Night Time Musings of A Garvin: Growing Apart

As we go on, we remember

All the times we had together

And as our lives change, come whatever

We will still be friends forever

- Vitamin  C

I haven’t spoken to my best friend in a week. Yes, a week is only seven days, but when you're that close to someone and are accustomed to speaking to them every day, a week can seem like a century. Although I know that he's busy, I can’t help but feel abandoned. I have so much to tell him and he has no time to hear about any of it. The fact that we're in the same country only makes matters worse. I have begun to ask myself: "Is this it? Have we reached that moment when we begin to grow apart? Is life taking us in different directions?" Right now, all signs point to yes.

I should have expected it, after all this has happened to me before. It begins after every graduation ceremony: the photos are taken, farewells are said, and promises of “I’ll keep in touch” are made. At the beginning, it's easy to stay in touch. Then, it gets harder. Life happens; you make new acquaintances, fall in love, and grow.

Maybe, we have reached that moment in our lives? I mean, we have just graduated from UWI, photos were taken, and promises were made. The calls were frequent at the beginning, but now, they are few and far between; verging on non-existent. I want to be angry, but I suppose that I understand. He has his life, his own priorities, his own world view, his own personality, his own plans, and so do I. Growing apart must be inevitable, so why not accept it?

Maybe, it’s a sign of more to come? Pretty soon, we will both be embarking on post graduate studies, perhaps in different parts of the world, and/or in different disciplines. Or worse yet, we fall in love, and only have time, energy, and credit on our phones for that special person. So yeah, this all makes sense. It is most definitely a dress rehearsal for the most emotional role of my life: Losing My Best Friend.

I end up on Facebook, choosing to quiet my thoughts by scrolling through my News Feed. I come across a photo from an acquaintance, and like a sign from God, everything seems better. You see, the acquaintance and the other three people in her photo have been friends for 14 years. They were a few years ahead of me at Secondary School. Once they graduated, some went on to University while others got married, had children or travelled. Yet, they managed to remain the best of friends.

It was an example that good friends never truly grow apart. I can think of other lifelong friends I have had the pleasure of knowing, like my Daddy and Uncle Bobby, or my Granny and Miss Judy. Why not follow their example? If this friendship is so important, I should make every effort to keep in touch. I have to accept that life is unpredictable; you live and grow every day, but good friends are also part of that journey. We can either grow apart or adapt to the changes that life brings. I choose the latter, that is, to share all of life's moments with, not only him, but all of my closest friends, as long as they will have me. A weird sense of inner peace has come over me, and I resolve to call him tomorrow, send emails to my other friends or post on Facebook walls. Wow, Vitamin C had a point!

Birth Night!

Go Garvin, it's your BIRTHDAY!

On Thursday, October 4th, 2012, I celebrated my 23rd birthday. I thanked God for life, and spent the majority of the day reflecting on the year that was and what I hoped to achieve this year. When I wasn't reflecting, I was being showered with birthday greetings, well wishes, and kisses from students and staff alike. My family and best friends called me, my favourite class sang me "Happy Birthday", and the teachers invited me to dinner. While all this was happening, my Facebook wall was alive with more birthday greetings from close friends, associates, and those who were reminded by the social networking site. Overall, by my standards, it was a quiet day. This fact didn't bother me because I knew that the next night, I was going to unleash my inner bacchanalist.

It was Friday, October 5th, 2012, the time was 9:30PM, and I was on the back of a motorcycle for the umpteenth time. I was on my way to a friend's house to await the taxi cab that would take us to Club Zouk. You see, my friend is also a Libra, and decided to invite me to an event that her friend was hosting. The idea was that we would celebrate our birthdays together; my ticket had been bought, so I thought, "Why not?" We would be joined by her boyfriend, some of his friends, and her friend who was supposed to be my date for the night. Eventually, we were on our merry way, trying to convince the cab driver to come back for us at sunrise.

As soon as the cab dropped us off at Zouk, I found myself wishing that he could come back in ten minutes instead of at sunrise. I mean, this disco had to be the shabbiest dance club in Neiva, and this judgment was based on just seeing the car park; the unpaved, muddy, and potholed car park. My imagination, forever running wild, gave me an image of the inside looking like an abandoned warehouse, with peeling paint, rats, more potholes, and Dr. Lizard. By the time, we were actually ready to enter the club; I had steeled myself to expect the worse.  Thankfully, there was no Dr. Lizard on the inside, but the most elegant décor I had ever seen- hanging chandeliers, comfy, white leather couches, cute shot glasses with the word "ZOUK" stamped on them, and snazzy, silver tables. I actually felt like drinking from a small cup with my pinky finger aloft, laughing like I owned the world.

Aside from the elegant décor, something else occurred to me: in addition to the staff and promoters, we were the only people there. I did the only thing that seemed plausible: I started laughing scandalously while everyone (10 people) looked at me like I was crazy. How embarrassing to have put all your blood, sweat and tears into the planning of an event, and have only four people attend! I would have died! Luckily, my laughter and sympathy were not necessary as within 30 minutes of our arrival, other people started coming, and it seemed that everyone in Neiva had come out. And when I write that everyone came out, I mean, EVERYONE! There were a lot of mature people, and not my parents kind of mature, but older, like my Granny. One woman was actually escorted to her seat by her son, put to sit down, and hastened to cover her eyes from the strobe lights. Sure, we all need to get out of the house, but I'm sure that there is a lot of age appropriate entertainment ma'am, like bridge or bingo. Would this be considered ageism? Moving on…

Whenever I venture out to a club, I can never start dancing right away. I have to sit, sip on my Redd's, and wait for the right song to play. You know, that one song that seems to reverberate in your head and causes a sense of delirium to travel from the mole of your head to the soul of your feet, and you feel like screaming, "WOI!" You CANNOT control yourself, and the only thing left for you to do is shake what your momma gave ya! Luckily, my momma gave me A LOT, and once I heard this song, I was ready to go. It was all uphill from there as every song that played, no matter the genre; I just had to shake a leg. Within 45 minutes, I was sweating, hoarse from all the screaming, and aching all over after wining down low, repeatedly. Sigh, my bones aren't what they used to be! But, like a true Trini, the vibes cyah done!

After about three hours of dancing, it was time for the specially invited guest to perform. He was a DJ from "La Escuela de David Guetta", and seemed to be well known by the patrons, judging by the screams and wolf whistles. Initially, I was intrigued by what he had to offer, but once I discovered that his set was 45 minutes of techno music, I became disinterested. I decided to sit and watch everyone react to the pulsating, repetitive electronic music. Boy oh boy, did they react! People started going CRAZY; one guy was jumping on the couch in either glee or demon possession, a man and woman were dancing like chickens in one corner while another couple were gyrating and humping each other like worms in heat. I just had to laugh and shake my head.

Sometime during my 45 minute rest, I realised that I was really tired since I had danced non-stop for close to three hours. It was about time to leave; I needed my beauty rest. We gathered our things, and were just about to leave when I realised that I didn't have a souvenir from the night's experience. You see, I like taking something home with me to remind me of where I had been, especially if I had had a good time. I opted to take one of the shot glasses, and quickly deposited it in my pocket like a thief. I proudly posted a photo below:

Hee hee hee! Until the next post... CHAO!

Barbershop!

Hallelujah!

When I found out that I was going to live and work in Neiva for ten months, one of the few concerns I had was where I was going to have my hair cut. Having spent ten months in Bogotá, and experiencing two horrible haircuts at the hands of the scalp-rapist, Omar, I had reason to worry. You see, most barbers in Colombia don't know how to cut my hair. To me, hair is hair, but for whatever reason, the cut would look uneven, and the mark would be all over the place. If it took me two months to find a barber in metropolitan Bogotá, I imagined that I would return home as a "congo bongo, natty dread" after my year in Neiva. So, I was pleasantly surprised when within three weeks of being in Neiva, I was in a cab on my way to the barbershop. As soon as I realized that the barber was black, I knew that my prayers were answered. Here goes...

The day was Tuesday, August 15th, 2012, the time was 10:00AM, and I was shaking my head and tapping my feet to salsa music. I was, also, watching a guy have his hair cut and styled into the most ridiculous Mohawk ever! Appropriately named, Los Niches, the barbershop was located in, what appeared to me, a poor part of town, judging by the houses and the dirt track I had to cross to get to the shop. The walls of the barbershop were plastered with the usual crap like, the Wahl Style Guide, a poster of Bob Marley and the Lion of Judah, and advertisements for events, past and future. What was particularly disturbing to me was the fact that Chris Brown was included on a poster of the "Top 20 Rappers of the 21st Century". Yes, Chris Brown!

The barber was a short, energetic man who had either just decided to grow a ras, or had a ras that refused to grow. He moved quickly as he put the finishing touches on that horrid Mohawk, and spoke emphatically about life, girls, and the Olympics. I noticed that he had a certain flare about him. He would flick his wrists dramatically as he cut, randomly start dancing, stick his tongue out while he thought about the best place to put his designs, and once finished, he would remove the smock in a flurry of black as he signaled the next patron.

The next patron was not yours truly though, but a young guy who seemed kind of ghetto to me. He was dressed in really tight jeans, a striped T-shirt with solid coloured sleeves, and a shoe that was too big for him. Added to that, he had his hair styled in these ludicrous, gel filled spikes, and was playing the radio from his telephone. G-H-E-T-T-O! I had to wait longer than usual for Papi to cut his hair because he had to wash all the gel from his hair before he could get started. While he was doing all that, I noticed that there was a fraternity that existed amongst the barber's clients. Not only were they all different shades of black, but they all seemed to get along well with each other. When someone arrived at the shop, he would greet the barber, and then, go on to shake hands and exchange greetings with everyone. This one guy even bought us all something to drink. It felt like I was with my extended family from Neiva.

Finally, after what seemed like an epoch, it was my turn. I excitedly sat in the chair, and told the barber what I wanted, which was a tad difficult. No matter how hard I tried, he could not understand that I wanted a fade. When my friend eventually intervened, and expressed what I wanted, Mr. Barber started laughing, and told me the style was called, the sombrero. Go figure! With our little language barrier demolished, my haircut commenced, and my excitement faded, like my hairstyle, and gave way to annoyance. He was so rough in the way he cut my hair; he would dig the machine into my scalp, pull my head to and fro, and pass a coarse, pink sponge through my hair for reasons unbeknownst to me. Eventually, I had to ask him to be gentler- I have feelings, you know! Sadly, it didn't make much of a difference.

As was expected, he asked me where I was from, and why I was in Neiva. After telling him that I was from Cali, and having him scowl at me, I told him that I was from the Caribbean island of Trinidad and Tobago. His eyes lit up, he turned off the machine, and ran to his laptop, exclaiming that he had music from my country. I couldn't believe it, and I was right not to because he started playing reggae music. Sigh! I was, therefore, compelled to let him know that reggae music is synonymous with Jamaica, and Trinidad and Tobago had its own forms of traditional music, like calypso, soca and chutney. He seemed genuinely interested, so I decided to take out my flash drive and play some good, ole soca for him. Let's just say, MADNESS ENSUED! He started dancing, jumping, shouting, and stating emphatically how good the music was. In that moment, I felt proud to be a Trini.

Eventually, my time at the barber was over. I was quite pleased after I looked at myself in the mirror. I have been to said barbershop a total of six times, and aside from him giving me a puma one time, all my hair cuts have been great. Until the next post!

Wonders Never Cease!

Culture shock is REAL!

With moving to any new town, city, or country, some form of culture shock is inevitable. A previous blog of mine spoke of one such instance. This one takes another spin, and addresses those things that made me gasp, scream, shake, or bathe in five minutes. Each experience begins with the question I asked upon learning about the new piece of cultural information- translated to English, of course. Enjoy!

"What exactly was making that noise?"

One night, I was watching a movie entitled, "The Last House On The Left". I consider it to be a scary movie with a lot of gore, and moments that make your heart race. Although I knew that I would get nightmares, I refused to change the channel, and remained glued to the television screen. In one scene, the "Dad" bludgeoned one of the "Bad Guys" with a hammer, while the dramatic lightening flashed in the background. Who knew the human skull was so soft? Perhaps, doctors? Anyway, as soon as the hammer made contact with his head, I heard a very real noise from inside the house. It sounded like a cross between a monkey, a mouse, and a parrot. Although that probably wasn´t the best description ever, what matters is that, whatever it was scared the bejesus out of me. I immediately turned off the television, and ran up the stairs, tripping once on my way up. Mama ain't raise no fool!

The next day I asked my former land lord, "What exactly was making that noise, last night?" I had to mimic the noise for him, and once I did, he let me know that it was a lizard which is very popular in Neiva. They can usually be seen everywhere- in the bathroom, the kitchen, out on the balcony, behind the computer, in your room, EVERYWHERE! Oh lawd, now I have to deal with a monkey-parrot sounding lizard! Thus far, no one shares my concern over these creatures. They even laugh at my "flesh eating lizard" and my "if a lizard falls on your belly, it means you're pregnant" theories. The latter has been proven, just so you know!

"Really?"

It was my first outing to the University in Neiva, and I was so excited. I got up, ironed my clothes, polished my shoes, clipped my fingernails, and then, it was off to the bathroom. I hung up my towel, stripped, brushed my teeth, stretched, jumped in the bathroom, and instinctively, looked for the hot water switch. There wasn't any in plain sight, and, after looking everywhere including behind the toilet, I still couldn't find it. Naturally, I asked about the lack of a water heater switch, and my worst fears were realised- there wasn't one!

Apparently, in hot regions like Neiva, it is customary to take cold showers to keep you cool during the day. Quite frankly, this makes no sense to me whatsoever! I mean, Trinidad's climate is just as hot as Neiva, and almost every Trinidadian household has hot water in the bathroom. Plus, bathing in cold water does not keep you cool because as soon as you put on your clothes, you start sweating! Although the prospect of a cold, early morning, balls-shrinking bath was daunting, I decided that it would be a cultural experience, and took the plunge. Let's just say that that was the fastest I have ever bathed in my life! Since then, I have become quite accustomed to taking cold showers. I have even realised that if say, "Lawd, no sickness!" before I bathe in the morning, I wouldn´t get sick. YAY ME!

"Is that a baby on a motorbike?"

Yes, you read that correctly! I realised early on that Neiva is teeming with motorcycles of varying sizes, models, and colours. Everyone seems to have one; from men to women to university students to executives. It wasn´t that shocking for me, and eventually I became quite accustomed to seeing thousands of motorbikes on a daily basis, weaving through traffic to the annoyance of other drivers and pedestrians alike. One day, this all changed though!

I was in a car, on my way to taste guarapo for the first time when it happened. There, sitting on a swanky, red motorcycle was a man and his wife who was holding their baby in her hands. He/ she seemed to be no more than six months old, and was resting on his/ her mother´s busom like nobody´s business. Nobody seemed phased by this phenomenon, so I just had to ask to make sure that I wasn´t going crazy, and there was a baby on the motorbike. After asking, I learned that: 1) it is a baby, and 2) although it is illegal to have more than two people on a motorbike, much less a baby, most people/ families do it anyway. To this day, everywhere I go, I see more example of these fast and furious babies and toddlers. Wonders never cease! 

Well, that´s all for now! Until the next post... chao!

Maritza Scarred Me!

What have you done to me!?!

Sometimes in life, you have bad experiences that never really leave you. Of all those experiences I´ve had in my life,  I must say that the time I spent living with Maritza is probably one of the worst. For those of you who don´t know, or may have forgotten, Maritza Ratoncita Pukeko Dragon- Face Torres was the woman in whose house I lived when I was in Bogotá between 2010 and 2011. She was a budding dictator with her strange house rules, her knack for knowing about everything that happened in the apartment, her underhanded tactics, and her overbearing demeanour. I admit that perhaps, I wasn´t the best tenant, but the way she reacted to my indiscretions could be filed in the dictionary under the word "INTENSE". Now that I´m away from home again, I´ve found myself having to live in someone else´s home. Although everyone isn´t as intense as Maritza, I still feel this need to avoid conflict at all costs, and a heightened sense of paranoia seems to permeate the air. Basically, I blame Dragon Face!

Since arriving in Neiva, I´ve moved three times. Everyone I stayed with, before finding my permanent residence, was very nice and accommodating. The apartments were comfortable, furnished, and I had everything that I needed to survive. Amidst all the niceties, I could not allow myself to relax. There were all these questions that I needed to ask to ensure my peace of mind. For example: "How much time can I spend in the bathroom?", "How much loads of laundry am I allowed to do?", "Is there a cleaning schedule for the apartment?", and "Can I watch television?", just to name a few. To some, these questions may seem a bit weird to ask someone when first meeting them, but after living with Maritza, they seemed appropriate. I mean, I had to take 5- minute baths, and wash black clothes with light colours because I was only allowed two loads of laundry a week. The first scar of Maritza had reared it´s ugly head, and it wouldn´t be the last time.

I noticed that even after clarifying my doubts on the house rules by having my questions answered, I still couldn´t become 100% comfortable. I needed to avoid conflict at all costs, so my goal in life was to become the "World´s Best Tenant!" I reasoned that if I were perfect, and made no mistakes that all will be well. I mean, it worked with Maritza- well, most times- so, why wouldn´t it work now? I started to watch my every move; I ensured that my room was always clean, that I didn´t make too much noise, that I washed all the soap down the drain after bathing, that I wiped the face basin after brushing my teeth etc. The thing is that, as humans we are not perfect! Thus, in trying to be perfect, I drove myself crazy! I would worry about the most mundane things, and if I didn´t do something correctly before leaving the house, it would haunt me for the entire day. My brain would create these scenarios that all ended with me coming home to find my luggage in front the apartment, the locks changed, and a vagrant wearing one of my nice shirts. It was stressful, frustrating, tiring, and unhealthy in my humblest of opinions. No one should have to live like that! Perhaps, I´m being dramatic, but hey, that´s me! Again, thanks Maritza!

Finally, there was the paranoia! I started to feel as though everything was my fault, even when there was no need to feel that way. Every look and drawn out silence became an accusation. If someone forgot to greet me when they entered the house, I would sit and wonder why, and arrive at the conclusion that it was because of me. Then, there´s that feeling that if things change in the apartment, it was done to prevent you from using too much. This paranoia reminds me of what it was like living with Maritza. She wasn´t one to come out, and tell you that you were doing something wrong all the time. She would leave notes, or whisper to her man late at night when she thought you were sleeping, or mark the water level, or disconnect the cable from the television. Her underhandedness was legendary, to be frank!

This blog was hand written late at night about two weeks ago. Now, I virtually live by myself, and it feels great! I don´t feel as stressed and worried as I used to. I still try to be careful, and have my own stuff though. Admittedly, it doesn´t seem necessary. My only concern now is renting a washing machine!

Until the next post... CHAO!

Neiva, I Love You!

So far, so good!

Thursday, August 9th, 2012 marked two weeks since I had been in  sunny Neiva. The old addage, "So far, so good!" is the most appropriate to describe the experience thus far. I am being productive, punctual, meeting new people, Spanishfying, and adapting to the new culture. There are some aspects of said culture that have been a bit difficult to become accustomed to, but this blog isn´t about that. I want to share with you, those things that I absolutely love, and particularly enjoy about Neiva. You know, those things that make me feel all warm inside; warmth that has nothing to do with the heat, or warning me about impending diarrhoea. For some reason, that diarrhoea bit sounded funnier in my head!

Cholupa, according to my gracious, Opita host, is a cousin of passion fruit; a sweet, sexy, tasty one at that. The fruit is grown solely in the Department of Huila- Neiva is its capital- and functions as its National Fruit in my opinion. Smaller than its passionate cousin, cholupa is green with a tough exterior; a yellow interior, black seeds encased in a jelly-like membrane, and proves that big things can indeed come in small packages. The first time I tasted cholupa, I admit that I was a bit hesitant. I usually am when it comes to trying new foods as I´m a very picky eater/ drinker, and my face betrays just how much I don´t like something. I took the plunge, and was rewarded with the most refreshing, fruitiest, sweetest juice I have ever tasted in 22 years, 10 months, 43 weeks and 2 days- I may be studying languages, but my Math is good! My entire body orgasmed- from my taste buds to my toes- as Ms. Cholupa travelled downward, making me tingle. It felt better than sex yo! (Not that I would know anyway, Mummy!) Everyday since, I must have at least one cup of cholupa, I go out and search for it with fervour, like some strung out cholupa whore. It´s relatively easy to find, since there is a lil shop in the school´s mosquito infested, "no light at night" cafeteria that serves the drink for ah mil- real cheap! Below is a photo of cholupa; ain´t she a beauty?

In Form One, I remembered reading about the Siesta, that is, a short, mid-afternoon nap taken in the early afternoon, usually after lunch, in some countries. I always associated siestas with Spain, and was therefore, not that shocked when I noticed that no one took them in Bogotá. I just assumed that Bogotá set the precedent for how everything was done in Colombia, and I came to the conclusion that siestas were non-existent here. Ha! Imagine my surprise when on my first day, other teachers in the staff room packed up their stuff, and left at minutes to twelve. As I´m heading to the house, I noticed that the lil tienda on the corner was closed, and the streets were too eerie for midday. I arrived at the house to find my host in home clothes, re-heating the food he cooked that morning. After we had lunch, he retired to his bedroom, only to get up two hours later, re-dress, and head back to work. Eventually, I learned that during the week, between 12 noon and 2 PM, the majority of Neivans take a siesta. I was elated because it meant that I could sleep for two hours in the mid-afternoon, and not be considered lazy because culture dictates that it is normal. Sadly, taking a nap is not as easy as it sounds! You need to take off your clothes, sleep, get up, bathe, brush your teeth, and basically, get ready all over again. Plus, for some reason, it´s even hotter in Neiva during siesta! Once, I accept everything that the siesta has to offer, I suppose that I will grow to love this restful part of the culture.

Quite frankly, I expected Music in Neiva to be VERY traditional. You know, old, soaring ballads about sea foam and ashes! While I can appreciate the historical and cultural importance of songs like those, they can become repetitive and dull, and make you contemplate suicide. Luckily, I was very wrong about what kind of music is played on the radios, in clubs/ bars, and in people´s homes. The music features an eclectic mix of Vallenato, techno, ballads, American contemporary and rock, and reggaeton. This was particularly shocking as a lot of Colombians are aversed to this genre of music with it´s raunchy, dirty lyrics and beats that make you want to grind on someone, and/ or wine on yuh head on ah marble table. Vallenato, which I never really liked the first time around, is now growing on me. The lyrics are beautiful, and speak about a range of issues that tend to happen to people who are in love, or have fallen out of love. And well, ballads are AMAZING in any language! Do not despair young ones, I have posted links to some songs from each genre that have caught my attention!

Después De Ti- Felipe Peláez and Manuel Julian (Vallenato)
Traga´o De Ti- Peter Manjarrés (Vallenato)

Lo Mejor Que Hay En Mi Vida- Andrés Cepeda (Balada)

¡Corre!- Joy & Jesse (Balada)

Hasta El Techo- ChocQuibTown (Genre Unclear)

Te Pintaron Pajaritos- Yandel and Yostin ft. Andy Rivera (Reggaeton)

Llegamos A La Disco- Daddy Yankee and a lot of other Artistes (Reggaeton)  

Inténtalo- 3BallMTY ft. El Bebeto and América Sierra (Genre Unclear)

I hope to learn more about Neiva in the coming months, and grow to love this part of Colombia even more. Until the next post folks!

What Are You Wearing?

(Source)

 Mi tell dem man is not an issue cause mi pum pum tun up

Head ah mash up, because mi pum pum tun up

A yah so good, so him nuh miss you cause mi pum pum tun up

Pum pum tun up, mi sah mi pum pum tun up

After four days in the apartment, I went downtown today for the first time to organize my cédula extranjería or ID card, for you non-Spanish speakers. It was a long process that involved walking around, taking photos, getting fingerprinted, and talking with the guy who was in charge of the whole process about what Trinidad and Tobago had to offer. Amidst all the black ink, flying spittle, and walking around, I had the opportunity to do what I do best, that is, maco. What particularly stood out to me was the way in which the majority of women tend to dress in Neiva. Some looked as though they were going clubbing on a Monday, while others seemed to be advertising to men everywhere that the pum pum tun up.

Imagine in a big, government office, a female employee dressed in a leopard-print jumpsuit with cut out shoulders, and white wedged heels with matching leopard scrunchie and earrings. Meanwhile, her colleague is wearing a pencil pants, a lingerie-esque top with a lace back, and six inch purple and red pumps, taking photos with the cleaning lady who she happens to know from school. The trend continued throughout the city, as the majority of young, "professional" women appeared ready for a long night of dancing, or dinner with an oil rich, old man. These women came across as very inappropriate and unprofessional in my humblest of opinions. I mean, I cannot begin to take you seriously if your big breasts are in my face, especially if they are being held down by leopard cloth. How tacky!

Then, there were the “Delilahs” and “Silvias” who looked downright loose in their tight jeans, spaghetti strap tops, pum pum shorts or short skirts, straddling motorcycles and scooters. I suppose that for the normal, red blooded, tusty male- the sight of so many scantily clad women, riding motorcycles is a turn on, no matter how big their bellies are or how black between their legs are or how sweaty/ dusty they look! To me, they come across as being very easy, lacking class and self-respect. I mean, they leave nothing to the imagination! Maybe, I´m a prude, or really old fashioned?

Overall, this may all be cultural and I´m going to have to get accustomed. It´s not like Trinidad is lacking its share of inappropriately, sluttily dressed young ladies. Just visit some Ministry offices on South Quay, or spend an hour in City Gate. Better yet, go to UWI! You´ll see it all!

Until the next post… Chao!

Pet Peeves Are All Around Us- Dressing for the World of Work

GRRR!

Pet peeves are those actions, objects, or people that we find particularly annoying. They are individualistic, meaning that, what annoys one person, may not annoy someone else. I have a lot of pet peeves which means that I end up pissed off during the day for extended periods of time. As I am now a part of the world of work, I've been exposed to a new set of pet peeves that revolve around the way some men dress. Here goes...

1) Book-bags with work attire

I don't even know where to begin with this one. YOU ARE NOT GOING TO SCHOOL! THERE IS NO NEED FOR A BACK PACK! Nothing gets me more upset than seeing men, young and old, in their nice suits, or long-sleeved shirts in pants with a nice shoe, and a BIG, BOOK BAG on their back. It looks so unprofessional! What irks me even more is the fact that to them, "they in style", and they have "swag" so, they bounce like fools, grinning from ear to ear. Oh, and is better fete if is ah JanSport! Furthermore, once you take off the bag, that area of your shirt looks so untidy, and if he happens to be a person who sweats a lot, you see those unsightly wet spots. Oh geed! Why not get a nice bag that you can sling on one shoulder? JanSport sells those! Or perhaps, a nice pouch or something. Just get rid off the book bag!

2) Black Pants, White Socks

Unless you are MICHEAL JACKSON, THAT ^^^ does not work, AT ALL! It annoys me that you think it does. I've said enough. 

3) Pant Seams That Go Way Up in the Back

(NO PHOTO AVAILABLE)

You guys will have to use your imagination, but I have a feeling you know exactly what I'm talking about. Some guys feel the need to carry the seam at the back of their pants all the way to the center loop. It looks like you have a big "A" stamped on your ass, which is fitting since you look like an ass, or an arrow pointing toward God knows what. I applaud your neatness and attention to detail, but it looks ridiculous and it irritates me. It looks better if the seam at the back stops right under your butt cheeks. Jus' sayin'!

4) Shoes and Belt Don't Match

Black belt, black shoes... Brown belt, brown shoes. Got it?!? Good!

So yeah... stop annoying me! Ah gone! 

Finally!

Yep, that's the truth!

After nine months of abandoning my glorious blog/ creative outlet, I'm back and ready to re-vamp Garvin's World. It has been a trying, stressful, tiring, paper filled past few months. Thank you very much UWI, St. Augustine! After misleading information from former, final year students about Year Three being a breeze- Curse you!-, I was labouring under the delusion that final year would have been my BEST year at UWI. These past two semesters were the WORSE in my opinion especially when it came to time management on my part, and I had no time to blog because all my writing energy was channeled into my thesis. The good news is that the semester is FINALLY over, I can FINALLY devote more time to Garvin's World, and I have a different outlook on how I want to approach this facet of my life. Before talking- well, writing- about my blog plans, I think it appropriate to clue you all into what's been happening since October 2011.

Thesis: HUMN 3099- The Caribbean Studies Project had been a big part of my life since October but, more so during the early months of 2012. The project is actually a 8000 word thesis on a topic of your choosing; it must be impeccably written, and presented in accordance with the MLA or Modern Language ASSociation. The project is designed to help you hone in on your research skills, and stamp your name in the annals of history. What really happens is that the thesis invades every aspect of your life like a disease, and most times, your thesis ends up in West Indiana, collecting dust.

Entitled, "A Place for Women?- The Evolution of the Roles of the Female in the Trinidad and Tobago Police Service 1955-2011", my thesis studied- 1) the changes in the roles that women have played in the TTPS since being recruited for the first time in 1955 to 2011, 2) the factors that brought about the changes, 3) how their roles affect/ have affected their status in the police service and the challenges they face/ faced, and 4) possibilities for further change. Wow, in my humble opinion, it sounds impressive! I can honestly say that I was interested in doing research on the topic and presenting my findings. I think being passionate about your topic is the first step in doing a successful thesis because when you start to feel overwhelmed- and, you DO- it's your passion for the topic that  keeps you going. That, or the fact that HUMN 3099 is worth six credits! Perhaps, I'll do another blog on the ups and downs of finishing a thesis. Until then, let this suffice.

I'm trying to think about what else happened that deserves mention in this blog post but, I got nothin'! So, moving on...

As I said earlier, I want to dedicate more time to really develop Garvin's World. Who knows? Maybe, one day this blog will make me famous. Delusions of grandeur? Nope, not at all! I think this post-UWI stage of my life should provide some interesting topics to write about. I mean, I'm about to officially enter the world of work with no plans of going back to school until September 2013- provided that the world doesn't end. But I don't only want to write about my adventures, I want to give my opinion on issues. Also, I've been doing a lot of soul searching recently, uncovering my flaws, and having grand discussions with myself. Basically, I'm trying to include more content as opposed to the one note blog posts about iguanas and security guards and maxi taxis. I know that writing about such things have become sort of my signature so don't worry, there will be posts like those mixed in with the new content. As usual, I'll try not to be funny which works well for me.

Here's to the return of Garvin's World, I hope you guys are excited because I am. The world revolves around me so whatever I feel, you guys HAVE TO feel it too. Jus' kiddin'! Well, not really...