Thoughts of a minibus traveller

By Vidyaratha Kissoon “I dun talk to you,” the man selling rat bait said quietly. The last question I had asked was ‘Did you have any of the phone numbers for the hotline?’ I had gone up to him to talk about suicide prevention. The man was packing his stand. The green packs of rat bait were arranged tidily in one box, the orange packs of another poison  were in another. The small sachets of blue pellets were lined up, knots aligned. There were some with pink pellets and some with white grains. I think I saw some with a mix of blue and pink. Each sachet seemed to have the same amount. It was evening and the orange street light gave a nice glow to the layout. The darker coloured round tablets were below the blue and pink. All neat, all organised beautifully.. The man had a scale. ‘How much to weigh’.. “”40” I paid and jumped on. “Relax your body” he said quietly.  I jumped off the scale and started with my brilliant idea about how to do suicide preven...

I walked into the lab at UG  to deliver my lecture on online journalism. Normal stuff, should expect Internet and so. Some janjat, Internet not there.. or rather what is there can't really allow a video or so to stream nicely so that the students could see what people can do with the Internet.  I want to go home after having prepared the nice thing. There is going to be some challenge.  I know that I have no intention of celebrating no Independence because we not really independent. There is a kind of superficial fakeness, urgency about the golden jubilee .. we must celebrate or else!!!! But I celebrate every day I wake up generally.  Here is why I plan to stay far, even if will might not be possible $300 million dollars on 50th birthday party is nuff money. I really don't care for song and dance and float and so on, not when the economy is in a mess, when sugar Workers at Wales not sure what happening . Guyanese know how to have a good time,the state doe...

A friend had said use Lavender to deal with itching , and someone said it was good for sleeping. First time I used it, the dreams were weird, all night. vivid. I decided not to use any more. Last night though, stomach churning from the junk and body feeling weird and spirit feeling sick at everything which had to be dealt with.. I rubbed my palms with lavender and inhaled before going back to the computer to fix a problem which could not have been fixed for 5 days. I lost about  4 working days this last episode, functioning in other ways . A man shared some post about rubbing lavender on the foot bottom to help with sleep.. The dreams were weird again last night, dreaming about dreaming and so on. Woke up though, and was glad to get up to get the various tasks done. Doing the tasks and thinking about the thing I have to write, and the other thing to write and the challenge which will come with the other meeting I was dreading from negotiating with people and not feeli...

Deep sadness at the end of a day which started with me telling a man who I think needs support that I can no longer provide that support, and that I can't keep my promise of 'you can call me any time you want and I will talk/listen to you" Irony examined though, in a particularly low episode, when the nice cold dark mornings match the mood and part of the mind is screaming .. withdraw, go , take a break, dont talk to anybody.. that the Universe does not listen and there is a blast of requests for information, help, etc and when counting.. 14 requests responded to. more than I have ever had in any one time with a bizarre range and one woman who helped me tremendously . I have not been seeking out voluntary opportunities or going to look for help as the energy to do that is too much.  Resisting the urge to not function is not recommended really for all persons, but being able to fulfil some transactions without any expectations of reward  is rewarding in that being ...

Callerasked during one of the silences when I should have said, hey I can't talk now even though I told you you could call me anytime " so what did you do today". War between pride and truth telling and 'mental health, managing mental health' because the day was kind of like that.. every interaction, every task, every distraction was done through a fog which was about resisting the urge to go and just lie down Distractions like drinking dhal, and reading random things without absorbing. Distractions like trying to compose words in emails around things which I care about, instead of taking a break..  Nuts, biscuits, cake, more cake followed by guilt. Trying to do the yoga routine which used to help, but the body is clumsy, and the mind is tired to focus on the stretches and the anger and frustration at not being able to move the body to get the serotonin needed to lift the damn clouds. Postponing the meeting for a week, but client says no, one day only.. ...

The primary school girl with spectacles had three books in her hand including Toni Morrison's Tar Baby . I said, but you will read that? and she looked up at me, through top of the spectacles and said . Yes I like to Read...  and I thought oh lord.. Arrived at 3pm at the corner of Camp and Robb Street with lots of books which I had accumulated for the next groundings from the house as a kind of letting go. The body pained in different parts as I bent down to layout the cloth and the books. It was crazy and I got distracted. I had forgotten we had agreed one or two books per person and make sure there is interaction.. on some question. The school children swarmed and were picking up. I had some of the love quotes.. first student pulled the "“It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences.” by Audre Lorde. She said she was not sure what it meant. A boy said, it means that we have to accept people ...

[Spoiler alert] Jamaican Tanya Batson-Savage read her story Ruth about a God fearing woman who had to deal with rude questions from 'that girl' her daughter .. about whether she had an orgasm. I muttered to the prize winning Guyanese writer sitting next to me that it is such a relief to hear about people who have orgasms and not about death and murder. Felene Cayetano from Belize read a poem and a story linked to the poem. Garifuna words and a place called Dangriga. Richard Georges from the BVI read a couple of poems, one about Prosper.. the slave who was murdered by Arthur Hodge. Arthur Hodge was the first West Indian slave owner who was hanged for the murder of a slave. Another poem, about Bush tea was interesting. I think for many Guyanese, BVI is a place to go and get work, and then to come back to Guyana  The poet's grandfather had lived in Guyana. Joanne Hillhouse read from The Boy from Willow Bend - a bit about a funeral and no death. Naijah Imojah...