Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors). (Author: Ali Edwards)
Girl, who taught you to wind like dat?
I never know you coulda wind like dat!
I wound my hips faster, then slower, then down to the ground and then back up again. I was sure that he was singing to me.
To my left, my girl friend performed a similar routine, eyes closed, lost in the rhythm. To my right, another girl friend danced with a partner, oblivious to the surrounding crowd.
The DJ interrupted with a new pulsing beat, indicating he would be playing the next selection shortly, and was greeted with a roaring scream of approval from the crowd. Hands went in the air, waving flags representing every island of the Caribbean; the vibrant red flag of Trinidad, the alluring blue flag of Barbados and the bold green flag of my family’s beloved Jamaica were among them.
I jumped and waved my flag as the song instructed. My friends followed suit. We grinned at each other, our way of communicating that we were having the time of our lives. We knew that we couldn’t compete with the loud music, nor were we too keen to stop dancing even for a second so that we might catch our breath long enough to speak to each other.
We danced in the streets of Brooklyn, waving at onlookers who waved their own flags back at us and danced along to the music. The sun beamed down at us, reminiscent of the warm rays back on our respective islands. It made our skin glitter and made the already bright costumes sparkle.
I remembered coming to the West Indian Parade as a child. I would sit on the curb in front of my mother, amazed by all of the activity. I remembered the first time I had worn my very own costume and danced along with the other children with Caribbean heritage. At twenty-three, I thought I had outgrown such an event. The crowd, the noise, the mess—ugh! How could I have ever enjoyed such a thing?
Day turned into night, but the celebration wore on. My friends and I danced on, though we were exhausted. I posed for a picture, and then stopped to admire it. My skin glowed as if I had been playing on the beach all afternoon and my smile was bright enough to make the August sun in Jamaica jealous.
I started to dance again. My feet throbbed and my back ached, but they allowed me to keep up with a distant beat. Where was that music coming from? The volume was increasing, yet my friends weren’t dancing with me.
I tried to listen closely, but I couldn’t hear it. I felt it. The music was coming from within.
As my heart pumped a familiar tune, my feet danced along and my smile widened. I closed my eyes and savored the moment. I was alive.
