Over the summer, I embarked on my first trip out of the country--ever. I was flown with my boyfriend and his family in a small commercial plane to the island of St. Thomas, one of the U.S. Virgin Islands.
Mumbo Jumbo) island enchanted me. It was almost haunting.
The island itself was rather poor, open air markets littered the streets--and how the tourists flocked, myself included. The people were, for the most part, destitute. And I loved it. Suddenly, I found myself day-dreaming about my life on the island. I would walk around the downtown area, scoping out eclectic artifacts from the open air markets. I would ride my bike around (but avoid riding down the ridiculously high and steep hills because I'm a pansy). I would live in a cute, little run-down home on the mountain side, maybe own a small car. I would have pets to run around my house and yard. I would haunt the local restaurants, bars, island social locales, etc. Island life wouldn't just be a part of me, I'd be a part of it too. This place was my paradigm of paradise.
I have never been inclined towards money. I don't desire a lux life. I want to work hard for everything I have, but I don't care for the money other than being able to pay my bills. I'm more people oriented, and I find that the less monetarily fortunate communities tend to be the most social and function like a large family--because they actually care. I find the the more money you possess, the more you become attached to it so that you want to save more to buy yourself nice things--in reward for all of your hard work, you did make that money--instead of share it or use it for the benefit of others. (Don't get me wrong, I'm no socialist. I just want to place myself in communities that would help and give to each other like a family.) I've always been a very compassionate and empathetic person; it's in my nature to want to help and nurture. I want this for myself, this sense of life, of community, of belonging. It's always nice to belong. I felt like I belonged there. My paradigm of paradise.
I'm not interested in The American Dream. I'm interested in my own.
Mumbo Jumbo) island enchanted me. It was almost haunting.
The island itself was rather poor, open air markets littered the streets--and how the tourists flocked, myself included. The people were, for the most part, destitute. And I loved it. Suddenly, I found myself day-dreaming about my life on the island. I would walk around the downtown area, scoping out eclectic artifacts from the open air markets. I would ride my bike around (but avoid riding down the ridiculously high and steep hills because I'm a pansy). I would live in a cute, little run-down home on the mountain side, maybe own a small car. I would have pets to run around my house and yard. I would haunt the local restaurants, bars, island social locales, etc. Island life wouldn't just be a part of me, I'd be a part of it too. This place was my paradigm of paradise.
I'm not interested in The American Dream. I'm interested in my own.
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