Gaza ting

Why couldn't I be a little more open minded and could sing and wine?

As recent years has passed, I've come to realize that this education/school system set up a way that just stresses you out, gives you sleepless nights and the possibility of getting fat due to staying up late and studying. Then you have the prolonged group meetings where difference of opinions give way to persons segregating themselves and the bulk of the work eventually falls on one or two persons. NOT TO MENTION THE OVER-RIDICULOUS SCHOOL FEES.

Again, I sit back and ponder on a high life I could be living, I'd be popular (everyone would know me); I could have a name beginning with Gaza... eg: GazaKim or GazaSlim, because I would be one of 'them' The Gaza Empire Family.

It's pretty easy to get in... pretty simple requirements, such as:

• not be so camera shy when giving head
• wear only false hair (doesn't have to be human hair - coloured synthetic is fine)
• be able to crow a few lines with a lot of help from studio editing take a few (or a lot of) beatings from the empire and di teacha
• ensure my skin is not stubborn so it can take the Gazacakesoap and AC easily - because bleaching is strictly forbidden
• be willing to get a few hundred tattoos
• always be on guard to represent di teach when the time is right

Even though the requirements might make it seem easy to get in, one has to understand that the main rule of thumb is that you have to be able to stomach a tall, slender, overtattooed, bleachbum with train tracks across his teeth ... because, even though every gyaal a run dung di Gaza yute doesn't mean that when you do find him in person you can bear the sight of him.

But why did my mother go through so much sacrifice to put me through school, deprive herself of some simple pleasures in life, only for me to choose the easy way out?
hmmm... the only answer I can come up with is that she never heard about The Gaza

yours truly,
the one and only original DivaKnockoff

(I seriously hope no one took me serious)

The teenage saga

My recent trip to Rockfort placed me into a temporary depressed mood that always comes on whenever I see teenage pregnant girls. Here I was talking to my goddaughter's aunt only to see a young girl estimated to be about 16 years old with an estimated 7 month old pregnancy.
She was proudly dressed in a grey knee-length tights, white tank top, yellow bra, a sports jacket tied around her waist (technically, below her tummy) and flip flops.
My peripheral vision caught onto her just as she was lifting her legs to 'playfully' quarrel with some of her colleagues.
The usual feeling that I get when I see these girls is not one of disgust or loathing, but a deep empathic feeling that have me fast forwarding a few years down the line for these girls.
Where will they be in 5 years time?
What values will they be teaching their children?
Have they considered the burden they are putting on their families and society when they reproduce without proper financial support?

Those questions lead me to wonder about the parental guidance they have at home.
Does a child that is brought up in a stable home has a greater chance of beating the odds?
Are children who are brought up in the inner city doomed by the misfortunes of an evil force that lay in wait as they approach 11 years of age?
What about self motivation? How can a child that is seeing such depression around them day in and day out choose otherwise?
When we as adults have the power to protect them, why are we the ones who exploit them?

My Air Jamaica/Caribbean Airlines travel

After many debate for my travel date, I finally decided to take the 'red eye' into New York; this is the first time I'm ever travelling at this hour on an airplane.

The flight is at 11:55 p.m. and you have to ensure that you are boarding the plane at 11:15 p.m.

The NMIA has renovated its site to a more upscale, longer walking process and I don't think this consideration is taken into account when they are blasting your name over the intercom that you need to be on the plane immediately (this is now 11:30 p.m) or else your luggage will be removed and your seat bumped.

After hearing my name, I hurriedly clip-clop my way down the halls like a plane taxing on the runway... miles of walking to get to this departure gate.

11:35 p.m and I'm in the plane walking down the aisle to find my seat and try to find space to put my hand luggage.

My first reservations about the flight happened when I realized I will be flying on a small plane in the wee hours of the morning for hours upon end. Trying not to let that deter me, I went and sat as comfortably as i could in the middle seat of the two aisle plane.

I was caught between a kid about 15 years and a man who is probably suffering from short jokes and short man syndrome.

11:55 p.m - Departure time, yeaaaa..."Good night ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain XYZ speaking. Unfortunately my copilot is not here and therefore we are running a little late. He should be here in another 15 - 20 minutes. Do sit back comfortably as we apologize for this delay".

12:30 a.m flight attendant informed an inquiring passenger that the copilot is here on the plane and is doing his final checks.

12:40 a.m - "Good evening, rather, good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain XYZ informing you that we are about to take off. Estimate time of arrival will be 3 hours and 28 minutes and we'll be flying at an altitude of about xxx feet. Do enjoy your flight"

1:30 a.m "would you like biscuit or chips?" ....

"ummm... biscuit, thanks"

1:40 a.m "soda, juice or water for you?"

"pepsi please - and may i have a blanket and a pillow please?"

'oh, I'm sorry miss, this flight does not carry either"

WTF...

In an instant my brain went in overdrive... how could somebody in their right mind have a flight at this hour in an uncomfortably cold aircraft and not provide you with either of the necessities to even try and make your flight a little bit more enjoyable even after seeing you scrunched up in the middle seat?

I tried every position possible to get a nap.

I almost got whip lashed from bucking down the place when i was about to doze off in dreamland.

My legs got cramped, my arm died at some point and I'm sure my fingers turned blue.

5:20 the plane landed with the regular intercom voice announcing that you should remain seated until the seat belt signs are off...blah, blah, blah, which the passengers clearly ignored.

THEN the mile long trek began at JFK to get to immigration.

My review on my flight - IT SUCKED.