There is no Running Away to Jamaica

by Sirin Samman (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find Jamaica

[...] I am just about to spend a couple of hours crying about Johnny, when Andy, a friend I made on my boat trip the day before, stops by the hotel to invite me to go on a ride with him on his dirt bike, a Yamaha DT175. The unplanned trip takes us all day as we explore the paths leading up into the nearby mountains. We dance with Jamaican villagers, climb for coconut, and eat goat soup from giant pots boiling on small fires at the roadside. I make friends with three teenage girls, exchange smiles, dance moves, and Facebook info. I feel truly honored when they take me into their homes. One of the girls' mothers peels mangos for us and I marvel at this special moment with gratitude. On our unmapped motorcycle ride, Andy and I find ourselves in areas I’m sure no tourist bus ever goes, getting a glimpse into the island’s daily culture – pure and untainted. Andy may be a tall Caucasian man from Germany, but I'm pretty sure he was Jamaican in a previous life. He just left everything behind and moved to Treasure Beach with his family. He loves the people here, he tells me as we are sitting on a bench waiting to get our motorcycle back, which Andy lent to some guy without a moment of hesitation. I am completely New Yorker-ized and can't believe the guy actually returns our mode of transportation 20 minutes later. On the way back, we get caught in the rain and pull over at a wooden shack by the roadside. It happens to be a tiny bar. Another motorcyclist stops to take shelter and a Ganja smoke break. As we stand there looking at the rain playing with the sun rays, the Jamaican man and I casually begin shuffling around the Domino pieces sitting on top of the small wooden table we are leaning on. Before I know it, we are in the middle of a full game and, finally, Andy as well as the bar owner, join us. It is such an unexpected, peaceful moment -- reminding me about the simplicity of happiness. I consider how this motorcycle trip is somewhat of a metaphor for life’s journey. I know (eye roll). I tend to get nostalgic when it rains while the sun is shining. Accept the challenges you are given in life, I tell myself as we are finally back on the bike. Incorporate them into your own reality, and then _move_ on. What you cannot change you must own. And - stop trying to control everything. Go with the flow and somehow things will work out and you will have experiences you could never have planned for. If I hadn’t agreed to hop on a motorcycle with a man I barely knew, if I hadn’t stopped at the roadside up in this poor mountain village, if I had let my sadness or the chance of rain deter me from going altogether, I would have never had any of these wonderful experiences. I am aware that not every outcome of a situation can be great (for example, it didn’t help my crazy sunburn to be on a bike all day) – but if you open yourself and take some risks, your life may just be much richer than you would otherwise allow it to be. Bad and good experiences, both, make up the fabric of our lives. We learn from it all, but most importantly, we breathe this world around us – we _live_. If we lead our lives this way, we won’t have to worry that we may have wasted any moments of our short time on this planet, for we will have made sure to have been in it, consciously – even if this consciousness happens during the most ordinary moments of the day. And if the moment is beautiful, be thankful. It is a truly wholesome feeling. [...] ---------- Here is the full story with IMAGES (on GoogleDocs): https://drive.google.com/file/d/1agehZ7av7ZM3_Rrs8nCbHKtwG_ibeVjv/view?usp=sharing The whole story is 2,300 words (and that's the edited version;). Hopefully the above excerpt gives an idea of my writing style. I can write shorter pieces, of course. Or longer, if needed.