The 'Ordinairey' Woman

When I was a little girl, we had a mini concert at Sunday School. I remember Andrew D said a poem called “The Day My Father Died.” The only verse that I remember to this day is the one that says, “The day my father died, I could not cry; My mother cried, Not I.” I didn’t even know it was a poem at that time. I thought Andrew was just sharing his hatred for his father. In my childhood mind I thought Andrew was heartless and cold. How could you not cry if your father died?  But I must say, it wasn’t Andrew’s poem that took the cake that Sunday; it was the song that my brother and I sang. We sang “Metric Fever.” For those of you who are old enough to remember, some years ago Jamaica launched a campaign to go all metric The campaign included a viral song called “Metric Fever.” When my brother and I realized, having seen the reactions of our Sunday School teachers, that “Metric Fever” was not an appropriate song for Sunday School, we began deejaying “God, God, God…….” The thought of...

  Life has a curious way of throwing challenges our way, often when we least expect it. In recent months, I found myself facing a series of setbacks and downturns that left me reeling. From the aftermath of an earthquake to personal health crises and not having a stable 9-5 job and material possessions, the past few months have been a relentless test of my resilience, endurance and faith. In the face of adversity, I discovered valuable lessons about the strength of the human spirit, the importance of having true support, and effective coping mechanisms. One major blow came in the form of a magnitude 5.4 earthquake that made the ceiling of a room in my house look like a laughingstock. The once-sturdy ceiling (so I thought) now represents a testament to the unpredictable nature of life. As I sifted through the debris, it became clear that rebuilding both my physical and emotional foundations would require time, patience and help from others. The seismic shifts had not only impact...

  “You are where? Anguilla? Where is that?” “What is it like?” Anguilla is a British overseas territory in the Eastern Caribbean. It is one of the lesser-known Caribbean islands, but I dare say a very beautiful and idyllic one. (To find Anguilla, pull up your map of the Caribbean and look to the right of Puerto Rico.) The name Anguilla means eel so named for its long eel-like shape. It is 16 miles long and 3.5 miles wide at its widest point. You can drive from one end of the island to the other in half an hour.  In the last census of 2011, Anguilla had a population of 15,094 which is over four times less than Jamaica's least populated parish, Hanover. Coming from Jamaica, at first Anguilla was disappointing and a shock to my system. The airport is no bigger than an average size upper middle-income family house. To get to Anguilla from Jamaica you can either transit through the US or through St. Maarten (SXM). There is a direct flight from Miami to Anguilla (AXA); however aft...

  Several months ago, I was walking through a passage in my house. The passage is narrow because I put two pieces of furniture against one of the walls. Two people cannot walk side-by-side through the passage at the points where the furniture are and if you are substantial in size, you will have to turn sideways to pass through. I was passing through the passage one day with a laundry basket in my hand and for ease of navigation I lifted the basket overhead. The basket hit and broke the bulb on the wall. Surprisingly, the bulb still illuminated when I flipped the switch, so I didn’t bother to replace it. Night after night I flip the switch and my bulb, as unsightly as it is,  illuminates without fail. I am at a point in my life where overwhelmed is an understatement. I am physically and mentally tired. A lot of things are happening all at once and it has taken a toll on my mind and body. Tonight, I was passing through the passage and for the first time I really stopped and...

  Babynames.com says my name means sweet, pleasant and is of Persian origin. I think my name is kinda boring so I want to be more than my name. I don’t like being called Sher. I tolerate it from some people but I’m not particularly fond of it. My mother said she had a cat named Sher or knew a cat named Sher (not sure which) so that makes it even worse. But who am I? Depending on who you are, where I am and what I am doing, I wear a different hat. Each hat is me. These hats are the roles I play in this journey called life. No one hat defines me. Who I am is inconclusive even with all hats on. I am still evolving. I am still growing. I am still changing and adapting and I dare say adopting.   I wear many hats. Sometimes I wear too many (depending on how I feel) and other times not enough (based on my thoughts). I don’t like ambiguities and I hate to be misunderstood or misinterpreted. From I was about 13/14 I started writing my first novel (that sounds like I have about ...

  I have a bad habit of squeezing pimples on my face. I try extremely hard to resist the temptation but as the name and nature of the word (habit) suggests, it is hard to stop doing it. I just can’t seem to help myself. There have been times when I squeeze and scrape them so much that I end up with little scabs on my face. About two months ago, I saw a pimple appear. I watched it for three days resisting the urge to just pop it. I watched it getting riper and riper (if that is the appropriate description) but basically, I watched it till the head turned yellow. When I touched it, it was rather tender and so, so easy to squeeze it. After the third day I gave in……I squeezed it. What is wrong with you, Sherine? More recently, I saw another one appear right in the centre of my forehead. I decided to try again. I kept playing over and over in my head I won’t squeeze it; I won’t squeeze it. Anyways, I was standing in the bathroom one night looking at this temptation so glaringly in the...