The Last Word

I am not much of a beer drinker or a big drinker for that matter under any circumstances, but saying yes to Oktoberfest in Munich was an easy one.

It has been approximately one week since I became a German citizen, and no, I haven’t given up my Guyanese citizenship to attain it.

What started out as a desire to do more girly things and expand my social settings in order to make new friends turned out to be what feels like if I’m fighting for my life for two hours every week.

There is nothing more terrifying to me than going for a routine pap smear check.

A big part of socialising often involves eating or drinking out and as opposed to intimate home settings which usually  tend to see the guests guarding their behaviour and respecting social cues because of the on my turf like nature of the social meetup.

Death is inevitable and even though it is sure to knock on the door of everyone, it still somehow manages to deliver an astounding shock every single time; even in cases where it has been highly anticipated due to illness.

I miss dating whenever I hear about the stories of some of my girlfriends even though I abhor  that it often felt, and probably still feels, like an unending time-wasting Netflix series.

After so many countries have plundered and dug through their lands or invited others to do so for them, exhausting their environmental limits and pushing local communities out for capitalist gains, we are yet again reminded that climate change isn’t just a safe cause or talking point.

Childless people navigating friendships with people who have children can be a prickly issue.

If I were 93 years old and on my fifth marriage, I too would probably rock sneakers to my wedding, I thought when I came across Rupert Murdoch’s latest wedding photos.

I received so many perplexing reactions from friends when I shared that I was travelling to  Qatar. 

I always hated bras. From the wires, the heat they drive, restrictive feeling and the labour intensive duty to find a suitable one for every outfit, what is there not to hate.

There is something about trying to lose weight that feels almost impossible and pointless in the beginning.

I think that one of the best ways to show you appreciate someone is by offering them your time and effort.

Holidays are weirdly tortuous when you are an immigrant. It almost feels like an endless marathon, trying to recreate the magic of the holidays that you were once accustomed to,   knowing fully well it will culminate with feeling a profound sense of loss sandwiched in droplets of happiness and disappointment at having yet another season come around and still not managing to get it quite right.

When I think about my school days (primary and secondary) in Guyana, much of it feels like a blur.

 I always swore to myself that I would never become consumed by any reality TV show.

As I look on and observe from an incredibly far distance while the nation’s teachers protest for both liveable wages and decent working conditions, I remember two stories my late Godmother who worked as a nurse in the public healthcare system shared with me growing up.

A few days ago I came across a snippet of a viral  radio interview which featured a local beauty influencer as its guest.

A little over halfway into  Bell Hooks’ book “All About Love: New Visions”, and my mind  cannot stop reshuffling memories of my past relationships, friendships, family dysfunction, and my own shortcomings when it comes to  consistently enacting a love ethic in all aspects of  my life.