My stay here so far, on the island of Antigua, has been surreal. Not just because of it’s beautiful surroundings, aqua blue waters and the relics of old colonial architecture; but because of the people.
I will say my ethnocentric, (if you don’t know what that means, look it up), mind took over in my assumption on coming here. Walking around, tattoos out. I figured due to how pale I was, my bleached hair and body covered in pictures I’d bee shunned, given looks and treated as a witch of sorts. That it wouldn’t be much different from home, if not intensified.
What I encountered was the exact opposite. As soon as I got off the plane I was treated with nothing but respect. I was smiled at. I was told how beautiful my work was. How much they enjoyed it. The people I encountered face’s were that of pure acceptance and appreciation. Comments and adorations were made without judgment. I was referred to as a canvas, a storybook and a piece of art.
A group of girls stopped me and asked if they could take a picture with me, telling me they loved my tattoos and how they wanted to someday have them too. It wasn’t the punk-assed, “let me take a picture with this hot inked-up bitch,” type of thing that I usually encounter in New York. Again, it was appreciation and love.
I had more than one person come up to me and tell me to have a good day with a smile. For the first time in a long time, I did not feel hatred toward my fellow man. Which I had just recently addressed in one of my own coaching sessions.
I have so much gratitude towards the universe for providing me with the ability to experience such unadulterated love from strangers. I needed some of my faith restored; some of the hate removed. Now mind you I’m not going to go home and hug a random New Yorker, I just know where I need to come when I start feeling jaded and pissed - a culture that doesn’t judge but one that appreciates and accepts.
It’s so free here. Nothing fancy aside from the shit put up for the assholes off the cruise ships, but they serve their purpose; they provide the island with an income.
I stayed outside of all that, in a home on a remote part of the island. Only locals. It’s outside of the shanty town village, in a more rural broken down area. There’s a wild donkey and a horse that wander through my yard and a few wild dogs. They’re good company.
The beauty of this place and it’s people is enough to make this cynical hag almost cry. Which due to my limited range of let’s call them, “human,” emotions, is nothing short of a miracle.
Give me the grit and give me the shit. There’s more smiling and accepting faces in poverty than in wealth.
I will say my ethnocentric, (if you don’t know what that means, look it up), mind took over in my assumption on coming here. Walking around, tattoos out. I figured due to how pale I was, my bleached hair and body covered in pictures I’d bee shunned, given looks and treated as a witch of sorts. That it wouldn’t be much different from home, if not intensified.
What I encountered was the exact opposite. As soon as I got off the plane I was treated with nothing but respect. I was smiled at. I was told how beautiful my work was. How much they enjoyed it. The people I encountered face’s were that of pure acceptance and appreciation. Comments and adorations were made without judgment. I was referred to as a canvas, a storybook and a piece of art.
A group of girls stopped me and asked if they could take a picture with me, telling me they loved my tattoos and how they wanted to someday have them too. It wasn’t the punk-assed, “let me take a picture with this hot inked-up bitch,” type of thing that I usually encounter in New York. Again, it was appreciation and love.
I had more than one person come up to me and tell me to have a good day with a smile. For the first time in a long time, I did not feel hatred toward my fellow man. Which I had just recently addressed in one of my own coaching sessions.
I have so much gratitude towards the universe for providing me with the ability to experience such unadulterated love from strangers. I needed some of my faith restored; some of the hate removed. Now mind you I’m not going to go home and hug a random New Yorker, I just know where I need to come when I start feeling jaded and pissed - a culture that doesn’t judge but one that appreciates and accepts.
It’s so free here. Nothing fancy aside from the shit put up for the assholes off the cruise ships, but they serve their purpose; they provide the island with an income.
I stayed outside of all that, in a home on a remote part of the island. Only locals. It’s outside of the shanty town village, in a more rural broken down area. There’s a wild donkey and a horse that wander through my yard and a few wild dogs. They’re good company.
The beauty of this place and it’s people is enough to make this cynical hag almost cry. Which due to my limited range of let’s call them, “human,” emotions, is nothing short of a miracle.
Give me the grit and give me the shit. There’s more smiling and accepting faces in poverty than in wealth.