I doubt there’s a mixed person alive that has escaped the “what are you?” question. I used to answer this flatly with — I’m Jamaican and I’m mixed. If I had to elaborate, I’d say I was born there, my parents and grandparents were born there too. People would still look at me puzzled, like their brains couldn’t compute a light-skinned Jamaican person. Where they though Sean Paul is from, only God knows. But I digress, the question of what my mix is has always been complicated.
I love traveling alone. It’s wonderfully terrifying in that it forces me to conquer a lot of my fears. It offers a unique solace; every solo trip I take is an endeavor of self-love and self-discovery. A friend of mine recently told me that my solo travels have inspired hers. I don’t know that I’d ever considered what my trips do for others, but it was a reminder that we have no idea how the things we do affect other people. When I started solo traveling, I dipped my toe in by starting the journey by myself and having someone join me later in the trip. Now, I’ll gladly hop on a plane and get out of dodge solo. Along the way, I’ve picked up a few things I like to do:
I love a mango, not only is it one of my absolute favorite fruits, some of my favorite childhood memories are of me climbing and hanging from mango trees in my grandparents backyard. I remember my first trip home to Jamaica after moving to Canada, it happened to be mango season and my grandmother let me gorge myself on them. She had even given me an East Indian mango (my favorite) to take with me on my flight. Unable to contain my excitement, I bit straight into it on the plane, hearing the delightful pop of the skin, as my teeth sunk into the soft and sweet flesh.