would have probably missed everything. God just works! There were no tears, no recommittments, no sinners prayers. We asked God and he came through. After sharing with some kids we went back to Chris and pointed out to him what God did.

Love was seen in the little children wa
King home from school. The camera caught the eye of some school children so they stopped and were talking with Diego, Carly and Adrian. I mentioned to Diego that I had the wordless book in my back pocket so he allowed me to share. I said, "I'm going to share a story from a wordless book." and every child's eyes popped out and some looked at each other like "this guy is crazy!". I began, "this colour is green and it represents the world". I explained how God made the world and how he made us and had a wonderful relationship with us. I went to the point of sin and they jumped in with "like lying?" and "like teefin?" and each has his/her own example. We shared how the blood of Jesus takes away our sin and makes our heart clean as he forgives us. At this point, only I was speaking and all of the kids' eyes were locked on me. After that I went to gold and how the streets of heaven are made of gold. I asked them to look around at the street they walked on and imagine it as pure gold, like glass. Oh they were awestruck!

Then they started to ask questions about heaven and how can we not be on earth and still see. So we explained that our bodies are shells, like astronaut suits and our souls are eternal so in heaven, we will see Jesus and all the ones who love him and accepted his salvation (well not exactly in those words). Then we prayed for them and sent them home.

I thank God for everyone we met onthe streets - the Hindu girl, Sprocket, Boy, the sweeper who thinks all churches and church people are selfish and judgmental, and the four boys who knew God but never shared him. It is said that the average number of encounters a Muslim had in a certain jail had before being a Christian was 21. Let's put that as 25 for the Caribbean, for arguments sake. Maybe we were number 20, maybe we were number 12 or maybe I am number 4. In any case,to God be the glory! And hopefully another man (or woman) was born today.

John 15:1-17

I was reminded of this verse by my roommate , Steve, last night after watching a video called "Furious Love". I won't go into the details of the video here but the title suited the content. As the video played, I began to ask myself many questions and wrote down a few answers. Three questions remain: what is love? What is "the darkness"? What am I expecting to see? These three questions seem to be the crux of what we know as "going into missions".

I was already familiar with the concept of God choosing us from the music I listened to, the bible I read and the ever famous "TULIP" which grew in my mind because of these sources. At this moment I can repeat John MacArthur's words about Paul - tht Paul never asked to be used by God but he was still fully responsible for his choices and actions concerning the call - and I add a friends words, "not a fan".

Yes I'm not a fan but I really had no choice in this. God pursued me. I ran. God pursued me more. I ran faster. So God hit me so hard that I had to stop running - no if's, and's or or's. This was a real blind side tackle.

I love being loved by God (who doesn't?) and sometimes I feel all warm and fuzzy and lazy because I don't really understand love. For a non-Christian to say "I want to know what love is. I want you to show me" is one thing but for me (and hopefully you) to say "I want to know what love is. I want you to show me" would hands down be my best and most favorite mistake of my entire life! It's not to say that this is something I regret doing but I laugh and call it a mistake because I never thought this would be the result.

Asa this passage was not so much about God choosing us but more about our relationship with Christ and his relationship with us - the thing we seem to have forgotten - I will just try to answer the three questions which remained from the video.

What is love? The short answer is "I don't know" I thought I knew what love was: simply dying on a cross for my sins right? Because no greater love has a man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends (John 15:13). But after watching "Furious Love" I realized that I still dont know exactly what love is, but dying on the cross for my sins is a beautiful example.

The reason I don't understand love is that I don't understand God. God IS love, 1 John 4:8 says, so understanding love becomes even more complex. It took me 7 months to scratch the surface of a supreme being in a poem, 7 years to make it to the surface of who God is, and even after thousands of years, hundreds of authors and 66 books, we still don't get it entirely. Maybe you do, but I don't. My mind is too limited to hold anything beyond what God has given me and my heart can't beat fast enough to run with him. Maybe if I was omnipotent, and omniscient I would understand God. Maybe only God knows who he is (Matt 11:27).

It's not so much a matter of understanding love but of trusting him. We are the light (Matthew 5:14) and co-heirs with the Light (Romans 8:17). Love and light conquered the darkness. (I'd like to interject here with my revelation: there's a lot I don't know, not because I chose to be dumb but I was made this way - limited).

So what's the darkness? I thought I knew what the darkness was, ie. Demons, chanting, red eyes, deep voices and all that stuff as seen on television, but after honest examination I realized that it is darker still. In "Furious Love" the filmorgrapher went to a wit he's convention in Salem to "pick a fight". I don't blame him because I would do the same. But what struck me most was when the witch took off his hood in respect for God when the pastor was praying for him and his friends, who accepted Jesus. What struck me was when the New Age man, Sam, was asked as he was bowing, "do you want to accept Christ?" and he replied, "I just did". This brought new light to th darkness.

I always thought that darkness was demons jumping on a place or person - the gruesome, exciting stuff all Christians think about when they hear the term "spiritual warfare" but what if a misunderstanding of darkness was part of the spiritual warfare tactics Satan used? I mean if we didn't understand what the darkness (or love) was about then how could we recognize it, or not be disappointed when we went to Africa and never screamed 70 demons out of a violent, tantrum throwing 12 year old foaming at the mouth, having them run with their spiritual tails between their spiritual legs? It's only logical. So simply put, the darkness is the absence of love, and love is God.

So this brings me to my last question, "what am I looking for?". Honestly, when I first started, I wanted to get shot (at). This made better stories and I don't like spooky stuff. So I figured I could go to the Congo, stand on a box and scream "Jesus is god! Jesus is god!" and human error would stop the bullets from going through my heart, brain, stomach or artery in my thigh. Then I'd write awesome, exciting novels which inspire others, who like spooky, to cast out demons, heal the sick, or raise a dead man. Simple plan.

I think pur expectations and understanding drive our actions more than anything. As was said in the documentary, the moment we stop loving people and seeing people in love is the moment we get trapped by the enemy. Ok, I don't know what to expect anymore besides love and darkness - the two things I don't seem to understand.

So I'm at a place where I expect nothing but someone I can't understand and opposition I can't comprehend, yet I want to go. Maybe I'm crazy, maybe I'm right. But in any case I can't escape the darkness and I tried to escape love but you know how that goes. I didn't choose God, he choose me.

At the airport to Trinidad

I know I said that this blog was closed, but after half an hour of trying to figure out the password for my travel blog and then ten minutes of trying to figure out why I couldn't type anything in it, I figured that it was revolting so I decided to come here - old faithful never fails and I shall only say good things about this one.

It seems that airports and planes always make an interesting topic to share. I can't remember having a boring time flying. Maybe I did but it was too boring to remember. There was the time when y friend's luggage got left unattended and almost destroyed in Jamaica, only to be saved by an observant camper. Then there was the time these same observant campers and I almost got left in Barbados for liming - it seems a lot can change in a week. There was the time when I went to Trinidad and the guy couldn't find his passport and if it weren't for responsible adults he would have been left in Trinidad. And i don't have to mention the time when i got drilled at immigration because i looked too young to be flying alone. Then there'd was this.

The day started out fair to partly cloudy with a few brief scattered showers which turned to a thunderstorm by sunrise. I had gotten the day off from work and I spent most of the day sleeping since I had already packed the night before. I slept and lined until 2:30pm when I went to bathe and leave. I figured that I should check in online before anything so I went to the airline's site to check in. There was a link saying "check in now" and it lead me to a page which started "If you have checked in online please arrive with your boarding pass at least 45 minutes before departure." and it made mention of other stuff like baggage and assistance, etc. So I read it over and searched frantically for it. I ran in circles screaming frantically until 3:30. Daddy told me to calm down and that we will just check in there. Now I'm figuring that RedJet is a bus and buses in Barbados are ram off when they're ready. So I was expecting a long line of people and maybe even getting left at the airport. However, there was no calmness when dad realized that my sisters weren't ready to leave and it was almost 4!

Long story short, there was no line and by the time mom parked I had checked in and stuff. I went to use the ATM to take off some money for traveling but my parents said that I should just go and do it inside. We said our goodbyes and I went inside. Now please don't fault me for this but wouldn't you be scared if the security officer who searches you kept staring at you? And I don't mean "Oh she's so sexy" stare, I mean a "Processing...analyzing face and mannerisms...database searching" stare. I've always had bad run in with security even though I'm such a decent man. So when the officer came up to me and said that I looked familiar, a sigh of relief didn't come but more like a denial of identity.and then he didn't know me from church, which just made it worse.

I think I covered the entire departure lounge that day. First I couldn't find the bank and then when I found it I couldn't find the ATM. I finally found the ATM - which was by the security I tried to run from - and put my card in. "Transaction denied at your request." I thought I was going off whet I saw that so I put it in and right after I entered my pin the screen read "transaction denied at your request". Now this makes life worse! What's the point of working and saving if you can't access the money? Now I was about to cry. This is why you should honour your father and mother: I called my parents and after explaining the situation they comforted me by sending me money.

I met my friend Megan who was traveling with me, inside and as we waited I wondered where the plane was. But this all made sense now. The reason RedJet can fly for so low a cost is because they don't use planes! Well duh! Planes cost too much money so when we got into the "bus" 2 hours later we were in Trinidad!

The flying experience was not bad. It was very basic but it was smooth flying. Unfortunately, if one wasn't Caribbean one could not understand what the captain was saying. His accent was weird and his voice was slurred and it sounded like one long word being said with his tongue not moving. But fortunately I knew what to do in case of emergency.

And so we landed five minutes early and the half full plane was empty in no time. Now pilots really do have a speeding problem. I've never been on a flight that took longer than the estimated time, but I guess that's why it's flying. Immigration was another part of this story. I got in the line for CARICOM nationals and after about 20 minutes and meeting a girl from my math class I got to the desk.

"What kind of conference is this you're going to?", the lady asked. I explained it, along with the organization.
"So do you have any documentation?"
"Oh shoot!"…no!

iPads are pretty cool devices but what use can they be if you can't use them to search through three months of mail and hope that you didn't delete the e-mail with everything you needed to clear immigration? I learnt a valuable lesson that day - there's packing and there's getting ready for a trip. Fortunately, I had written down the number to the place where I was staying on a piece of paper which I stuck in my passport and by the grace of God I was saved from my insanity and irresponsibility and I cleared immigration. If any factor had changed I would have been in jail right now.

I have the worst phone in the world. Firstly, it has no back so the battery falls out ever so often and then I miss calls. Secondly the battery lasts two days and just cuts out. Thirdly, the phone only seems to pick up bajan networks! Gah! I would have bought a phone when I found out that but I had no money! So here I was in Trinidad with no money and no phone and since Megan was not a CARICOM national I left her in the line at immigration!oh the pain that went through my heart when I realized that I couldn't get a baked pork sub from subway!

Anyways I stood outside waiting for my ride. I didn't know who the person was because the name dad gave me is not who I know her as and the image I had in my head was not who came up to me and asked "Marcus? You don't recognize me?". Plus she lost weight since I last saw her and it was night time. People always look different at night, eg Princess Fiona. Megan finally came out laughing at me because I kept looking at her for salvation after she said I should have printed the info for the conference. We parted ways after that.

I did manage to salvage something from the trip when we went for pizza and I drank passion fruit mixed with grapefruit juice. For the first time I ate a lot of sweet peppers but everyone knew that I didn't like sweet peppers because I was the only one trying to pick them out without anyone noticing. But thankfully they were cut small enough to swallow whole with a little drink.

So I'm here safe and sound, sitting next to a treadmill that may be used by me one day, but not today. Apparently I look like my brother so much that people recognize it in the dark! But I'll take his advise and just "smile and wave" until it is over and who knows, maybe someone here will recognize me.

You Can't Force Belief

Recently I've been asked to perform a piece I wrote on sexual purity and it posed the greatest challenge I've been up against. At the rehearsal, after I knew I had flopped, I walked up to the director and asked for her comments on the piece. Nothing she said was new but somehow it still cut like a fresh wound. She called the piece "shapeless"; it had no movement and it was just like I was reading it. I sat and cried inside and listened closely as she continued to pour out tips on how to give life to the poem. It felt like producing crap, knowing it's crap and still hoping that it's accepted...but it wasn't. I walked away with my tail between my legs but not because I was reprimanded for a poorly done job but because someone else noticed. As I turned to leave I asked her what I could do to give it life, and she smiled at me and said, "believe in it."

Why was it so hard to believe in this piece? I knew the importance of sexual purity and I could produce statistics on HIV/AIDS, STI's, heart breaks, and sex related human trafficking but I also knew the extreme position I took. It's one thing to go into a church and cry down christians saying "God owns you" but to stand in the midst of people, some not caring about God, and say "God owns you" takes a conviction I do not own. I knew the hard line I was taking and how fickle the arts is. In a world where "everyone is having sex" people are hostile to messages about purity and antagonistic against message of the gospel, yet they love art and though they wouldn't agree, they may listen simply because it is art.

So my rehearsals became fatal attempts to fly because in the back of my mind I knew what I was saying but in the front I was sifting my heart to keep out the offensive part and it just kept flopping. Then I prayed and asked God to give me the conviction to speak with authority but I still had my reservations about the issue so I just kept flopping. It was like attaching an anchor to a rocket and expecting to reach the moon. I started out hot and on fire but then it got to a point where my mind blocked my heart and my tongue froze up but since I was half way there I had to let the words out so they just came out motionless. Even saying it to myself caused issues because I was fully aware of what I was doing and for all these years I've either not taken a stand or took one oblivious to the consequences.

But after some prayer and quiet time God spoke to me and said, "you cannot force belief". In my mind, and in my soul I felt so strongly about this message but in my heart I wanted just one more peep, one glance, one change at wrong before I started to write again. Sin is a dangerous thing. I can heap up all the self-confidence I have but my swag's too tight to let loose this fire in my soul; my heart was too dirty to come clean with myself and say "I've done wrong in God's eyes many times and I don't know where this message came from but it's here and it's not to keep." I was too proud to admit my own impurities and short falls, and not humble enough to ask for help. I thought it was all about me and I lost focus on the one who kept me pure, who cleaned me when I was impure who forgave me over and over again, and who put these words in my mouth because all of my poems are cheesy, and self-centred and commercial and lack depth and substance; and it's only by grace that I am saved from it.

Belief is a strange thing. When Jesus was on earth a woman touched his robe and was healed because she believed and yet the Pharisees saw him raise a man who was dead for four days and tried to kill him. No amount of logic can cause belief. I was at my youth group and we were discussing the bible and the journey it went through from the time the scrolls were written to what we have now and its history is plagued with controversies and reasons not to accept it as God's word written as it was originally. And at the end of it I said that belief in God's word is nothing that we can do in our own strength. It takes divine faith to believe it because if we honestly examine history we would probably come to the conclusion that what we have was altered and therefore not to be believed in. But that's what faith is about. When our faith is gone, our life is gone as christians.

We can't muster up the assent that what is told in churches about Jesus (especially) is right. Neither can I muster up any passion or conviction to back up my poem - especially when my legs aren't strong enough to help me walk away from sin. I have turned my mind towards acceptance of my poem but only God can change my heart to comply. And it's the faith that God has given me which can make me fly. I can't force belief because it comes out forced.  When I performed Toy Soldiers there was nothing that could convince me that I was wrong or out of place and it came out like that. But now, I have to rely on God like this is the last thing I say because if I don't, it very well might be.

The Beginnings (October 18, 2008)

Hello everybody!
 
Reading your e-mails (imaginary or real) got me thinking too. You guys are overseas doing your thing knowing (or hoping) that we are missing you. But what about those left in Bim that you miss? (Like Joe the Plumber? Low, I know but you get my point). So I've decided to update you on my happening here at home too cus in a sense I am overseas relative to you.
 
I had a good week. The End.
 
Thanks for your time and I'm looking foward to the next update. Byebye!
 
-Joe the Plumber

Changes

For weeks I've been trying to figure out how to begin this thing. I know I didn't post one in the last week of school, three weeks ago, before I took my exam break. Well, my exams are over and hopefully this is the last set of exams I'll be doing at UWI. The next time I plan to be there is to collect my gown, then return it. Yep, it's all done: university, unemployment, irresponsibility.

I remember when we first went into university. We were small (some of us), naive (probably dumb) and excited to experience all that this new world would hold for us. Now look at us; we're all grown up (some more physically than mentally, others more mentally than physically), maybe even grown out and we have experienced close to all that this old world had to offer us.

A friend once said that we navigate university. It's not easy being a student and coming home every evening to cooked food and sapping the resources of your parents, far less being miles away from everything familiar. "Navigate" paints a better picture of what we go through because some things happen and we will never know why. And I'd like to credit my existence up to this point to God. Reminiscing on school life made me understand that I have too little control over too many things for me to believe I'm the who should be glorified. Papers get lost, teachers have lives which can affect marking and of course, we have lives which can affect our focus on the day of an exam. We are like ships in an ocean sailing from undergraduates to graduates.

But school's not the only thing that changed in my life. Remember how I was talking about not posting a blog in the last week of school? Well that's because I wasn't here, in Bim. There once was a guy I knew for all my life and folks tried to convince us that we were brothers. We bought into it and were so good at portraying it that sometimes people would look at us and say "you're brothers?...yeah I now see the resemblance." Well that guy got married. She doesn't really have the resemblance though (after all, I am the cute one, they're just my family).

I always knew this day would come. We had teased each other about it when we were small and when he went away to study it was only a matter of time. As they say, time told. Seeing him leave to get married brought more joy than sadness. The really sad part came one day while I was studying. His room is cool and has a soft chair and a nice desk that can host my clutter so I was using it to study. He was still single at that time but I was still using the stuff and as I sat in the empty room with the walls suffocating me, I thought back on the party we threw for him and how, in a very blunt way, he told one of his friends, "b I'm packing to leave." It only occurred to me then and that was pretty much the end to my night. It actually hasn't been bad at all. It's harder to incorporate my new sister and make her feel like family than it is to give my brother the boot.

There were other trivial stuff that happened over the last three weeks like when I sprained my ankle chasing my dream. In short (the full story is on Facebook called "Dream Chasers") I was running and slipped off a pavement because I didn't want to drag myself through the mud and jumping in puddles is actually not as exciting as it may look on television - driving through them...well that's a different story.

Trivial event number two is that my pen ran out of ink during the exam. I thought that was actually pretty cool because that was the only pen I wrote with in all of my exams. I was going to hold a funeral service for it but the invigilators didn't want to give any extra time so I threw it one side and wrote with, get this, black ink! Things have really changed over the past year.

So my exams have been done and I pray they are done. Differential Equations was one rough exam which left many people crying - well those who cared about it. It was 4 questions, 80 marks, 2 hours. I'll never forget UWI and after an exam like that I don't think I'll forget Dr. Sing either. It was interesting; half way through thet last question I paused to think about the answer and I was reminded of last year. Here I was doing the same course, going into the exam with the same course work mark, having the same first question as last year. And I wondered, "What makes this year any different? You still didn't know Laplace transforms (the theory part) well and here you are trying to figure out a chapter that you don't even have in your notes." I think that's the point where I started to feel like crying. But I never once tried to pull myself up by the bootstraps, psyching up myself and screaming "You can do it." I said Lord don't make me fail, and breathed deeply. I think I found the hook for the leviathan.

What's next after UWI? I don't know. I've worked hard for these three years and well I probably won't stop working hard, so I think it's time I work hard and get some money for it. Not some, nuff lol. I have a lot of plans like doing a masters, finding a job, going away on work for charities, and even learning how to fly planes. Maybe all of those things are next. I've learned that dreams don't have to die because we have a career. So my only choice really is what lies in store for me now and when I will do all of the above (and buy a bike).

A lot of people (if we use the population of my official followers) have been asking me if I'm closing the blog. I'm not sure what that means but yes I won't be writing in it anymore - this is the last entry. My Blog has served its purpose - to let readers know what's been going on in my school life. And as strange and addictive as it may have been, I've enjoyed writing it and I hope you have enjoyed reading it more than I do. I'm on to other things, some say bigger things but they're definitely better things. And for those who came in late I'll post the stuff I have sent as e-mails before the crossover to the blog so that there's the full experience written; but this will always be the first post you see when you enter the site. So that's it. No more rambling.

iBall

Either I had nothing to say or I forgot the important thing I wanted to share. Or maybe I just forgot that I had nothing to say. But whatever the case may be I start this blog with a blank mind.

The assignments are done, the tests are soon over and the exams are soon here. Like the NBA the playoffs have begun. Exams are like the Playoffs. What you do in the regular season, i.e. the coursework, doesn't really matter once you sit in the exam room. Like my dad said, "You go in with an F. It's your choice to come out with an A" There are some teams which are Playoff teams (hence why I dislike the Lakers). Take them in the regular season and anyone can beat them but when the Playoffs come they are monsters. Suddenly the champion decides to come home and the 4-0 regular season sweep is thrown in the dust bin.

Then there are Regular Season teams (hence why I dislike Lebron). They are the monsters, the bullies of the league. They win all their regular season games and come into the playoffs with great expectancy but when the rubber hits the road the crap hits the fan. Somehow, the 4-0 regular season sweep knocks them off their feet and they're done for.

Then there are the teams that are just champions - like the '96 Bulls - winning 60+ (out of 82) regular season games and then taking home the championship.

Obviously you didn't open this post to learn about basketball - even though there's nothing wrong with that. All I'm saying is that exams are different from mid-terms. An exam takes a different breed of human. It's not enough to simply know the work but to know it in time and focus your thoughts to get the coveted A. And what's funny is that lecturers know about exam pressure yet exams are still harder.

Like the playoffs, you don't just breeze through exams, you actually have to work harder. That's one of the things I learnt this week. The other thing was that tricking a smart person is not as easy as tricking a dumb person. The problem with tricking a smart person is that you can't know for sure if they know you're trying to trick them. I tried it with my brother.

In our last weekend as single men I called him and asked "What are you doing tonight? Wanna catch a game or something?" and he consented. We went by our grandma for her easter bonnet parade and then left when the game started. We're talking and driving and then I pulled in lucky horseshoe. Every sports fan knows that you don't games at the Lucky Horseshoe. But while we were waiting his phone kept ringing and he kept talking to people and I'm thinking "Did he find out? Is he just tricking me?" (I wouldn't put it beyond him) but I went on as planned. When we parked he saw his friend's car so when we got out he said "wunna trick me man". So I made it to the car park. (And what was worse was that when we were walking in another friend was driving in.

So my advice is that when you have a smart chick (respectively dude) it's better to tell the truth all the time because you really shouldn't put it past them to trick you.

About My Busyness

The music of ABBA lulls in the background as the wind howls past the now closed door. It used to be quiet, but then again it used to be empty. Ok make that ABBA songs are being screeched through my eardrums as clearly these guys cannot sing. It used to be quiet, but then again it used to be empty.

My sisters came home from a weekend camp and still I didn't get much work done. It seems as though I need distraction to hold me in order to do work. As usual, Facebook is up, and I'm signed into MSN, Gmail and Skype while watching the highlights of the NBA game. My desk is cluttered with all the work from all the courses that I'm doing. It's funny how we say "peace in the midst of the storm". I had a pretty eventful week and my desk is a microcosmic reflection thereof. There weren't any big events like a camp; just little things to keep my mind occupied.

This week I thought that my parents had stopped loving me. I had to catch the shuttle twice this week and if you want to know anything else about me, I hate catching the bus - it feels like a punishment. I don't mind smelly people (I'm a fan of rustic and natural), loud music or fights; I just dislike the intrusive discomfort of driving in a vehicle that sounds like it's about to fall apart and having to endure it for at least 45 min. So Monday morning I left home at 8am for my 9 am class thinking that I would drop off my brother and ease to school. But that didn't happen. Instead I got dumped off at the health store and met 3 other people. As I waited, with no music or conversation, holding a bag that was slowly becoming too heavy, the crowd trickled in to the health store in their ones. Soon a bus load of students were waiting. As the bus turned, we all rushed to the stop. (Now I'm a novice at catching the shuttle and in my mind I let people pass once they were infront of me. Unaware of the dangers of manners, I found myself staring into the behind of the last person trying to squeeze into the already packed shuttle.) That was 9am. Another shuttle came at around 9:30 and I got on only to be told to get off but unlike Rosa Parks I got off but I turned and sat back in my seat. I finally managed to get to school at 9:50...punishment.

By the time Thursday came I was quite wound up and running around trying to finish all the stuff due this week. I woke up at 5am on Thursday to do my favourite past time - dishes. I got half way through them before the dishwashing liquid ran out (Amen!) so I prepared breakfast and watched Wednesday's NBA highlights. At about 8 my brother came downstairs, dressed and ready to go so I watched the end of the hightlights, jumped out the chair, threw everything in the sink and ran into the shower. Thirty seconds later, I brushed my teeth while packing my bag and dressing. I ran outside to the car and looked around wondering where my brother was. After searching for a little while I realised that he caught the bus (clearly it's not a punishment for him).

I stayed up all night trying to finish some assignments until I finally decided that it was better I go to sleep than be groggy for my interview on Friday. I had to catch the shuttle again - the horror - but I managed to get there in time to use the bathroom (changing in a bus was never one of my fancies but if I'm a billionaire I can tell the kids that it's an essential part of being successful). I came into the interview quite empty handed because my notes were left along with the other things I ended up leaving on my bed so I prayed that my memory would serve me well. It is said that you can't walk before you crawl but when I walked into the room I ran straight into a wall. It wasn't the best interview of the day; when I came out I thought it was excellent but upon contemplation I realised that I could have done better if I wasn't in such a hurry. I've learnt nearly all of the ways not to do an interview - from the dress, to the focus to the whole intent of the interview. I guess people are not that interested in how smart we are but rather who we are.

The house is not quiet again, much like I hoped it would be on Saturday but instead of doing work I went into town that day to buy wedding gear. I hate shopping period. There never seems to be anything that I like which can fit me and/or is in my price range. I try to do the conventional thing (straight jeans and fitted, in a white t-shirt) but that's so boring (I did it). I don't know why I thought I was going to be successful but I went anyway. We got in Cave Shepherd and I asked for a pants. When I tried it on I said "that's the one". The light shone brighter, my Converse looked better and all the happy music began playing. But my mother was convinced that I should but one with pleats - it has more volume - so I tried it on. When I did the cars crashed, the glass shattered and a few bombs exploded, starting small fires and mayhem. I hated it; it looked like parachute pants but she loved it. Thankfully my dad was on my side so we outnumbered her and my sexiness was saved! Unfortunately, that style isn't sold in monopod so after spending an arm and a leg on it, I'd have to pay a tailor to fix it. We eventually spent 4 hours to no avail, trying on about 10 different pants in 3 different stores, but none could fit me and well, no other lights came on. I guess I'll go to the wedding in my boxers. No one will notice when I'm at the table.

The rain is falling and I just remembered what work I have to do. I'll probably go and read something academic or learn a theorem. Until next time we meet. Don't forget to breathe and drink water. Out here is quite hot and dry and hectic. Adieu.

College

Normal weeks are somewhat becoming of my school life. Of course, my normal may not be your normal (afterall, I am normal, right?) I usually coin this period with a familiar NCAA phrase - March Madness. And like basketball, the March madness is over so let the April showers come!

Like I said, I had a normal week and there is now a balance in my universe. Last weekend was our university's carnival. It was awesome from what I heard and saw - a lot of people were just going through the motions trying to recover from it. I was recovering too but from a concert that was insane! One of our great keyboardists is getting treatment for cancer and the concert brought out the best of the musicians in Barbados, past and present. You're in our prayers Big Steve.

So as we, my friends and I, were going to the concert - this is in the evening after carnival - I got a call from my mother. We had exhanged vehicles at Sheraton - my friends and I, with my parents. I looked back and asked "Did anyone leave something in the van?" No one answered but my mom seemed to be certain that someone left something. We thought maybe one of the girls left something so they started digging in their bags (of course if I left anything it wouldn't matter unless it's money - or deodorant lol). We were certain that no one left anything but when my mom said it was "very personal" we began to stare at each other with nervousness and discomfort. What could be so very personal, and who could have left it there?
Stay tuned for the continuance of this epic saga (of course, if I feel like)....

The Saga Continues

As I was saying, we wondered what could be so personal. One of the girls took the phone and after a few moments shouted, "Ooooo! That's definately NOT me!" We became even more uncomfortable, scared even. What could soo very personal?!?!

When the call was over, we threw our eyes on my friend. "What was it?" we asked desperately. She just laughed. Then she said "It's a brasier." The girls were relieved because it was definately not theirs. And I was partly relieved since I wasn't mine either, but I still wondered whose it was, especially since my mother didn't recognize it. That verse came to mind, "Be sure your sins will find you out" (Numbers 32:23) and I sank into my chair as thoughts raced through my Sherlock Holmes' head.

But my mom called back and said "Don't worry, it's solved." The answer was indeed elementary Watson.

Be My Escape

Last week I told you about the monster of a mid-term I had and how I'm hoping that I did well. But even though that left me washed up I still had to pick up and move on to the next test. This is turning out to be an interesting final semester. It's like in the movies when 4 or more people gang up on the protagonist before an epic fight scene. The difference is that instead of it being choreographed and only one (at most 2) people swinging at a time everything seems to be coming my way. It's like being smothered in work. All I can do is work and hold my breath for the good results.

At times I wish that school wasn't so much - so much work, so many people with issues, so much more than just credit hours - and I could see past the sleep debt. For a really long time I've been trying to ease the stress and escape the stresses without doing something foolish like stop working. Christians say that each of us has a "cross to bear" (Luke 9:23), a "cup to drink" (Matthew 20:22) basically explaining the troubles and trials we have in this life. And we say things like "A crossless life leads to a crownless death" (i.e. if you don't suffer for Christ's sake you won't receive the reward). It's true - no blood, no victory. But the really interesting thing about being Christian is that the pressure seems to come two ways but leave in only one. Life's already hard being a human and being a Christian brings more difficulties (promised difficulties) and it's not like when it gets stressful you just pick the best thing in skinnies and unlatch the valve. Or smoke some weed and go green. The thing is, we don't escape the troubles of this life.

Too often we (as people in general) try to escape hard times by taking short cuts or tranquilizers with dangerous side effects without really thinking. When Christians present hope it's not the ticket out of stress. This week I realised this. I enjoyed this week but if you heard the stuff that happened you would be surprised (as I was) that I still enjoyed it (and I'm not masochistic - sticks and stones break my bones and chains and whips do also). I was sleep deprived, had a test and two papers to write, an assignment due this week and another test on the day I have to hand in the assignment. So yeah, I am strung out. But I realised that no matter how close the flames get I won't burn. So instead of looking for an escape, I let God be my escape.

How? Well I simply obey. I know what I need to do. I need to go to school and concentrate in class, come home, sit my butt down, put my head in some books for a few hours each night and go to bed...oh and eat food. Of course I know what work needs to be done - the weekly maths assignments and mids, etc - but focusing on the sheer work load doesn't get me anywhere. I work, trusting that God will give me the strength and sanity to finish well.

That was pretty much my week. Like I said it wasn't nearly a scotch free breeze but we made it. So I hope that when life gets terrible like mine, or even worse, we would slow down, breathe and continue. I haven't been to the end but I think it'll be worth it.

Where's The Hook For The Leviathan?

"Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.'" (Mary Anne Radmacher) Never have those words been relevant to any situation I've been in, yet they were the only ones I heard as I went to sleep on Tuesday and woke up on Wednesday. This time last year I was running, all cylinders firing, head strong into what was supposed to be a wonderful summer. But right in front of the dust cloud surrounding me was a pothole. I dropped and rolled and thought I had recovered from missing an exam but I was wrong. Not seeing the engine light on, I continued as usual until I hit Differential Equations. Well my engine blew out and I never made it to the finish line.

Fast foward to the recent past - to Tuesday night. I thought about studying for the mid-term but that didn't quite work out as I was playing with the project and weekly assignment and then got caught up with the other work I had to learn. Determined to get an A (for my feelings' sake) I decided to do over last year's mid-term. I thought, "Hey, I did pretty well - 12 or 13 out of 20 - and I'm getting through with the assignments better than last year, so I'll just run through paper with my left hand before I go to sleep." Sounds like firing on all cylinders with a broken engine?

On Monday (the day before), we had a revision class. We were to do any questions we felt like but we had to do them on the board. So the good student in me decided to look for the toughest question which was most likely to come and do it - just to flex my muscles. In summary, I got eaten up. It was so bad that a student had written up a whole board and some and I had merely scraped 3 lines of working (not counting the 6 I had already erased). Before we got to the half way mark the towel was taken from me and thrown in so I shamefully sat in my chair with my tail between my legs.

While I was doing over the mid-term I sat in my room and stared at question 1...I skipped the theory part and soon found myself stuck in the mud with 4 questions to go, failing eyes, and bleeding energy from a torn confidence. I closed the book, utterly disappointed with myself and wondering where and how are these marks going to come by me. Then I remembered the quote.

By the afternoon of the exam I had exhausted all my human resources and decided to learn the definitions and trust God to get me over the 65% threshold. As I sat in the exam before the papers were given out, I felt scared. I hate failing. I did it twice too many times in my life. It's easier to fail and walk away thinking you weren't good enough than to fail and try again wondering if you are good enough. I sat in the exam and thought, "2 hours. That means I'm out of here in 1 and a half." I could not have been more wrong.

The paper had 6 questions and was worth 75 marks. At times I wondered if I was doing a final exam or a mid-term. Everything we had done came back except "What is the lecturer's name?" It looked simple (it was simple, from a math perspective) as I read through the questions but when I hit question 2 I blanked on the only thing I thought I had a grasp on. I thought, "Oh great. Now what?" and then skipped that question. As I continued the paper got harder and I was becoming more tired and after the first hour I hadn't gone half way through the paper. There was a five minute space where I felt like doodling until enough of the class had gotten up but then I just sat in my chair and asked, "Where's the hook for this leviathan?"

I really can't tell you if it was hooked or if I got dragged down to the depths of the sea, whether inside or outside. All I know is that I handed in a paper with all questions attempted (I remembered how to do the question...the long way). The tests aren't over just yet, I have two more mids to go then it's home run to the finals. In many ways it feels like the NBA so I can only hope I have the officials' support as I keep playing.

Home Stretch

I went to a seminar last Saturday and the speaker mentioned the importance of celebrating little things. So here goes:

1. I grew a beard strand. This brings me to a total of 5!

I successfully made it to the end of a trying week (I guess you could put that as #2) which included tests, papers, presentations and homework. There are a few more weeks left of school, which is a good thing - it's like running a 400m and coming out of that bend with the wind ripping against you. I think that it can't get much worse from here, though it probably will get worse. The brunt of the wave has hit - the mids, the projects, etc - and most of my courses are preparing for the finals. Speaking of which, the draft timetable is up.

But with all these things happening I can safely say that I'm on the home stretch. This home stretch, however, is not a conveyer belt. Sometimes I feel like I'd pass out in my dreams of being on the other side of the line but everytime I begin to lose consciousness I remember that I need to put my back foot foward and keep running. All my athlete friends (and those who almost made it - like me) can identify with this analogy.

So despite all my twisted ankles, aching hamstring, tight chest and pounding heart, I'll keep running.

"Remember that your legs work because of Him." - Lecrae

The Effects Of Souse On The Mind

On Thursday I was asked where I would go if I could go anywhere. Not wanting to break the air or seriousness in the group I said Australia and tried to make up some interesting reason why. What I was going to say was "I would like to visit the moon in a rocket ship high in the air. Yes I'd like to visit the moon but I don't think I'd like to live there." And the reason is "I would like to look down at the earth from above, though I'd miss all the places and people I love. So although I might stay there for one afternoon I don't want to live on the moon." Honestly, if  not the moon, nowhere else matters. I like leaving Barbados and sometimes I yearn for the opportunity to pack my bag and say to my parents and the Bajan life "see you in a few years" but there are days like Saturday that make me say "Dang, I'm glad to be in Bim!"

On Saturday my dad, my brother and I were rushing to town because we were late. I live on the far side of the moon so there's a grace period of about 15 minutes where, if we drive fast enough for long enough we would still be relatively early. The traffic was unusually heavy for a Saturday but we were making good haste. Ten minutes into the journey (which is 15 at the speed limit) we rounded this corner and butt up on a big line of traffic. "Oh man!" my dad said as he slammed the steering wheel. "Don't tell me that man hit that bus!" As usual I was giggling at the whole ordeal because it mean that we had to find a way to turn around and then my dad would drive like a maniac (as vehicles are meant to be driven).

It looked like an accident. There was a line of traffic behind the bus and a line behind the car, facing the bus. Everyone sat in their cars and waited for the drivers to get out. Then the door of the car opened and a man jumped out. But the bus driver didn't move. Then suddenly, from the driver's window, a Styrofoam container wrapped in a plastic bag stood on the plank of the driver's hand like a sailor about to walk the plank. The man ran around the back of the bus to the door and stuck his head through it. Noticing his mistake he ran around to the driver, took the container, ran back in the car and drove off into the sunset.

Ahh! I love being here! Nobody complained, no one cursed. They just put their cars in gear and moved along. There really is never a dull moment in Barbados.

For What It's Worth

Being in final year has an interesting effect on the mind. Firstly, you feel strangely senior to all of your peers who aren't finishing with you; and at times you feel bad for leaving them, especially when they came in with you. Secondly, the phrase "I don't know" has an eerie frightfulness because the cushion of an incomplete programme erodes to a hard rock that you will land on. And thirdly, there's a lot more reflection on what you have done than there is on what you will do (well in my case).

When I'm finished here, I'll have a first degree. This separates me from a lot of people who have dropped out or just haven't tried. And if I get honours this will further separate me. In life we ascribe value to many things - it's called "prioritization". A degree is worth something, a job is worth something. We make sacrifices based on our perceived value of what we are trying to attain. So I stay up late, fighting sleep, trying to learn a topic for a test. Or I change my diet and run until my heart is just about to faint so that I can lose weight or build muscle and achieve a figure (close to the one I personally have :o) ). I may even go as far as cutting a few friends out of my life so that I can focus on my dreams. These things are not bad in themselves and sacrificing them may make the world of a difference between living a dream and dreaming a life.

John Piper once described a wise man as one whose life makes sense in light of his reality. I had a really weird dream this week which woke me up to my reality. I've been going to school and working, day and night, 6 days a week. I poured myself into my work like it was all that mattered. In fact, all that mattered was my work. Then I had the dream (and no, I won't tell you it). But when I woke I realised that this was not my reality. I'm not a hamster, stuck in a wheel, or a mouse in a maze chasing cheese. My life does not, and will not consist in the abundance of my possessions. In my world the bottom line is not the peak.

So then, really and truly, my life wasn't making sense in light of my reality. I don't live for myself - for the stocks and bonds, or the fame or the Blackberry (or Android or iPhone) or whatever this present world can offer me. In my reality, Christ died for me (and you) so that we will no longer live for ourselves but for him. In my reality maybe we all are hamsters. Maybe there are no men, just mice stuck in a maze chasing some form of cheese. Maybe we all are just slaves who live for their masters. Our masters determine what's important. One says "You can have your pick of the pretty things - everything at once, everything you've seen, everything you'll need, everything you've ever had in fantasies. You've one life left to lead". The other says, "The pagans run after these things...What does it profit a man to gain the whole world yet forfeit his very self?"

Of course, this doesn't mean that I'll stop working hard at school and trying to be the best I can be. It just means that I don't study at the expense of pleasing my master. I believe that I live for a purpose higher than myself and in doing so I value all else I gain as a loss if my master isn't proud.

A Taste Of Honey Jam

Today I put my social life to sleep. It served me well the last few months but since I have a test in two days and I used up all my lime time in the first three weeks I decided to put my foot down, my butt to the chair and my head in my books (well the nerd in me). But alas! The NBA, my saving grace, had its All-Star weekend so you know that work had to take the backdoor. But I'm not one to shut off activities abruptly and without flare so tonight I watched my social life slowly bleed out like honey - that was sweet.

I got a freelance photography job for a showcase called "A Taste of Honey Jam". Honey Jam is a Canadian showcase where women...jam, basically. This was just a test run and much to the disappointment of the crowd, the location was too small. I guess that was the only draw back of having a taste, but it left everyone wanting more. My social life died a happy chap that day - for obvious and not so obvious reasons :o) - as I expressed my Ray-Ray style of photography (no, it's not blind photos it's the other Ray-Ray). But my social life is now dead (or on vacation somewhere in the Caribbean) so let me continue with how it died.

The showcase only featured local artistes, singers and a dancer. The dancer is the first and easiest to describe because she was the lone dancer. I'm not a girl so I don't know what material her dress was - or even if it was white, off grey, pale cream or light off-white - but it had glittery thingies on it that jingled every time she shook her booty. It was nonetheless mesmerizing as she twirled and swayed and wined to an indian rhythm played on the drums. It was like in the movie Alexander, when he went to Asia.

Now I often hear citizens cry down our musicians because of what they do (like Rihanna) or what they don't do. Some people think that there are better things to do than following your risky dreams. Putting yourself in a place where you don't know what will happen next, because anything can happen, seems to very counter cultural in Barbados. So like crabs in a barrel artists get stamped on or have to scrunt for support when living outside of "wukkup". I realised two things today: (1) there's a lot of talent out there and the notion of teaching yourself does not always work. In most cases, the wiser one teaches the fool. (2) What you do is not who you are. I love writing. I write, but I'm not a writer. I also love basketball, drumming, dancing, eating and mathematics. Does that make me a writetdandruheatematician? No. It makes me a human who does all these things. Maybe we should ask the next generation, "What do you want to do when you grow up?"

I say this because some people think that if they sing and get fans and money that they have to abandon everything else that they are good at. So in essence, they can't follow strict rules in a subject and then make their own in another. It's a very one dimensional thinking. In many cases you can do both because we were meant to live, firstly, then live in 3-dimensions; not be an engineer or a guitarist. But what if living was my hobby? Before I digress any further I'll go back to the story.

I'm not a fan of country, I'm not a fan of ancient-modern and I'm not a fan of crazy. Well that's the irony of life, I guess. My favourite performance was Malissa Alanna, a little (in age) country/pop singer. I saw all of these old men come on stage dressed like The Who at the Superbowl XLIV and I thought to myself, "That's strange". Then Malissa came on and the crowd screamed like when Beiber hit that 3 pointer in the Celebrity Game on Friday. And the guitars started...*sigh*...need I say more?

I'm not usually one to be mean with people but you really should have been there. It was one of the few shows that I went to which did not have a bad performance, not even in the relative sense. I bet my social life is smiling up in heaven right now thanking me for a wonderful night. Oh wait, it's on vacation!

So High

Have you ever felt like you were forgetting something? Sometimes it's a calculator, or your lunch or sometimes it's as bad as your clothes! I'm sure we'd all love to hear the story of how I went to school and forgot my clothes so here goes...Well what do you know! I forgot how that goes :( But going back to my point. Isn't it annoying when at the time you don't need it you remember it? Or when you're too far away to change anything? But what can you do?

Sometimes I feel like my life would make a great movie or a really funny advertisement, like the Doritos ones you see at the Super Bowl. Like the time I was sitting in class and forgot my deodorant in first year. I was just sitting in the lecture theatre when suddenly I had this strange feeling that I was walking unprotected. When I found out, through covert actions, I did the worst thing one could do in that situation - sweat from the nerves. "What if the girl next to me notices? How will I recover from that? I'll be the newest cast on Sesame Street - Stinky!" And thoughts like that, when coupled with "Why am I so nervous? Now I can't stop myself from sweating!" just worsen the problem.

Like Monday. The weather in Barbados has been consistent throughout the year. We here know that it will rain, we just don't know when. So outside could be bright and sunny when you go into class and an hour later you're being trampled by the next class trying to shelter. Or you could decide that outside is really cold so you wear 3 shirts and a hoodie and then you pass out while liming because the rain stopped and the sun is blazing. Such is the weather in Barbados.

I woke up Monday and it was overcast. I knew that it wasn't wise to wear more than one shirt but I decided that since I don't wear black shirts to school that often I could wear one so that when I don't feel like washing I wouldn't be left with 4 black shirts waiting to be worn on the week the rain doesn't fall. So I put on my black shirt, dark and thick, and headed off to school. I went through the first class, looking all cool and feeling protected from the cold AC and then sat under a tree for an hour, liming. As I sat I noticed a change in the atmosphere. Something was wrong. Like a Prairie Dog I stuck my head above the ground and sniffed. My senses told me that there was nothing to fear but my gut knew better. Then that unfamiliar, but known, feeling came over me. I knew I'd forgotten to do something. I wasted no time in thinking that I had no protection; being vulnerable to the internal assault waiting to succeed. But then the opposition came.

"Do you remember bathing?" - "No," I said, "I was so sleepy I can't remember how I got here this morning."

(These are some of the dangers of lacking sleep). As I began to drop my shields the enchantment picked up just too quickly. I watched a movie once and the philosopher told the emperor that "he who knows the weather wins the war." The wind picked up and thrust the forces slightly over the line and that is when I knew something was definitely wrong. The alarms went off and I began to panic. For obvious reasons: I had on 2 shirts, the outer one was thick and black, I was outside and the sun was not easing up. Since this wasn't the first time it happened I just collected my thoughts, calculated the distance to the nearest store and factored in the cloud cover, humidity (the devil of all devils) and barometric pressure. Then I waited for the opportune moment.

There was but one problem. I'm not the type to leave for class any earlier that 10 minutes before and class was 40 minutes away - 3 minutes stroll. How was I going to justify my abrupt disappearance from society? It was too early to get food and I was surely NOT going to say, "Well guys I'm going to buy deodorant." I do have a social life which needs to be fed. So I tried to keep cool in the blazing heat, in the black shirt and I waited. I pretended that my heart was not beating for quickly for my liking or that I wasn't heating up inside this igloo that I built in the tropics. Thirteen minutes passed and I decided to say, "Hey guys I'm going for lunch." I got up and ran to the store. Two steps later I realised that I would have to stand in line, probably in front of someone, so I walked. Fortunately, when I got to the store it was empty. I bought a drink, something to eat and called for the deodorant.

There were 5 types on the shelf and usually, when I buy deodorant I like to smell them first to make sure it's not too girly or too manly (you know like the ones that were clearly made for lumberjacks and old men). So I asked for the brand and the cashier asked which one. *car crash*...In the state that I was in any would have done but since I would have to use it in the next month I had to smell them. Just as I was about to ask to smell them two people walked in and iPanik'd. For some reason, maybe because I had on a black shirt I said the black one.

I was fortunate to survive that close call on Monday. I had decided to take an extra $10 that day "because I may have to use it that day". If I hadn't then I wouldn't have enough for food and so, as mom said, either I would have fainted or everyone else would have. So I'm going to test out my black deodorant over this weekend and see if I'm good at rash decisions (no pun intended).

On Taking Shade From The Sun While Waiting For The Bus: Like Evesdropping On A 79 Year Old Man Hitting On A 75 Year Old Woman

(I dedicate this one to a friend of mine who will probably never read it. But since you can...enjoy!)

Judging from the title you can guess with much certainty what happened to me this week. Operation: Christmas Ham - The Undo Version has restarted (and yes it nearly killed me). Despite the tight chest, back and arms I can still stretch when I yawn and not cry like a baby from the pain. I can touch my toes, hey! I can see my toes when I look down! (that's always a good sign). Sadly though, I still fit the mold of "Skeletal Study" as all but four of my ribs are now visible. You may be wondering by now what that all that Christmas food really did to me. Well it sure didn't make me fat but it did make me lazy. So I can still feel the negative effects of the beginners exercise programme.

I had an interesting week but one of the things which I remember was when I caught the bus...*shock*...and...*awe*. On Saturday, I went to a youth convention. Since our car broke down I had to catch the bus to town. There were three people waiting for the bus: an old man, an old woman and a male youth. As I waited for the bus to come I overheard the old man and the old lady talking about some of their old friends. (Actually I heard the word "girls" and decided to sign into the conversation). I listened as the conversation went on until the old woman reported the obituaries. To which the man replied, "I'm 79." By then I had stopped listening and fully immersed myself into their convo.

The man wore khaki slacks with a crease that could cut steel, white sneakers and a black leather belt. His(90's hip-hop styled) polo was not only pressed smooth as ice but was neatly tucked into his pants. He wore a V-Tech cap and brown shades - maybe his eyes were too strong a lure for the unsuspecting, or even suspecting, female to gaze into. He had more swag than Steve Jobs has mac. Girls wanted him, men wanted to be like him. His secret? "I drink Mackeson and eat oats and barley and take a shot of brandy every now and again."

The old lady was in disbelief that the man was really 79 because he "look good for [he] age." And the conversation ensued:

- "Girl I know I look good but I can also do this..." The man began to raise his left foot.

- "Yes! Yes!" the lady encouraged.

- "But not only that. I can do this..." and the man raised his right foot. Now if the lady was young she would have been hopping with excitement like a pre-teen standing in Justing Beiber's presence (the ones with the strength to stand) but she simply said, "Yes! Yes!" and bounced.

- "But not only can I do that. I can do this..." Placing his arms akimbo, he bent down and began to slow wine.

- "Yes! Yes! Yes! Wuh all you want is some girls now."

Yes, all he wanted was girls. He did voice his concern.

So I'd like to thank our sponsors: Mackeson, the makers of oats and barley, the makers of brandy, our wardrobe designers and of course our inefficient bus system because without you we would not have a story like this.

I Used To Be Indecisive But I'm Not Sure

When I was 12 years old I was supposed to decide who I wanted to be in life; and again at 14. By the time I turned 16 the only thing I knew was most of what I did not want to become (that's cuts it down to me being....anything?) So life flew by and I did what I knew best, my best, and now, at 21 years old, life asks me to decide who I want to be in life. Well I know a little bit about who I want to be but I have little idea how to get there. There's an Apache saying that there are many roads to the same place so I have little chance of travelling the wrong one: that's the good part. The bad part is what Barry Schwartz calls "the paradox of choice". I have so many roads to take that I'm splitting up at the intersection. (What direction?).

I thought about this on Thursday. This is my last semester and almost all of the courses I wanted to take were not in my degree, full or clashing with compulsory courses. Think about it, who wouldn't want to take Complex Variables or Numerical Analysis? So I sent a request to take the courses which clashed. When I went to the faculty office and explained my situation the secretary looked at me like I was clearly out of my mind. I registered for more credits than is allowed in any semester. When I left the office her question still rung in my ears, "You think you can handle it?" Do I think I can handle it? Honestly, I would not be doing it if I didn't think I could.

But I don't think that is my issue. I think I can handle it but I need to know why. Yes, why can I handle it? Is it because I'm brave? Or smart? Actually, if I was smart I would know that only time could tell if I have handled it. And let's assume that I am apt. If I can handle 6, I can handle 4, so why not do 4? Why finish my degree in the allotted time? What do I gain; or hope to gain? What is the use of being at the top if no one can hear you scream or the air of self just slowly suffocates you or you refuse any hands to hold you and keep you warm in the cold atmosphere?

I may not know what I'll do when I'm finish, whether more study or work. This unsurety can knock me out of focus when I need to set my eyes straight and walk on water. I only know a few things. I know that finishing is not a waste and finishing strong is definitely worth "it" (whatever it may be. Hey, you define 'it' and its worth). A friend of mine told me not to be too eager to finish. I have to put in 15 weeks of grind and it's easier when I focus on the tasks at hand. Seeing the finish line is different from crossing it.

So with every step I take,
With every sunrise
I keep the goal in mind
The task in my eyes.
I know that every minute
Comes with 60 seconds
If I second guess this minute
Minutely more I may be stressing.
Because I'd love to finish
I'd love to be done
But the day arrives
It just doesn't come.
It just doesn't come
At some arbitrary moment
When I wish enough for it
And then I simply own it.
No I need to own it
Make every moment mine
Do all I can
And let this light shine.

Let His light shine.