I am studying communications at the University of Phoenix Online and the course I am currently in is dealing with interpersonal communications. This week, we will be dealing specifically with cultural barriers to interpersonal communication. One of the week’s resources is to watch a series of interviews with people from different cultures talking about their integration into the community the now live in and how it differs from what they call “home” originally. One of those videos is the inspiration for my post today.

I posted this photo on my Google+ profile today. My post said that I’d forgotten what awesome photos I used to take and I said where this photo was taken. Years and what seems like a lifetime ago, I took this photograph on the coast of Jamaica, on the Palisadoes strip, just outside of the Norman Manley International Airport. The photo is from a different time in my life. I was my own woman then and no one else’s. I had already met hubby I think, but the relationship at that point was not yet formalized into anything other than a fascination. Neither of us had any clue we would end up where we are today.

The day I took the photo, I was out with friends on a fishing expedition. If I remember correctly, this was the day I caught my first fish. A tiny little thing that I threw back in almost immediately so that it would be able to breathe and continue to live. I was a hardcase. People called me “bitch”. But I could not catch a fish and let it die.

I worked in the corporate world and I earned enough to be comfortable on my own. Internet was a staple. I had ditched my TV cable service a couple of years before because I rarely watched TV and anything I wanted to watch I could get on disc and watch from my player. Or just watch on my computer.

There was no such thing as worrying about credit ratings. You paid your bills so that you would not have a disruption of service. You tried not to get into too much debt because banks charged exorbitant interest rates on credit cards. Debit cards had recently (within the previous 10 years, that is) become the latest convenience yet quite a few merchants still did not accept your debit card for purchases.

Cell phones plans could be had on a prepaid basis and all cell phones available were sold at a subsidized rate. Phones were “locked” to a network because that network had possibly invested money in importing your phone and wanted to ensure they got your money from calls as well as. “Unlocking” of phones was possible, but only if you wanted to travel abroad and slip a foreign carrier’s SIM card into your phone whilst you were abroad.

The beach was taken for granted. It would always be there, so I didn’t feel the need to visit it that often. Every chance I got, however, I drove north out of the city just for the hell of it. There was nothing I loved more than a road trip to the countryside – especially if it took me into the cool interior of the country.

Coconut water was most certainly not taken for granted. I would order a gallon a week and it would be finished in a matter of days.

Life was good. I wasn’t happy, but I was satisfied.

Fast forward 6 years. I am sitting in my “office” – the middle bedroom of a 3 bedroom house – in Olympia, Washington. It’s freezing outside. We had some snow today – the kind that is really just frozen rain but it looks white. Hubby lit the wood stove twice today but the house is still cold. I am wrapped in a blanket, doing schoolwork at 4am and writing – something I would never have dared to do in Jamaica since Monday morning meant work at 8am. Now, to go to work, I simply have to open a browser window.

We are bound by the military. Well hubby is. I can leave for Jamaica anytime I want; hubby can’t. Even if he could, it just isn’t in the budget. Contrary to popular belief, money does not grow on trees here – much to my consternation.

There is no coconut water. Well, none like I have ever tasted anyway. The ones I have sampled are bland and tasteless and no matter how good it is for my now soaring blood pressure, I refuse to drink them.

There is no beach of the likes we have in Jamaica. No such thing as gentle surf, white sands, coconut water and blue waters. Here, the beaches are grey and rough and freezing cold.

Here you pay your bills or you’ll never get another credit card, loan, or checking account ever again.

Cell phones are subsidized so long as you commit to 2 year agreements to continue service with the carrier … otherwise you pay an exorbitant amount of money to go somewhere else.

I am ecstatically happy but life is much different from it was in Jamaica; more restrictive.

Americans don’t know how to make you feel at home in their country. There are constant reminders that I am not from here and while I could care less about those who choose to hold that against me, it is still something you will never have to encounter as a Jamaican in Jamaica. I tell everyone the reason why I love Washington so much, and in particular the Seattle/Tacoma area, is that I feel less out-of-place here than I have felt in any other place in the United States – and I have been to many places in New York, D.C., Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, and Maryland. Here, I feel less like a black girl married to a white man and more like Camille than I have since I left my home in Jamaica.

‘Farin’ not so wonderful unless you can find that one thing (or person) who makes you happy. If it weren’t for hubby, I think I’d be on the first plane back home to Jamaica. I hate the heat, but I hate feeling out-of-place more.

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I am sick again – for the third time this season.

The first time was a cold, the second time was the flu and again I am battling with a cold. It seems as if no matter what I do I am destined to be always fighting off some bug or other. I comfort myself that it’s just that my body having been dried and burnt out in Texas for 2 years and not being used to this cold and wet climate. That it is just overwhelmed and that sooner than later it’ll be able to withstand the constant barrage of germs. That pep talk isn’t working.

I know that the greatest part of my problem is being sedentary and as much as I would love to run – yes, I think I would love to run – I just can’t do it now. I can barely walk. Yoga was a problem. Just going the 300 or so feet to the mailbox is an issue. Sometimes just carrying a laundry basket up the stairs here at home makes me winded. I am in bad shape.

I have never been very active. High school was the last time I was physically active and without batting an eyelid, I will tell you that high school for me was a good 30 years ago. Yes indeed. I am that old. And lately, I have been feeling it. Lucky for me, I think I finally figured out what is wrong with me and I am going to get it looked after. I sincerely hope that once this treatment kicks in I can actually climb the stairs here at home, at a brisk trot and not feel like I’ve run the marathon when I get to the top rung.

That being said, I refuse to let this cold keep me down for much longer. It’s kept me mostly stationary all weekend. There are so many things I should have been doing this last month. Not the least of which is spending time with my friend and her newborn. I am tired all the time, and I am sick almost every other week and I just don’t feel well. It has got to stop NOW.

School starts next month again, and hubby will be gone for 6 weeks starting the first. I need to get myself sorted out quickly. I can’t be alone and sick for 6 weeks whilst I take on extra work and school. So I’ve vowed to also include a dose of airborne everyday with my one glass of lemonade too. I think in a little while work will require me to be up for far later at nights and awake far earlier in the mornings and I need to prepare myself for that.

(P.S. By the way, I am loving After the deadline. )

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There was once a time when I truly loved to blog. I filled paragraph after paragraph with drivel or opinion or rants. It was all truly personal and extremely subjective … and sometimes downright hateful.

Apparently, I have either lost that ability – or motivation – or I don’t remember how to.

In those days, I was not known – I was invisible, simply another voice in a sometimes discontent sea of voices. It didn’t matter what I had to say because no one could take personal offense to what I was saying. I could rant and rave in relative anonymity and not think for a second that I was going to be causing harm to others.

Things have changed and just by virtue of who I have become – per se – I am no longer anonymous and what I say DOES matter and WILL offend.

I still have my opinions, most of which are now so inflammatory that I am sometimes afraid to even THINK them much less write about them in a public forum like this blog is. Lately, I have realized that the inflammatory nature of these thoughts and opinions is not only not improving, it is getting worse. And I am moving further away from a time when I could speak freely and anonymously.

I sit and watch people express themselves on Twitter, on Facebook … even on Google+ and I realize that were I to open my mouth about any of the subjects that are now on constant debate I am either so far out of the loop as to cause the wrath of the ages to be called down on me for my ineptitude to research … or I am so far beyond the “norm” that I get the wrath of ages called down on me for my opinion and insight.

Hell, I find even when I state my mind in simple, non-judgmental terms without even attempting to incite debate and drama, I get it anyway.

Therefore, there should be no doubt as to why I have become silent in the last few months.

Unfortunately, it has hampered my ability and my propensity for fluency and it is beginning to affect my work… at this point in time, I can no longer write as I used to because I can no longer find the words to express myself. I am out of practice. Badly out of practice.

As a result, this blog has become a sparse collection of random topics ranging from a recitation of events as they have occurred in my life or a random miscellaneous commentary or review on some new geek toy or service that I have “discovered” for myself.

Not exactly how I want to be.

And so … I have decided that I need to write again – as anonymously as I once used to. For that, I have chosen to move my rants, opinions and scorching commentary somewhere else – somewhere anonymous – where whether or not one wants to be offended or not is separate and apart from my so-called public persona. A place where only a few select actually know me and care about what I think – no matter what it is – and respect for me even having an opinion.

The rest of you will have to deal with my random miscellaneous posts if and until you can prove to be as discerning and objective of what I choose to speak about as I expect you to be.

My apologies. It may seem harsh to you – and maybe even unnecessarily drastic, but I must attempt to save the one thing I have always loved to do … and that is, to write.

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I’ve thought long and hard about writing this post-mortem – for my own edification and maybe for those around me who are curious as to my experiences and how I see them after all is said and done.

To clarify – events of the last 3 years include:

• getting married
• migrating to the United States
• immediately transforming into a stay-at-home/work-at-home military spouse from a hardcore support tech at a major telecommunications company in Jamaica
• 2 household moves
• 1 military deployment

Yes – that’s a lot to pack into 3 years; I know – believe me, I know. I looked at the summary I just typed and had to take a breath myself.

The Timeline

Getting married was tricky. It required an almost year-long wait for the American authorities to decide it was ok to grant me permission to marry and move in with the man of my dreams. You all know the angst I went through with that whole process and the subsequent fallouts. When the day finally arrived, I was a bit drippy-eyed because for some reason I thought having gotten this far – Dad on my arm in Kentucky, prospective in-laws also visiting Kentucky and gearing up for a happy HAPPY occasion – that somehow it was a nightmare and I would find myself waking up in my own bed back in Kingston with no wedding, no hubby, no family and no “joy”. My father said his usual “don’t be silly” and my maid of honour (bless her heart!) told me to not worry and I tried REALLY hard to stop stressing.

Less than a year later, we prepared to move from Kentucky to Texas. Not only was this move guaranteed to introduce a deployment (you don’t get summoned to Fort Hood, Texas and NOT get deployed), but it was also to a state that we both despised. There remained a far greater capacity for our loathing than we were aware. There was very little about the Fort Hood/Texas experience that I even want to remember, much less reminisce about.

The year deployment was bad – I was alone in an alien place, with no one I knew (and, as it turned out, very few that I WANTED to know) and no one nearby whom I could call on in a pinch. For the first time in my life, I faced abject lonesomeness and felt crippled. I wasn’t lonely, but I was alone. I always want to know there’s someone I can call on in a pinch – if it’s even the local taxi service.

I survived the year – handsomely, if I do say so myself.

Nay – WE survived the year.

We’re still together, the Texas/Fort Hood experience helped to bring us closer together rather than drive us apart. And we survived the move from Texas to Washington – together – and this is where we are now.. It’s a new beginning in many ways for us and so far, nothing but positive vibes. I look forward to the next 3 years and beyond.

Difficulties?

Upon marrying, I was told many times and in many ways that the transition to military spouse was going to be difficult in lots of ways – not the least of which was that my civilian friends would no longer be able to relate to me – or me to them. This is true in a sense. I lost a couple of friends, distanced a few others and gained a few too.

Frankly, not being able to relate to my civilian friends -or them to me- is not something I can say has really happened. It has taken an extra few words and seconds for me to explain certain aspects of my life when military subjects come up, but it’s not a real big deal. They still get me – and that’s what is most important in friendships.

I think the biggest thing I’ve had to deal with in this transition, is that most people now think that watching the news and relating to me all that’s happening military-wise (according to the news) is something they need to do. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to tell my friends and family that it doesn’t matter what they read, hear or see on the news – reality is far different.

I’ve had to tell Mom that I’m not really interested in hearing what she heard CNN is saying about what Pres. Obama said about the war and the military – I am more interesting in what she heard on TVJ or CVM about what Prime Minister Bruce is doing and saying in Jamaica. I want to hear about Caribbean things. All things US and military is within easy reach for me – if I want it.

That, I think, has been the most difficult part of this transition.

Explaining what a ‘PCS’ is or a ‘PTDY’ or a ‘DITY’ or an ‘NCOIC’ is not the difficult part at all, and maybe having worked in the corporate world for a long time has helped me draw parallels that most of my friends and family can relate to – which pretty much makes explaining why my husband’s platoon sergeant can tell him what to do, when and how.

Conclusions?

Frankly – considering how much of a creature of habit I actually am, how I have never taken change on very well and how I usually end up stressing over the changes – I think I have weathered all these changes in my life very well. I gained a few grey hairs during the deployment – but those don’t bother me as much as the weight I’ve gained in the last 2 years just eating normally. (I swear American food has something in it that makes you grow outwards!)

Thankfully, having a caring husband and a very supportive set of in-laws has helped immensely.

But I think the constancy of my very VERY close friends has possibly been THE single-most significant factor in me still being here – sane and healthy. You all know who you are – all THREE of you – and I hope you know how much I appreciate you – ALL of you.

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I haven’t written in forever.

I haven’t done much of anything in forever except the bare minimum necessary to stay sane.

I get up in the mornings, work almost all day until about 4ish when I cuddle on the recliner with the cats until about 10ish when I attempt to go to bed. It hasn’t been working very well – the sleep attempts – since here I am in Jamaica and am sleeping as if I haven’t slept in 8 months. Well … I’ll tell you I feel so tired as if I haven’t slept in 8 months – so that may not be too surprising.

Yes. I am here in Jamaica. All the things that used to annoy the HELL out of me are faint irritations now; the street noises, the heat, the mosquitoes, the constantly ringing phone in my parents house, the barking dogs in the neighbourhood, and the hovering my parents are doing … all of it a wonderful welcome. I feel like I was missing out.

It’s good being here.  I am indulging in a good deal of decadence – I had bun and cheese for breakfast and dinner yesterday and that’s in addition to the patty for lunch and curry chicken and breadfruit for supper. Plenty of fruits – Dad sourced ortaniques for me and coconut water has been rolling in by the quart.

I am in Jamaican food heaven.

Christmas feels burdensome to me, though. I really am just hoping it comes and goes without so much as a peep. I’d rather get to the other end of this holiday as fast as I can manage it. It is just WAY too empty without hubby by my side – whether we would be here in Jamaica enjoying the Christmas breeze, or in Michigan up to our thighs in snow. It wouldn’t have mattered so long as I could have had him with me.

The luck of the draw precludes that from happening … and so here I am in Jamaica attempting to obliterate that empty hole in my life with as much of the familiar from my old life as I can find. So far, it’s working. I am not thinking about it as much as I probably would be had I stayed in Texas alone.

However, it seems as if I am fighting some kind of bug – I am tired all the time and today I literally feel ill. So some reading for the rest of the day and some sleep too maybe.

All in all, it’s been a good week or 2.

I have so much more to write about – but I’ll try and get all that in after I get back to Texas. For the time being, I am all about soaking up as much of this as I can – maybe it’ll be enough to carry me through these next 4 months or so until hubby comes home.

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