GROWTH AND ADULTHOOD
AN ESSAY, POEMS AND SHORT STORY FROM THE PERSONAL WRITINGS OF ROWEN ANTOINE
SUMMATION I used to think that Adulthood was all about discovering my “true purpose” in life, and that Growth only meant taking greater responsibility for my own wellbeing. However, of late I’ve seen where, even after I thought that I’d found my raison d’être I at times became disillusioned with my existence, and often sought to find some new purpose to fill the void that remained. Also since childhood self responsibility had been ingrained in me, first in very simple respects, involving personal hygiene, and then as I matured I was taught social norms and ethics to which I was expected to adhere. If these things therefore, do not constitute Growth or Adulthood, then what does? Growth (action) I have found comes from fearlessly facing the challenges in front of us. Instinct might tell us to run, but personal development will come only through the failure or success of challenging circumstances, especially when the threat is posed by those people around you. Adulthood (thought) on the other hand is about prudence. It involves one making the most rationale choice given the details of the situation, even if goes against what you would like to do at the moment. The following essay, poems and short story were taken from my personal journal, and detail my struggles to come to terms with the two.
THE NIGHT COMETH Squander not the days of thy youth, for “the night cometh, when no man can work.”
St. John 9:4 KJV
INTRODUCTION - No escape As a child I was often plagued with nightmares that all seemed to follow a similar plot. I would find myself being attacked by something or someone but instead of fighting my attacker off, I would always run; with me being chased without end, until I finally woke up. As time progressed, these dreams occurred with less frequency, till soon I stopped having them altogether, and I thought that gladly, I was finally free of such torment. A few nights ago however, I experienced a recurrence as I found myself being mauled by a pack of wild dogs in my backyard. They sunk their incisors into my legs and heels, and lunged at my throat in an attempt to put me to ground. I managed to stave them off, and then, in similar fashion, I began to run. I made it to my back door, and as I pushed it to enter in, I came face to face with a rabid creature, that dwarfed me in size, seemingly ready to deliver a deadly blow. I was petrified. Caught between a pack of bloodthirsty dogs, and a beast that I could scarcely identify, for the very first time, I had nowhere, I could run. Fear Two years ago, I found myself at a crossroads. I was preparing to enter my first year of college, but whereas everyone around me were excited, and really pushing me to go, I was not as enthused. For the most part I was not sure if that particular degree was what I wanted to pursue, or if going to college was even what I wanted to do at that moment. Furthermore, I did not believe that it would have been wise for me to go, just for the sake of going to college, given both the hefty personal and monetary expenses that I know that I would have incurred throughout the duration of study. On the other hand, I would have been the first person from my immediate family to pursue any form of tertiary studies, and knowing that educational advancement has been the saving grace of many who have managed to break their family’s cycle of poverty, along with my own desire to do the same, made it seem a more likely option. So my dilemma was, do I still go, even though it was not practical; financially, personally or otherwise, to attend college at that particular moment, or do I withdraw my application, knowing that I could possibly be turning my back, on a more proven route to helping my family and myself out of penury. Either way, I found either action difficult to carryout, given the specifics of the situation, as well as the fact that I was still just a young man, only recently graduated from high school, yet to form a clear picture of the direction that I would like for my life to take. My preference was to withdraw my application, as after I was able to put my emotions aside and objectively weight all the variables, this arose as the more feasible option. However, the longer I waited to make a move, the more fearful I became, as I began to consider the backlash that I would face not least by my family, but by those who had supported me throughout my school and personal life. I thought that it would be safer if I enrolled, and so I did just that. I registered for my classes,
paid a nominal fee, and was soon preparing to attend my first lecture. That day came, and I went to school. I walked to the faculty; got directions from the guard to my class; found the room; reluctantly opened the door, and much to my amazement, the place was empty. I fumbled through the contents of my folder, looking for the timetable to check if I was at the right place. I was. The time matched too. There was no note on the door, nor any enthusiasm on my part to find out why I was not having class as scheduled. What played out in my mind was that it was late in the afternoon, and I had no further reason to be there, so the obvious move to make was of course to go home. My action, or lack thereof had caused me to partly commit to the idea of not going back to school, but I did not deem that as reason enough to not return. So I searched my find still to see what I could find. It was then that memories of previous such occurrences started to resurface, and I began to make a connection with what had only recently transpired. I remembered the incomplete student loan application, as well as my lackadaisical approach to seeking sponsorship; my late registration for classes, where I even neglected to select some of my core courses, and now just leaving without even a thought of why I was not having class. This insouciance towards the whole process has been with me since I began applying for college, and I only followed through with it, because I was constantly being urged to complete my application. My irreverence aside however, I began to realize, that though I feared incurring the ire of those around me, and would much rather stay in their good graces by doing what I knew would please them, I would be doing myself an incredible injustice, by sacrificing the next few years crafting an ideal that others have envisioned for my life, instead of pursuing ambitions that were truly my own. My longing to change the circumstances of my family’s life as well as that of my own remained intact, but I would have to do so through means that will allow me to derive great satisfaction throughout the process. With these things in mind I asked myself, “Will this course of study, will this prospective career, will this institution or situation provide me with the fulfillment, the enrichment and the enjoyment that I desire from this process?” The answer for me, was an emphatic no, and for that clear reason, I could not possibly to go. On the bus ride home, I sat, pensively staring out the window, and pondered to myself, “Now that I won’t be going to college, where should I go from here?” Indecision I knew that I wanted to write, I just could not figure out what it is that I should write about. I had a novel that I was trying to complete for years, with very little progress, that I had tucked away, with hopes to revisit it. I did, but that soon proved to be an onerous task. I often found myself being able to write the opening dialogue, then for some reason or another, would then draw a blank and end up staring at the sheet, pen in hand, unable to add anything further. Frustration set in; disillusioned by my inability to conjure no more than a paragraph of this my first foray into novel writing, I soon cast it aside, bearing no great intentions of ever attempting such a task again. Believing that maybe storytelling was not my forte, I began to look for other, more ‘practical’ things to write. I then had an idea for a self help book that was meant to target young people struggling to make decisions about their own lives. It is this very book of which I speak. The title then was simply ’Adulthood,’ and it was based more so on scientific principles than my own life. I was however, consistently unhappy with the level of work that I produced and that book soon suffered the same fate as the one that came before it. Unable to write anything with which I was pleased, I suffered a severe plunge in confidence, and I soon found myself not just struggling to put words on paper, but also finding the motivation to even get out of bed in the morning. This was not what I had imagined.
Things were supposed to be a lot smoother than this. I had honestly thought that within months of me withdrawing my college application, I would have exploded into superstardom. I now realize that unknowingly I had sacrificed one ideal for another, as through earmarking certain expectations that belied my ability as a writer, I had set myself up for the disappointment that I was experiencing. I began to strongly doubt that I had made the right decision, and wondered if I had damned myself to certain failure by choosing to pursue a career as a writer instead of an undergraduate degree. Moreover, in the months that had passed since I had left school, I had not held a job, so was not able to contribute to my already penurious household. The thought of which weighed like an elephant on my chest. As much as I wanted to write, I also desperately needed to make money, something that I knew that I would not have been able to do, currently from my writing. It got to a point where the guilt and the shame became unbearable, so I sent out a few job applications, and fortunately enough I was handed temporary employment working in an office. I was thankful for the job. It provided me with a constant stream of income that allowed me to contribute to my household, which made me feel very pleased. However, from the onset it proved to be extremely enervating, as for hours I would sit answering the phone, sending emails or staring aimlessly at the ceiling. Even though overtime, we had all become like family, when I was asked to stay on after the contracted period had ended, I declined. The money alone was not a great enough motivation to make me want to continue, and a desire to find a much more exciting work experience further influenced my decision to leave. Soon after leaving I enrolled in a Seafarers Certificate Programme. It would mean that I would be able to work on board ships. It also meant for me a possible escape. I had made up my mind to leave the country in search of a ‘purpose’. The writing had proven to be a dud, not to mention the constant prodding by those ‘concerned’ about what I was doing with myself had become intolerable. I had packed my bags, and for the days ensuing I went about subtly saying my goodbyes to the people that I cared about. I was fully prepared to leave, but after a conversation with another aspiring writer, I had a change of heart. We would meet regularly at the library to have conversations and play chess. He was an avid reader, who displayed an intellect that I had grown to admire and though a little older than I was, he still possessed the youthfulness of a teen. We would speak at length about things concerning politics, religion and business and it was over a conversation about the latter that led me to introduce a business idea that had been lying in my mind for months. We were both in the same hole; aspiring writers, struggling financially, so the idea really appealed to him. We decided to start the business together, as we deemed it a useful way in which we could raise both our respective profiles, as well as mitigate our impecunious state. We were both really excited, but it being my idea, I decided to take the lead. I did my research, wrote and rewrote the business plan. I even managed to convince a few other people to work with us. The foundation for starting the business had essentially been laid, but when it came to us actually commencing operation, that was where the problems began to arise. Among them was the fact that my business partner and I had found it difficult to work as a team due to our extremely differing personalities. I was very “pedantic” as he would say, languishing over every detail before being willing to make a move, while he was more spontaneous, willing to do things on a whim, without much thought of the consequences. The incongruity of our contrasting personalities was compounded by the fact that neither one of us had any prior business experience, so inevitably we went and sought some help.
My business partner and I went to several meetings with people at organizations set up to help nascent entrepreneurs like us. Each time however, we came out knowing little more than we did before, as we seemed to have a deluge of questions that we could never get answered. Still, I had grown increasingly intent on starting this business, and thus was not going to let this minor obstacle deter me from doing so. I began researching degrees in entrepreneurship at different universities and soon found one that offered a pool of courses that I deemed useful, as well as mentorship and office accommodation for student entrepreneurs. I spoke with my business partner, now close friend and confidante, about pursuing a degree in entrepreneurship and he said it would be a great move, and urged me to go. So I applied and was subsequently admitted into my programme of choice. It was not the degree that I had quit two years prior, nor was it the same university, and for those reasons I had to battle back and forth, with a lot of people, who vehemently disagreed with my choices. I would not be moved though, as after the years of caprice I had experienced, I had finally made a decision concerning the future that I would like for myself and I was very serious about seeing it through.
CONCLUSION Today I received the results of my first exam. I failed, terribly. What made me feel even worse however, was the fact that the paper was an essay question, and as a writer I would think that I would have at least managed to get a pass, given that this is something that I am supposed to be good at. I stared at the dismal score on the paper in disbelief. Feeling partly angry, but mostly embarrassed; I crumpled it up and stuck it in my bag. I perceived this failure as a possible portent of other such disappointments to come, and I began to seriously question whether or not I had the ability to finish this degree. So much so, that I contemplated dropping out of college; “It could still be done. After all I am only in the early part of my first semester. I might as well leave now before any more money is lost.” These thoughts circulated through my head, as I exited the classroom and walked somberly to a sitting area nearby. As I sat, I reminisced on past events leading up to this most recent disappointment. I began to jot down some notes in my journal trying to remember as best as I could all that had transpired prior to gaining admission into college. In search of bona fide reasons to quit school, I found this a necessary thing to do, as I did not want to make such an important decision on a whim. I compiled these notes into an ‘essay’, giving more structure and detail to my argument. I’ve since reasoned that having broken one too many promises to myself, it is time for a new, more progressive pattern to start. Thus, even though I have failed at the first time of asking, it is not enough to cause me to drop out of college. Also, I don’t expect things to be easier from here on out, in fact, I believe that there are much, much greater challenges to come. I do know now though that my youth would be wasted if I were to live it being afraid of failure or what others might think, as I will get absolutely nothing done. This knowledge will aid me in crafting the future that I have envisioned for myself, because I will act in spite of fear and will be more prudent in my decision making; the effects of which I hope will be a realization of my most lofty ambitions.
AN ENIGMA CALLED CHILD
His memory fades as time passes by Like snow white drifters escaping the sky He searches his mind yet fails to find A past where he was once a child The boy he knew, is now fully grown But his heart once warm, has turned to stone No longer loving, and no longer pure Only selfish and grasping, yet so insecure. Where has he gone? Where could he be? Is he locked deep inside? Can he be set be free? In his hand he stares at himself before But in his reflection he sees that child no more He looks deeper still because he cannot understand How that little boy, could become such a man.
AWAKE
My life is perfect- at least in my mind Devoid of pressure of who I should be Unbridled by time, stress and anarchy A place that I conjure when I’m reclined. My hyperborean dream makes me blind, To those things that I wish not hear nor see From humanities woes I become free My one reprieve from this world’s constant grind. But while I slumber, I shudder and shake This world ever in motion, knows no break I lie here still, for my “perfect life’s” sake Knowing well and true, my own is at stake. Now in full stride, earth does rumble and quake, Unable to rest I slowly awake.
The Boy I thought I left behind Why does my reflection bear two faces? I see a man before the child The prudent before the unwise But since there is just one body Can there not only be one dominant mind? The one must go for the other to survive As being double-minded is a dangerous way to live one’s life. The child I was, was fallible, that is why I had sought to leave him behind But the man that I had sworn I had become still, oft repeated the mistakes of my past I became cold in the process, dismal and lost “This is the price of manhood,� was what I had thought. But now I see and know that the boy that I thought I had left behind is the man that I had sworn that I had become, because it is the child that I was that makes the man that I am, though the man that I am is not the child that I was. He and I are a difference of the same kind - We are two, and yet we are one. So to ignore him, would mean excluding the part of me that will ensure that the child I was, is not the man that I am, and that the man that I am, is ultimately, the man that I should be.
LIFE IS HARD… “Weh yuh a write” “Nuttin” I replied in annoyance. “Mek mi si weh yuh a write nuh?” He made a swipe at the book, but I pulled it away from him and tucked it under my lap. “Move nuh! How yuh suh faas?!” We started to tussle. It wasn’t much of a fight. For the most part I held off his small frame with my one hand, but I was getting really tired of all his antics, so I grabbed hold of his arm, and stood up, all 180lbs of my 6 ft frame, menacingly over him. “Stop! I’m serious alright! Dun wid di playing! Mi nah ramp! Okay.” “Let mi go nuh.” He twisted and turned, trying to wriggle his way free, to no avail. I eventually released him from my grasp. “Mi ago tell mammi seh yuh squeeze up mi han.” “Gwaan nuh, ah good fi yuh. Yuh ramp too friggin much.” He ran off with forced tears, bellowing, “Mammi! Mammi! Yuh si Trevaughn squeeze up mi han.” I could hear her telling him from the kitchen to go to his room and study. GSAT was in a few months time. We didn’t have great expectations for him, still thousands of dollars were being spent on text books, extra classes after school, as well as on weekends. I on the other hand got none of this treatment, yet I was still expected to earn a place at St. Peters College for boys; one of the best secondary schools in the island. No other school would do, my Catholic roots demanded it, and it was my duty to oblige. And that I did, with no expensive classes, just dumb-luck, or a case of divine intervention, I supposed. “Trevaughn!” “Yes mammi!” “Trevaughn!” “Mi coming!” I got up and made my way to the kitchen. I went and leaned on the frame of the door. Still busy with dinner for us and whoever else the container on the counter was for she asked, “Why yuh have to treat yuh likkle bredda like that? Yuh can’t tek time wid him?”
I answered sternly, “Mammi, Jordan saw me sitting at the table, minding mi own business, an him come an a trouble mi fi no reason.” “Yeah but still…” “It don’t even mek sense we even argue bout it, cause you always picking up for him.” I cut her off in mid sentence. “Alright,” she resigned, sharing a portion of food in the container that was on the counter top. She went silent. Her eyes focused on rationing, trying to avoid my frustrated expression. “Bring this to Mrs. Mighty. I did promise her some Sunday dinner from last week.” She handed me the container, placing it in a plastic bag with a fork on top. I took it, and left without saying a word. Lately I’ve begun to resent her, my little brother, and pretty much everything around me. The house, this community and school; school is a burden. I spent two years trying to figure what I was going to do with myself before I went to University, yet three years on, I am still stuck in this struggle. ‘Where do I want to go, what do I want to do with my life?’ Every time I think I’ve answered this question, it resurfaces and I get so confused, and so stressed, till I end up tumbling right back down into depression. Still, I’m 23 years old! I thought I would’ve grown up by now. How does Adulthood work?! None of this makes sense! These and other thoughts battled in my head as I opened the gate to Mrs. Mighty’s yard and made my way to the verandah. I took up a small stone and began to knock on the grill. “Mrs. Mighty, Mrs. Mighty.” There was no reply. “Ah wah happen to dah ooman yah man, she de’f.” I threw away the pebble and took up a much larger stone. I knocked several times, more vigorously than before, and started to call again. “Mrs. Mighty! Mrs. Mighty! Mrs. Mighty!” “Yes. Yes.” Her shaky voice made its best attempt at a loud reply. “Ah who dat a knock down mi grill?” “Ah me man. Trevaughn. Ms Greyson son. She sen some food wid mi fi yuh.” I could hear her dragging her feet as she approached. “Ah know is you. Is trouble a troubling yuh.” She smiled as she unlocked the grill to let me in. I actually liked her. She was a woman in her 80’s, but she still possessed a youthfulness in spirit that I adored. I handed her the food. “Thanks, how yuh mada? God bless her soul. She’s a kind woman.” “She alright. When mi leave she did a finish share out di food.” “An how di likkle rascal? Him ago duh GSAT nuh suh?” “Yeh, him suppose to a study right now.” I was standing at the entrance of the house just hankering to leave. She sat on a chair, retrieved the fork from the bag, and started to eat. Admittedly watching her eat made me extremely hungry, and
the walk over here didn’t help, albeit it was all of five minutes. She gestured to me to sit. I acquiesced, knowing that we were the only family that she had now. The details were sketchy, and she’s been reluctant about saying much when asked, so we never forced the issue. At the pace she was eating I suspected I would be there till sundown. My mind kept running on my own Sunday dinner at home, it was probably getting cold. I leaned forward in the chair, poised to leave. I readied my goodbyes, but before the first word could roll out of my salivating mouth, she asked, “So is what yuh plan on doing after yuh finish wid school?” It’s a question I had asked myself umpteen times, but failed to answer with any certainty. I became a bit nervous. I sat back in the chair, struggling to conjure up an answer. Seeing my distress, she intervened with a comforting a hand on my lap and a warm smile. “Is alright.” It was said with a kind of familiarity that put me at ease. She placed the near full container on a small table beside her, and got up, “Come wid me.” I followed. We went inside. She led me to the kitchen. “Yuh si that big crate under there, draw it out fi mi please.” She pointed to a beer crate under the counter stacked with various items. I bent over, held firmly to the counter with one hand, and pulled it out with the other. “Yuh strong eeh.” She squeezed my tricep, winked at me and smiled. “Yeah man.” I laughed. “Thanks.” She pulled a red notebook out of the crate. “Come here mek mi show yuh something.” We went back to the verandah. “This journal belongs to mi grandson.” Holding it up in her hand, she took a picture from between the pages and handed it to me, “and this was mi grandson.” “Was?” I asked, scrutinizing the image in my hand. A scrawny young man, with locks and glasses, stood in front of a hibiscus tree, with a baby in his hand, and a woman with her arms wrapped around his neck. They were smiling broadly. It was an idyllic setting. “Yes, was. I don’t know what happen to him now.” With emphasis, “Is years, I don’t hear from him,” She continued, “So I just assume dat him dead.” I handed the picture back to her and nodded my head. I wondered where she was going with it all. “Him was 18 when him lef.” She looked towards the gate, her mind now in a state of nostalgia as she began to recount the details of her son’s departure. “Him neva did do too well pon him CXC’s, and cause a dat him couldn’t get into university. Him did well wah go yuh see. Him use to talk bout it all di time. Pastor did recommend seh him go di community college, not too far from here, but him neva do it cause other people from the community go there, so dem would know seh him a do ova subject.”
‘Mr. Bright Spark ah yuh a do ova subject,’ He feared they would jeer. Mrs. Mighty continued, “ Him neva want to stay roun me either, cause according to him, if him do that, him going to turn out like him worthless father. So him leave.” Her head in her hand, she sighed, “Ah bwoy.” “So is where him go?” My physical hunger now subsided; I longed to have my intrigue fulfilled. She replied “I don’t remember where him seh him find place rent but him did think seh him just did a go walk out inna di worl’ and find work and start mek a bag a money, but him coulda barely survive. Him couldn’t get work an is people feel sorry fi him an give him things. So him run from shame and watch deh, him go end up inna bigger embarrassment.” “So, why him neva come back Mrs. Mighty?” “Cause every time him set fi draw himself home, him keep on a seh him a give it one more week, till one more week turn three months. Di woman that rent him di place get tired of him and get bwoy haul him out, and fling him pon di streets.” “So him mus come back home afta dat man.” I commented. “I wish him did come back, but him was too depressed. Him just neva business wah happen to him. Him seh him wish him coulda just dead.” It became too much for her. She started to wail. I put my arms around her. We stayed like that for awhile. “Mi alright, mi alright.” She forced a smile. “Gwaan now, I don’t want to keep yuh here too late.” It was getting dark. “Yuh sure yuh nuh wah mi stay a likkle longer” “No man is alright, I going inside to lie down, plus yuh madda supposed to worried, gwaan man.” “Alright Mrs. Mighty, mi will si yuh.” I was almost through the gate, when she called me back. “Trevaughn! Trevaughn!” I stopped, “Yes Mrs. Mighty?” “Hold on.” She hobbled down the steps and came towards me, “Here.” She handed me her son’s journal. “Yuh sure?” She waved me on. “Thanks.” I left with no further objection. Secretly I had hoped to get more details on the story, so this really was a coup. I walked home wondering if his eviction was the start of worse things to come, or does a major twist exist in the tale. I would soon find out. I pushed my gate open and went inside my house. “Mammi mi come back.”
“Is what tek yuh so long Trevaughn?” “Nuttin, jus did a talk to Mrs. Mighty.” “Alright, yuh food deh pon di table.” I went passed it, walked straight to my room, and began to peruse through the notebook.
“Life is hard, but it does not have to be this way.”
Fait accompli