rickaylachevannes

[rickaylachevannes]

‘General interest criticism’

When Donald Trump beat Kamala Harris in 2025, it felt eerily familiar. This wasn't just an election; it was a return to a certain mindset. Despite being impeached and investigated, he came back louder, still using his old playbook but attracting even more support.

Kamala Harris had a unique stance and a groundbreaking history. As the first female Vice President and a woman of color, she represented ongoing progress. She brought experience and readiness to the table. However, her calm and idea-filled campaign struggled against Trump's emotional draw. He didn't need to change; he just needed to remind people of who he was: relatable, simple, and unbothered by convention.

Harris's defeat was more than just a political loss; it was a cultural hit. It showed how uneasy America still is with complexity, especially when it's brought by a Black woman. People found Trump's dramatic style easier to digest. He focused on feelings, not thoughts. In times of anger, fear, or exhaustion, emotions drive votes.

This election went beyond a basic left versus right argument. Trump's win highlighted what America values right now: straightforwardness over subtleness, taking charge over engaging in discussion, and a comfort with the past instead of a hope for the future. His supporters didn't shy away from the disorder of his previous term; they craved it. In a world overflowing with information, he offered excitement, while Harris aimed to provide depth. It's clear which message struck a chord with voters.

But this is not just about who's popular. The results of this election will shape the mindset of a country already struggling with itself. For young girls, immigrants, Black communities, and LGBTQ+ individuals, it sends a loud message: progress can hit a wall. Following every guideline and pushing every boundary doesn't guarantee success against the loudest voice around. This doesn't mean the fight is over; it just shows that the road ahead may be more complicated than we hoped.

Harris carried more than just a campaign; she bore great expectations. She had to be assertive yet not seen as "angry," intelligent but still "approachable." Trump, on the other hand, never had to tread so carefully. The competition is still uneven.

Yet, this isn't a time for despair. It's a chance to face reality. Change doesn't hinge on just one individual; it comes from culture, community, and the relentless spirit of those who keep fighting, no matter the challenges. Trump's victory isn't the end of the story; it's a twist that compels us to think about where we are and who we aspire to be.

I may not be American, but I can say for certain that America's choices will impact all its connections. With Trump as president, we can expect a tumultuous path ahead as the economy crumbles piece by piece.

[rickaylachevannes]

‘Literary Journalism essay’

Prompt: Highlight the struggles and challenges faced by a marginalized or under-represented group in Jamaica. 

In Jamaica, there's a lot of talk about loving plus-sized women. You hear it in dancehall songs that celebrate the "fluffy girls or the Thickaz dem," roadside vendors and taxi men will shout compliments like " Champion, muma heavy or simply just thickaz." Comedians even make jokes about body size. However, for plus-sized women, there's a deeper truth beneath all the playful banter: this so-called love often isn't real acceptance, but more of a show for entertainment and convenience.

Take twenty-two-year-old Crystal Gordon, for instance. Sitting under the humanities tree at Uwi, she often watches slim girls stroll by in their crop tops and ripped jeans, wishing she could dress the way they do without feeling out of place.

"They all say they love fluffy women, but that's not true," she remarks, gazing into the distance.

"They only love you if you look a certain way... big bottom, flat belly, small waist. And of course if you’re light skinned, If you don't fit that image, then you’re not a nice looking fluffy girl."

Jamaica's views on body image are quite complicated. Curves used to be seen as a sign of wealth and fertility, but now, thanks to Western media, the story has changed. Being plus-sized often puts you on the outskirts of what is considered attractive. The body type is tolerated but never fully accepted. Affection in public comes with strings attached, while private judgment continues unchecked.

Rickayla Chevannes, a body-positive young lady from portmore, comments on this contradiction saying "People think that because there are songs praising plus sized women, it's all good," she explains. "But the same guy who calls you sexy on the street wouldn't want his friends to know he's with a big woman. And when you go into a boutique, it's like you become an alien amongst women."

Shopping for clothes can be tough for plus-sized women. Most stores stop at size 12, and anything larger is either oversized, out of style, or tucked away in a section called "full figure." Rickayla recalls a visit to a popular mall where a sales associate looked her up and down and said,

"Nothing here can fit you, mi love." She left, trying to brush off the hurt, but that has never stopped her from embracing her body. Instead she shops online and there she gets even more stylish clothes without the rude comments.

The casual fatphobia doesn't stop there. Weight-related jokes are common in schools, workplaces, and even at family gatherings. Crystal shares, "You always hear those little snide comments, like 'Sidung a the front fatty' when entering a taxi or ‘ Yuh nuh need fi put on no more weight.' They present it as a joke, so if you get upset, they call you 'too sensitive.'

Nobody takes the time to actually research reasons why people may be bigger than average. Sometimes it’s caused by health conditions, medication and simply just genetics. Crystal states that “My slim friend can eat 10 burgers in a day and not gain a pound but if I do it, I gain 10 pounds.” That in itself just shows that people are not the same and the sooner society realizes that is the better we will all be as a people.

Even the healthcare system adds to the struggles. Many plus-sized women find that doctors often overlook their concerns, attributing every issue to their weight. Crystal remembers going to get help for intense migraines and being told, "You need to lose some weight, man." No tests were conducted, no referrals provided; just assumptions made about her health.

Yet, despite the lack of genuine support, plus-sized women like Rickayla and Crystal find ways to create safe spaces. WhatsApp groups, small Instagram accounts, and late-night chats with trusted friends become havens where they can feel comfortable just being themselves.

While Jamaica might celebrate songs about loving fluffy women, for those in larger bodies, the divide is clear and often painful — a constant reminder that the nation's affection might be loud in music, but it falls silent in real life.

[rickaylachevannes]

‘Travel essay’

Prompt: You needn't go overseas. If you live in the city, go to the country and experience rural life. If you live in the country, spend a weekend in the city. What did that experience teach you about yourself?

In the hustle and bustle of urban living, I used to think that the rhythm of the contemporary world was all there was to experience. However, during a weekend spent in the serene countryside of Stanmore in St. Elizabeth, I realized that taking a break from the busy streets of Portmore would do me well. That journey taught me that tranquility doesn't solely lie in extravagant or expensive trips, but in the simple, quiet moments waiting just outside our day-to-day routines.

When I arrived in St. Elizabeth, my family down that side welcomed me warmly with wide-open arms, fields and a landscape rich with history and warmth. The gentle movement of my grandfather’s sugarcane fields, the bold silhouettes of far-off mountains, and the sweet smell of the earth created a sensory blend that felt both new and comfortingly familiar. My days were filled with wandering shaded paths, observing my cousins in the fields nurturing their crops, and watching children chase each other through the bushes. In this setting which was so different from city life in Portmore, I would’ve learned to pay attention to the soft whispers of nature and the heartbeat of the community.

I'll never forget an early morning when the dew sparkled on the grass, and the first warm rays of sun touched me through the half open window. I saw a handful of local women walking with buckets on their heads. Their heartfelt way of life prompted me to think about my own fast-paced existence. In the quiet of those early hours, I understood that life's tempo in St. Elizabeth provided space for reflection, gratitude, and healing—a luxury frequently overshadowed by the ceaseless pace of city living.

Throughout that weekend, every encounter served as a mirror reflecting pieces of myself that I had long neglected. Talking with my grandfather revealed to me how the land nurtures not just food, but also the spirit of the community. In the laughter exchanged over a meal of simple, home-cooked dishes, I rediscovered the pleasure of slowing down to appreciate life's most basic joys. I began to recognize that the vibrant essence of rural living, with its focus on authentic human connections and reverence for nature, enriched my inner life in ways that my familiar city rhythm never could.

That experience in St. Elizabeth transformed my perception of success and satisfaction. I returned to the city carrying a deep understanding that life doesn't have to be gauged by how fast we move or the ceaseless digital noise around us. It's truly about the richness of the moments we share and the depth of the bonds we create—whether in a busy city street or on a tranquil country road. I learned that there's beauty and courage in stepping outside our comfort zones. By embracing the raw, unfiltered essence of rural living, I rediscovered parts of myself that are gentle, introspective, and intimately connected to nature.

In essence, my weekend retreat from the city revealed that the extraordinary can be found in everyday experiences. In every whisper of the breeze, every shared smile, and every simple act of kindness in rural life, I uncovered lessons on authenticity, resilience, and the genuine art of living. I look forward to another rural vacation.

[rickaylachevannes]

‘Nature essay’

Prompt: Don't overlook your home garden. What nature stories that can be found there?

Don't underestimate the beauty of your home garden. Within a single patch of soil lies a universe of stories waiting to be discovered—tales that evoke the enchanting wonders that exist right outside our door. I recall a special time in my life, one that wove together nature's soft expressions and my family's most cherished memories.

When my mom was pregnant with my sisters, who were twins by the way, a hummingbird became a daily visitor in our backyard. Each morning, as the sunlight peeked through the trees, that little, shimmering creature would make its appearance, almost as if it carried the secrets of the new life blossoming within my mother. There was something profoundly soothing about seeing it every day, a natural rhythm that seemed to mirror the hopes and uncertainties of what lied ahead.

This hummingbird wasn't just a solitary visitor to our garden in the backyard. And I found that out months after my mom gave birth to my sisters. She had sent me around the back to pick up clothes from the line and that’s when I saw the most incredible thing. It was that same hummingbird with what seemed to be twin baby hummingbirds.

Watching them hover tenderly near their mother was so sweet to watch. I remember rushing inside to call my mother.

“Mommy come look here.”

“Is what Rickayla.” She followed me and I pointed to the flower they were on.

“ Den the hummingbird have twins.” She smiled as she watched them through the window for a few seconds.

It felt as though nature itself was telling us a tale of dual beginnings—two lives emerging side by side, just like my sisters, each tiny fluttering heartbeat a reminder of the fragile balance of life and the hidden wonders we often miss in our busy days.

In that backyard, every flower and rustling leaf carried a significance of its own. The yard certainly transcended being merely a stretch of green; it became a haven where the cycles of life unfolded in all their glory. Everytime I went around there I would stand and watch the hummingbird fly from flower to flower. Its presence served as a gentle reminder that even amid uncertainty and excitement, nature endures.

But the garden offered me more than just lessons of growth and continuity; it highlighted the intricate bond between nature and our lives. The hummingbird's daily arrivals felt like a ritual, a silent dialogue between the nurturing earth and our own existence. With every flutter, it seemed to murmur, "There's a beauty in the small things, in the moments easily overlooked." Even on days when life felt heavy or unclear, those visits enveloped me in a reassuring sense that all was well, even before my sisters graced us with their presence.

So, don't overlook your home garden or backyard. In its tranquil nooks lie nature's tales, narratives of renewal, hope, and love that reflect our own journeys. In every delicate wingbeat and murmuring leaf, there exists a reminder: life is a tapestry of beautiful beginnings, all waiting for us to embrace it.

[rickaylachevannes]

‘Gastronomical essay’

Prompt: Food is love.

I remember the first time I truly grasped that food is love. This realization came one day when I was at a restaurant for my mom’s birthday. My family and I were in one of the booths. The place was dim with multicolored lights giving the place a warm atmosphere while an irresistible aroma of food filled the air.

The smell of melted cheese and tomato sauce was like comfort to my nose. It was the perfect moment really, and as we shared slices of pizza, I understood that these dishes were more than just food; they were a celebration of togetherness.

My favorite food has always been pizza not just for its mouthwatering taste but for the cherished memories and feelings it always seems to bring back. On special occasions, whether it's a birthday, anniversary, or simply a rare weekend gathering, pizza for me became a symbol of love and unity. I recall one night when we ordered a gigantic pizza from pricemart, the kind with a perfectly crisp crust and nicely cut slices of ham and pineapple. That pizza, was one of the best I’ve ever had and now that I think about it I would say the shape of the pizza really does represent our ongoing love for eachother.

Pizza’s are circular and what do they teach us about circles? They never end.

The bond between food and love extends far beyond my own experience; it's a universal truth. Across cultures, recipes are often cherished, passed down through generations, and served on festive tables as a way to honor people’s heritage. I think Each slice of a pizza carries a love letter written in spices and ingredients; a letter that speaks to the essence of community and the significance of shared experiences.

Yet, the flavor of these dishes isn't automatic—they are elevated by the company we share them with. I've come to realize that even the most delicious pizza can lose its magic when eaten alone or with those who don't appreciate the joy that good food can bring. With family, every bite of good food feels like a warm hug, a reminder that love resides in the simple act of dining together. It's a gentle reminder that food, when shared with the right people, is not just nourishment but a language of affection, a conversation where every ingredient conveys care, memory, and heart.

Every time I gather with those who matter, I find that the taste of my favorite dishes deepens with meaning. The tang of fresh tomato and the comfort of melted cheese, resonate differently when enjoyed with loved ones. It's as if the food absorbs the atmosphere of laughter, the warmth of kind words, and the unspoken bond of shared history. During those precious moments, every meal becomes a delicious embodiment of love, immersed in the joy of togetherness.

In the end, food is the gentle art of showing we care, a tangible expression of the affection we hold for one another. Whether it's a piping hot slice of pizza or something else, food reminds me that love is found not only in grand gestures but also in simple, everyday moments shared with the people who make life worth savoring.

[rickaylachevannes]

‘Narrative essay’

Before I went to bed at night I would tell my mother stories. Stories from my 'Scooby doo' story book. She'd look at me as if I was telling her something so interesting, like this one time I was telling her how upset Shaggy was with Scooby just because he ate his sandwich.

"Really, so did they ever makeup with eachother?" She asked.

I would smile and make up what I thought a natural response would be.

Maybe I said "No they both stopped talking to eachother for the next few days, or no they hugged and made up not long after."

All I know is that each time I opened that storybook I thought of a different story to tell. At the time I guess the pictures would say something different to me. I was 6 years old at the time which meant I was supposed to be starting Primary school.

I had all the basic social skills of a normal 6 year old,  except I couldn't read. I could hardly identify letters and numbers. What I could do though was makeup stories. As a matter a fact being able to make up stories is what got me into my primary school. At the time one of the main requirements included reading at the basic level which as I said I couldn't do.

Even so the school accepted me and were willing to teach me what I didn't know. As time progressed I eventually learnt how to identify letters and numbers...When I caught them that is, for some reason they were always dancing on the pages. Even when I wrote them on a specific line, thinking that would confine them, they would find a way to escape from me. My letters'

Unruliness made it hard for me to spell too.

The letters would just go missing, my young brain couldn't understand why that happened but it was my reality. When I got to grade 2, now 7 years old nothing changed really. Now I was reading but not at the same pace as my peers. My letters were still untamed so I had to catch them all in one place to be able to put them together.

My teacher gave us some words to write. They were words she was on the board for us to copy. The sound of her heels clacking against the linoleum floor as she walked around the class is what I remember. She would walk around ensuring that she checked everyone's book.

"Well done." She told one of my friends, who was sitting at the desk infront of me.

She was near me so I hid my book with my palms. Hopefully she would overlook me.

I felt her presence as she approached me. With each step she took my heart rate increased. I didn't want her to look at my book.

I didn't know where my letters were.

"May I have a look at your work Rickayla." She was next to me. Her hand gently placed on my back. I looked down at my little palms covering the page.

She was waiting.

"I cannot find my letters miss." My head hung as I slouched over.

"May I take a look." Her tone was calm.

I slowly removed my hands from the book and allowed her to see it.

She studied the page for awhile before saying, "You're doing well okay, keep going."

There's a certain level of reassurance a person gets from encouraging words. When you feel self conscious about a particular thing and there's someone there rooting for you, it makes you want to continue. Within that moment is when my confidence was birthed, I didn't know how to handle things right away but as I grew and the understanding came I owned my struggle.

I accepted the fact that I wouldn't learn at the same pace my peers learnt no matter the level of education but what I did discover is that I could still be anything I wanted to be. So even with a learning disability I could still strive to be the best I could, I grew knowing I could be a beacon for those who are coping with what I am.

I liked telling stories as a child and here I am telling you the story of just a little part of my self discovery. I'm telling the story from the perspective of a university student Studying English, one who write novels and one who still catches her words when they try to run away.

I'll only ever have one brain and as long as I live I'll forever embrace what it may come with.

[rickaylachevannes]

‘Spiritual essay’

Prompt: Write about your parents' faith. Were they devout, or did it sometimes seem as if they were just going through the motions? Did their faith or strongest beliefs change as they grew older?

I grew up in a house where prayer wasn't just something we did—it was the foundation of everything. My parents didn't just believe in God; they walked with Him, consulted Him, and trusted Him in ways that sometimes made me wonder if they had an unshakable direct line to heaven. Their faith wasn't just a facade. It was survival, a source of strength, and the reason they are still standing today.

I remember sitting with my mother one evening, just the two of us, the room quiet except for the steady hum of the fan. She told me about the day she died. She was sixteen, young and broken, carrying a weight so heavy that she thought the only way out was to end it all. She took her own life. But God wasn't done with her. He brought her back. Some believe the dead cannot live again but here I am speaking of something she told me being very much alive.

She never told this to me like a story she taught it to me as a lesson coming from someone who has seen the doors leading to heaven and hell. Stuck in the middle of an abyss she saw mercy and lived to tell about it. That experience had shaped her life, and she never questioned if God was real, if He was listening, or if He cared. She was a living result of any questions that would linger.

Then there's my father. A man who, before I was born, was at the edge of losing himself. He ignorantly laced a blunt once, and the high almost took his mind. He remembered everything, things a person would forget while under the influence of substances. He always says "God is the one that saved me," Looking at his experience through the eyes of his older self, logically speaking he should've been dead.

I've never seen my parents take a single step without consulting God first. They pray about everything—big decisions, small ones, even things that seem insignificant to most people. It's not because they're afraid of making mistakes, but because they know what it feels like to walk without Him. They've lived through the darkness, and they know that life only makes sense when you move in alignment with God's will.

Their faith grew with experience. It wasn't handed to them as a neat little package wrapped in tradition. It was shaped through pain, through loss, through near-death experiences that forced them to lean on something greater than themselves. And that faith? It's what they used to raise my sisters and I. Not just by teaching us Bible verses or making sure we went to church, but by showing us what it means to truly trust God. By letting us see how faith carries you through even the worst of times.

They were never just going through the motions. Every prayer they prayed had weight, every decision they made had purpose, and every testimony they shared was proof that God is real, that Jesus is real. I grew up knowing that faith isn't just about believing—it's about living in a way that reflects what you believe a way that reflects your experiences, both good and bad. Because of them, I know that no matter what comes my way, I'll always have something solid to stand on.

[rickaylachevannes]

‘Lyric essay’

Prompt: Make a 10-song playlist for a specific time period of your life (5-10 years of your life). Under the title of each song, write a 3-5 sentence description of how the song connects to you. Write a description, not a summary.

Stay – William McDowell

(The heartbreak stage)

At 18 years old, I romanticized relationships, just the thought of falling inlove felt so easy to grasp until I actually did. The brittle feeling of having to deal with that pain seemed to cease when I listened to this song. I would close my eyes and feel the burden of my heartbreak being lifted off my shoulders by the voices echoing the lyrics. Each word resonating with a part of the hurt I was feeling, the smoothness of the instruments is what created the therapeutic escape I needed as the voices whispered 'stay, I don't want you to go." At the end of it all I was thinking about God, he's the only one I found that peace in, the song just put it into the words I couldn't speak.

So Will I – Osby Berry

(The healing stage)

In order to overcome hurt one must heal, This song redirected my emotions, staring them to God when I almost fell back into the hurt stage. It was an out of body experience, I could see myself being pieced together like a broken puzzle. Each word filling a void that needed to be filled. 

Fire for You – Cannons

(The what? stage)

If I'm healed I can imagine without focusing on the past right? "I was on fire for you" was a line that kept reeling in my mind. Every time I'd walk, every time I'd sit, and everytime I made an attempt  to sleep, it was always, "I was on fire for you." Who was I on fire for? No one, the song just filled something within me, something that I liked feeling all on my own.

Hello – Aquila

(Self-discovery stage)

"New Beginnings, hello", became my daily mantra as I embarked on the journey of rediscovering who I really was. The song's  invitation to embrace change resonated deeply, urging me to step out of my past hurt and into the light of self-awareness. It was both a challenge and a comfort, as if the melody were guiding my footsteps toward uncharted parts of my soul that were waiting to be seen and nurtured.

Did It For Me – Jackie Legere

(Healing part 2 stage)

Jackie's quiet voice singing " It's the way the birds fly across the sunset sky, I feel I like you did it for me." Was something that always soothed me. In the quiet aftermath of pain, just being able to reminisce on the fact that God did indeed make the world for me. He's really who I found my healing in.

Charismatic – Hailey Knox

(Self-love stage)

As my scars began to fade, a vibrant self-assuredness emerged, and the song "Charismatic" captured that essence perfectly. The song's energy and vibe was a mirror reflecting my growing confidence and the beauty of embracing my imperfections.

Slow Down – Skip Marley

(Fan girl stage)

In moments when life spun too quickly for me, "Slow Down" became my call to pause and just be a fan girl. It was as if the song whispered to me, "Slow down, girl let me love you," I liked the song of course but tell me why I kept imagining Skip Marley singing it to me, just me?

Close – Skip Marley

(Fan girl stage part 2)

Still caught in the wonder of admiration, "Close"

Became my next fan girl anthem, Now after slowing down Skip was saying "I just wanna be close to you and do all the things that you want me to..."

Fences – Christian Kuria

(Emotional awareness stage)

"Fences" spoke to the invisible barriers I was learning to recognize inside myself—the lines drawn by past hurts and guarded dreams. I learnt that I could love but I also learnt what could hurt me, "So call it denial, a means of survival..." The song spoke and I felt it, I recognized the fences I've put up but it was indeed my means of survival.

2015 – Christian Kuria

(The stage of nostalgia, when the world was simpler)

The song "2015" fills my mind with a bittersweet echo of teenage problems, unspoken confessions, and the sweet turbulence of growing up.

[rickaylachevannes]

‘Personal essay’

Prompt: What secret, big or small, have you still not told your parents?

I've carried this secret for years, and quite frankly I don’t plan on sharing it with my parents, even though I’m grown. Back when I was attending Excelsior high school, I was in a relationship with a guy that went to Kingston college. I won’t say his name but he entered my life when I was in grade 9. I remember us meeting through a mutual friend. The details of how the relationship was established is abit blurry in my memory but what I do remember is every minute of our relationship.

We talked on the phone every night when I came home from school, our conversations were mostly innocent but fulfilling to say the least. I can still remember the subtle rasp in his voice as he spoke to me. It would always make me smile—just listening to him talk. One night we were so engrossed in conversation that I didn’t even notice my dad knocking on my room door. I was supposed to be doing my homework but instead I was deep in conversation. The knocking startled me and the only thing I could do was hide the phone under my leg while ‘such guy’ was still on the line.

Was I embarrassed? yes but did we end up laughing about it later on? yes we did.

We had our own special place where we would meet on a Friday in halfway tree. It was the Burger King right next to the bus park. We would save our lunch money and buy the same Whopper cheeseburger combo together.

Those moments in the dining area felt like stolen time honestly, we were surrounded by people but still it all felt like our own little private world where we would share our dreams and fears, feeling like nothing could ever go wrong. That relationship was my refuge, a bright spot in those years when I was still figuring out who I was.

But as time went on, guilt started to creep in and it felt weird hiding it from my parents, especially because we’ve always been so close. There were times my mouth would almost slip and call his name or even insert him into conversations we would have. By grade 11, the reality of my secret had weighed too much on me. I began to feel that hiding this part of my life was like betraying the trust my parents had in me. They always saw me as the responsible daughter, the one who followed the rules. I couldn't reconcile this hidden love with the image they had of me. The pressure to keep up appearances grew unbearable, and despite how deep my feelings were, I decided to break off the relationship.

It was one of the hardest choices I've ever made. Walking away from someone who understood me so completely. It left a void that still lingers. I still remember the bittersweet mix of relief and heartache—the relief of no longer having to hide, and the heartache of losing something that once felt so right. In choosing to end it, I thought I was protecting my family's trust, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that I was giving up a part of myself.

Even now, I wonder what would have happened if I had told my parents. Would they have understood? They might have been disappointed, or maybe they would have simply embraced me with the same unconditional love they've always shown. Instead, I kept it buried deep, a secret that remains untouched by anyone outside my heart.

This secret isn't just about a lost romance—it's about the struggle between who I was expected to be and what I truly felt inside. It's about the lessons I learned on how delicate love can be when hidden away and the weight of guilt that sometimes forces us to choose between our hearts and the people we care about most. Today, I look back on that time with a mix of nostalgia and regret, wishing I could have merged those two worlds without fear or shame.

Carrying this secret has taught me that love is often messy and complicated, and sometimes the hardest truth to reveal is the one closest to our hearts. Though my parents will never know about ‘such man’ or about those shared phone calls and happy moments in halfway tree, I know that this hidden chapter is part of the person I've become—even if it remains locked away in the deepest corners of my memory.

[rickaylachevannes]

‘Memory Writing’

At the age of 9 is when we're most aware of our conscience. There are times our subconscious will say do this, don't do this and then it's left up to us to make a decision. We choose whether or not we should and the consequences or rewards aren't what we focus on, but the thrill of the action in the spur of the moment.

The day I almost lost my voice I remember thinking I was invincible but looking back at my younger self as an adult makes me see the event in a different light. Still I remember the height of the dusty gate in my yard and the smell of the metal that pierced my nostrils. It was coated with cracked pieces of yellow paint. The sight of its firmness propelled me to conquer my fear of heights that day. I wanted to know what it would feel like to be on top of the world. After Peeking inside to see if my mom was watching me I carefully fetched an old broom stick that was laying in the yard. I remember placing it against the gate and making sure it was secure enough to carry my weight. Sure enough it was I climbed unto the fragile wooden stick and before I knew it the stick had broken away and a sharp sudden feeling of numbness overcame my body.

I felt no pain at first, I didn't panic either, not until I realized I became one with the gate for a split second. Those seconds had turned into minutes and I felt something sinking into my throat. Suddenly the metallic smell became a fear, because not only could I smell it but I could also feel it. With all my strength I raised myself up. There was a throbbing sensation right below my chin. Probably just inches away from my windpipe, there was blood, lots of blood, squirting from my throat. I bolted inside where my mother was, I remember being frantic, unable to speak, as several things ran through my mind, still my words would not spill out so I kept jumping up and down until she turned around and saw me.

"Jesus Christ Rickayla weh yuh do!?" She yelled. Her facial expression went from angry to fearful in a matter of seconds.

I pointed outside but her focus was on my neck,

"Mi nuh know weh fi do now enuh, how yah guh reach hospital?" She spoke aloud.

I felt my eyes burning, tears were now coming, the reality consuming me.

The pain more so.

"Press this down on your neck for now, mi affi guh call your grandfather." She handed me one of my baby sisters' receiver blanket.

It was just us, my mom, my baby sisters and I at the time. My father was overseas which meant we were stuck. The only person we could really call was my grandpa and we were not sure if he would've came.

Now I was thinking, was the thrill worth me possibly dying?

No it wasn't.