It seems like I’ve been in England forever, but it’s really only been two months.
Maybe it’s because I haven’t been working, and because here in Kent, the days stretch with little or no interaction with other people, but it feels like I’ve been here much longer, and despite my discomfort regarding my living conditions and lack of money, I feel like I’ve always been here.
I feel comfortable in England, if not neccessarily in this house.
When I look around at things, everything seems familiar: the trains, the roads, the trees… I’m even getting used to the cold.
It’s funny, but I don’t think about Trinidad; I don’t think about Barbados, unless it’s in terms of my mother or YMK or the people I love that are there.
I’ve been thinking about my brothers, and my Egun shrine at my father’s house, but not about the country. I don’t miss the Caribbean at all. I miss only my apartment and the independence of space you pay for.
I really, really miss YMK. I miss sex yes. I’m horny, yes. I miss his face and his smile; his chipped tooth and his laughter. I miss his hands.
I miss dancing for Orisa, and space to do ritual work. I miss my father.
I do not miss the Caribbean.
I think this place is where I’m supposed to be. Two months of struggle have not made the place alien to me, it’s as familiar as Trinidad or Barbados. In fact, I understand now why they call Barbados ‘Little England’… the place looks exactly like it.
The hills, fields beyond recall (right?). Lines from Barbados’ national anthem, but as I drive or simply travel through the landscape, I see the similarities. Also, so many of the names in Barbados borrow their names from English towns, neighbourhoods and areas, it’s quite amusing to be honest.
Never mind the money thing. Money will come. Never mind the housing situation, my place will come. I feel like I am home.
Like something resonating from a past life, the place feels familiar.