Of course, I never believed traveling to Jamaica was going to save our marriage, but it was the last play we had left. Our last straw left to draw. I may have never believed it, but the thought did cross my mind. At times I wonder to myself: Where did we go wrong? What was the day you fell out of love with me?<\/em>\u00a0That is the question I desire to ask my husband. Of course, I would have to ask myself the same question.<\/p>\n It has been two days since we landed in Montego Bay, and so far, I figure this has to be the most animated city in the world. I\u2019m surrounded by happy black people dancing, smiling, and singing. Just living their life with no worries it seems. Have they not face hardships? Of course, they have, everyone has to face hardships in their life. They just seem to not let their hardships affect their life and ruined their happiness, unlike me.<\/p>\n I have found peace at the beach that flows outside our resort. The beach has palm trees with coconuts sprouting from the branches. Which provides me shade as I journal under the Jamaican sun. Along with sand as shy as silver that warms my submerged toes. In the center of the beach is a vibrant self-made dance floor. The natives are dancing to reggae music. It\u2019s such a majestic view as if there are dancing with their souls leading. The blue, clear ocean covers the equator of the earth. It expands so wide, I feel like if I were to swim in it I would get lost at sea where no one can find me.<\/p>\n A lively woman, who balanced fruit on her head, walked up to me yesterday while I was journaling on the beach. She told me in her thick Jamaican accent, \u201cDawta, look yah pipe up. There no problems in Jamaica.\u201d She handed me a branch of lychee from her assortment and twirled away. I started to smile, I did. I felt the grin rise on my face, and then I saw my no-good husband up to no good conversing with a woman bartender. Under the large straw hut where a black wooden island stands stacked with alcohol to serve anyone\u2019s desires and pleasures. I saw the grin on his face as he studied her, planning his next move. I saw her cheeks blush as she analyzes him. She ignores the gold wedding ring on his finger which signifies that he is unavailable. But he ignores the commitment and vows he made to me when he slides his hand over her face. I decided that\u2019s my cue. So I walk towards my husband and said, \u201cHusband, there you are! I\u2019ve haven\u2019t seen you all day. You were already gone when I woke this morning. Seems like you made a friend.\u201d<\/p>\n The man’s face looked like he had seen a ghost. I could tell he didn\u2019t expect me to be there; nevertheless, catch him in the act of him flirting with another woman. He said, \u201cHi wife, I woke early to hit a run on a beach, and uh where I met her. This is\u2026\u201d His words trailed off when he realizes he never even got the bartender name. That was so funny to me. He is willing to risk our marriage over someone that he couldn\u2019t even bother to ask what her name was. It dawns on me at that moment that this man who I named my husband, did not deserve to be the draining source of my happiness. I decided that I was no longer going to allow his actions to dictate my joy. So, I said to him, \u201cSave that thought husband. I\u2019m going to go dance. You have fun with the bartender.\u201d I winked to him and made my way to the dance floor. I reached the vibrant area where the natives are dancing and singing. I joined them by moving my hips to every beat, and feeling the rhythm with my feet. I let my soul guide me to a life filled with happiness.<\/p>\n ” If I don’t define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people’s fantasies for me and eaten alive. ”<\/p>\n – Audre Lorde<\/p><\/blockquote>\n <\/p>\n Audre Lorde was a writer, civil rights activist, feminist, and a lesbian. In her writing she spoke on the oppression of race, gender, and sexuality.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Hello guys and happy Wednesday! I don’t know what day we are on in quarantine, but guess what? We are still here and that’s all that matters. For today’s blog post I wanted to share a flash fiction piece I wrote recently for an assignment. It’s called “Journaling in Jamaica” and it’s about this woman … Continue reading “In case you are in need of a small read”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":49,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8865"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/49"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8865"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8865\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8896,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8865\/revisions\/8896"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8865"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8865"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8865"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nQuote of the week<\/h6>\n
![\"About](\"https:\/\/www.thoughtco.com\/thmb\/fTDNepJpOcFGOloCtvKcTOdSjVs=\/1404x1404\/smart\/filters:no_upscale()\/GettyImages-694880169x-58bd8eda5f9b58af5cd1923a.jpg\")
<\/p>\n