Finding Me

January 17, 2008

Photo: Flickr/Ingridrp

I was born and raised in the U.S. The two years that I wasn’t here, I was being raised on the island of Trinidad with my grandparents. Not the Trinidad that you see in tourism guides; no– I didn’t see that side until I was an adult. The island I lived on was mostly too hot, always humid, too unsafe to go anywhere without adults, and too boring to do anything more than eat, sleep, and play. So my story isn’t about my travels to Trinidad; it’s actually about my trip to Paradise Island in the Bahamas. And yes, I’m referring to the one that’s shown in the tourism guides. Only this experience was beyond anything that any brochure could have ever prepared me for.

In about May of this past year, my older sister, my cousin, and I decided after the suggestion of my mother, that we should take a vacation somewhere. I thought somewhere continental because after all, America was such a huge country and there was much to be seen. All of the brochures of the Caribbean seemed too picturesque, and quite honestly, I felt as though they were vacations meant to be enjoyed by rich, upper class people. They, on the other hand, wanted to wear bikinis, so the Bahamas it was.

Solely for background purposes, I will say that our family is a pretty strict one. They are West Indian. Their way of thinking is very traditional in that young single women usually do not go out unattended, especially on vacation, dating under whatever age they choose is extremely forbidden, and there is really no such thing as ‘hanging out’ with friends, even during the weekend, a holiday, or any free time in between. For most girls, our daily routine was school, then home with the family. So you should understand why it came to me as such a shocker that my own mother would suggest, and my father would agree, for the twenty-something year old, unmarried females to take a trip to an island in the middle of the Caribbean Sea, unaccompanied.

Nevertheless, we planned and packed for the trip. Shopping is really a chore for me, so my mother graciously supplied me with a few really pretty sun dresses. While Sarita and Razia, shopped for bikinis, I was busy obsessing over my way too long and thick, curly hair that I just knew would frizz up on that hot, humid island.

A few weeks later, there we were, boarding the shuttle bus from the airport to our hotel. The view was beyond breathtaking. I’ve never seen such blue water anywhere. This wasn’t just blue snorkeling water that only scuba divers and resorts ‘owned’. This was water that little local children jumped into on their way home.

I knew that the resort was obviously designed to give the guests a more tropical, Caribbean feel, so the straw huts, wooden planks, and a variety of colorful fabrics all over the place was expected. It was beautiful, it was tasteful, the staff made me feel as though I was the most amazing person to ever have graced their presence, and still, none of these factors caused me to call my experience ‘phenomenal’.

We went shopping our first morning there. I didn’t question how, but my hair was extremely well behaved. I did nothing special but wash it. I’ve always been complimented on my hair’s length and texture, but its performance on this trip was simply stellar.

Sarita and Razia were 28 and 27 at the time, they are average height, have average body types, and they usually never have a problem finding boys here on the mainland. Me on the other hand, not so much; at 5 foot 2, a bit more than pleasantly plump, rounded out with a very loud personality, let’s just say, I have tons of friends.

In the Bahamas, however, I was getting hit on. Every other car on the street, the ferry conductor, salesmen, and the funniest—a gentleman on the island at the end of my ferry ride, instructed everyone to move out of the way so that he could assist his future wife in getting off of the boat.

I wasn’t blushing, I wasn’t excited, and I wasn’t even really all that surprised by that scenario now that I think about it. I was however, motivated to be myself. I wore my hair naturally all that week (as opposed to its usual westernized straight style). I wore my dresses with all of their colors every day. I smiled, I glowed, people stopped and stared. An American inter-racial couple I encountered on a day cruise told me that they always wondered what their child would look like. They’d seen many not-so-hot-looking mixed children and they wanted me to know that I was one of the most beautiful.

One night I sat in my dress on one of the pool chairs, breeze blowing, watching the sunset and I was amazed. Actually, beyond amazed. I didn’t want to go home. My eyes greedily looked for more things to see. My lungs ravenously sucked up delicious island air. I danced, I laughed loud and hard, I smiled more radiantly than the sun himself.

And my moment came somewhere in the middle of my trip. In the middle of the night (don’t ask), a small group of us from the resort decided to walk to a nearby beach. At the beach there were a few lights, so we felt safe splitting up with instructions to meet at the same spot later. I walked and I began crying. I saw the ocean move, I was sprayed with the mist from the water and it felt great. I was barefoot and wearing a long pure cotton, halter dress. I stood silently and alone for a bit and I was very emotional. I had never seen such splendor anywhere. I realized then that I was in control.

The End

Afterthought: I came home and my life has been pushed into overdrive (the good kind), ever since. I am a hundred times happier today than I was six months ago, and I can’t wait for my next vacation. The Bahamas however will always hold a most special place in my heart.

About the author in her words: My name is Christina Rachael Ramlal. I am currently 21 years old and I live and work in New York. I am the middle child of a family of seven. I’m employed as an Administrative Assistant in Midtown, and I attend college. My only dream for now is to at least have dreams, for dreams are the stuff of life. They are what keeps us going and without them, life would somehow be meaningless. Shortly after my ‘Bahamavention’, I moved out of my parents home, gained my independence and am aggressively seeking a life full of splendor, happiness, and some more defining moments. My webpage is at www.myspace.com/christinaramlal