Story Time.
Let me set the scene. Trinidad. Carnival. My homegirl Fab and I are in our pajamas in bed. Exhausted. Thinking we are about to get a nap…. Then BOOM, we get word of
a fete (a party for my non-West Indians) that’s supposed to be amazing. We were there deliberating like a jury on a murder
case. She decided she needed the rest. However, I came here to rally so I
decided to go without her. Plus, we were sharing a room so I’m sure she
wouldn’t mind the alone time. So I throw on some clothes, grab my Antigua flag
and my St. Vincent flag, and go to the fete with some others in the group.
The fete was amazing. It was on a beach at sunset. DJ is poppin.
Men are fine. I saw other friends who were also down there and everyone just
forms a big group so its like a reunion. Also, since it was a cooler fete we
brought our own liquor in and well… yeah. I’m dancing and waving my flags and
someone taps me and goes “Are you really Antiguan?”.
Quick side note: Antigua isn’t that big, so
anyone one the road with Antigua flag is stopping each other and embracing and
exchanging last names. Also, Antigua is small but my family isn’t. Someone know
someone in my family so I’ll just assume we are all cousins (97% of the time
it’s accurate).
Anyways, I reply “Of course I am.” Like I’m
insulted because if you know me, I rep Antigua hard. He replies the town he is
from, which is a small town where my maternal grandfather is from so I KNOW he
knows my family. I reply “Oh my family is from there too. My last name is
Massiah”. Immediately is face changes and goes “Oh my God. I’m so sorry for
your loss” and my heart dropped.
For a second, in the midst of being so
happy to be on an island, being so happy to finally have a vacation, so happy
to feel so free and not my usual worrying self, that we lost my uncle just two
months earlier. I forgot that I almost cancelled this trip because I felt
guilty not being able to go to Antigua for the funeral but going to Trinidad to
drink my life my way and whine up until the sun rose. I forgot I almost missed
all my tickets because I couldn’t even focus on Trinidad but decided to come to
not abandon Fab (who I need to publicly acknowledge was my carnival angel
because if it wasn’t for her I would have missed all the stuff).
I said a genuine but muttered thank you
because now my heart was tight. The kind of tight that is guilt grabbing at you
so hard you actually physically rub your chest hoping it loosens up and get
some type of relief. I prayed that this was his only comment and I could turn
around and take a much-needed shot of henny white. However, if you know
Antiguans, it definitely was NOT his only comment.
And I thanked God profusely it wasn’t.
Apparently this man was my uncle’s friend.
He was a member of the NY chapter of our villages organization that my uncle was
president of. He was actually at the
funeral in NY. He hugged me and said that my uncle had mentioned me plenty of
times before and what an amazing man he was. He said he was happy that I was
here enjoying myself because my uncle would have never wanted me to be sad,
especially because of him. He told me that they were building a memorial for
amazing people from the village and his name was going to be one of the first
on it.
Y’all know at this point I’m bawling in the
middle of the party right?
But not because I was upset, but relieved. Relieved
because I believe my uncle sent this man to tell me stop worrying and enjoy
myself. It was a message to remind me to live life to the fullest, which was
the promise I made after we lost him so suddenly. What’s crazier, is a cousin I had never met
was there. So here I am crying and talking excitedly to these men in the middle
of this lit ass fete, and my friends are drunk nearby, confused, wondering if they should
comfort me or if they got to fight these men. I calm them down and explain to them what’s
going on and now their handing me drinks (like I needed more) to make sure I’m good.
There is no real deep and profound lesson
to this story except I just wanted to give everyone who reads this a necessary
reminder that life is going to come with enough stress and sadness, why would
you give yourself more? In the words of my dad, "live yuh life girl, and drink di rum."
Oh, and always go to the fete.
