29 | Dead Man Walking

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📍St

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📍St. Andrew, Jamaica | Kingston

A Few Days Later | Friday, September 2nd

11 PM

I've always appreciated how Jamaican culture celebrates life in death.

It was beautiful.

Even when we are drowning in pain, we always find a way to persevere through it.

It was the only thing that was keeping me together right now.

I wanted to scream.

There was a deep agony building inside me, but I had to put on a face.

Death a di worse ting.

"Cyaa believe seh him really gone Amina" Maxe whispers, placing his head on my shoulder.

Lifting my arm, I place my hand around his frame, pressing my head down on his.

Cyaa believe seh it tek dis fi we get along.

"Me either, everything feels surreal" I sigh, tears building up behind my eyes.

Fada God, why him?

My eyes scan the backyard, taking in the large crowd that has gathered, all of them here for him.

The music was loud, so much so that I could barely hear myself think, the bass shook the ground below us and ran through my body with ease.

There was a conglomerate of smells ruminating, from rum to soup.

Me feel sick.

"Woulda neva expect fi deh out yasso tonight, a fucking dead yard?" Maxe exclaims in disbelief.

As a child, I used to be afraid of dead yards.

Neva did too like follow me parents come a dem ting yah.

Age came with maturity, and now I appreciate them as spaces to celebrate lives lived.

Especially that of whom I've loved.

The tears are streaming down my face with full force now.

It was hard to hold back my emotions, I wanted to be strong, but I couldn't.

I spot Mommy heading towards us, and as if on command, the tears dry on their own.

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