Returning to Jamaica: Where Time Stands Still and Everything Changes
There's something uniquely bittersweet about returning to your birthplace. Last week, I found myself back in Jamaica, the island where I was born. These visits home always stir a complex mix of emotions - joy at reconnection, sadness for those no longer with us, and wonder at how much has changed while somehow remaining eternally the same.
Kingston presents itself as a study in contrasts. The Liguanea Club still stands proudly, serving the island's best pumpkin soup exactly as I remember it. Yet the open spaces that once surrounded it have vanished, sacrificed to a version of progress I struggle to appreciate. My mental map of backroads and shortcuts - once my pride as a navigation specialist - now leads to unexpected traffic jams and unfamiliar landscapes.
As I move through the city, I find myself disoriented. Landmarks that anchored my memories have disappeared, replaced by new structures that hold no personal history for me. Kingston has evolved without me, continuing its story while my memories remained frozen in time.
Despite this transformation, my connection to Jamaica remains unbreakable. I feel it immediately upon landing - that instant recognition as I walk through the airport and drive along the Palisadoes road into Kingston. It's as if my body remembers what my mind has forgotten.
Each visit becomes a ritual of reconnection: calling cousins, looking up old friends, making lunch and dinner reservations to catch up on years compressed into hours over food and conversation. The island pulls me back into its rhythm, even as I sit in the endless traffic that has become part of modern Jamaican life.
Yes, Jamaica has changed drastically, especially compared to the place preserved in my memory. But the ties that bind us to home and family stretch across time and space without breaking, always unyielding. For all its transformations, Jamaica remains my source of rejuvenation - the place where I remember who I am by revisiting where I began.
Kingston presents itself as a study in contrasts. The Liguanea Club still stands proudly, serving the island's best pumpkin soup exactly as I remember it. Yet the open spaces that once surrounded it have vanished, sacrificed to a version of progress I struggle to appreciate. My mental map of backroads and shortcuts - once my pride as a navigation specialist - now leads to unexpected traffic jams and unfamiliar landscapes.
As I move through the city, I find myself disoriented. Landmarks that anchored my memories have disappeared, replaced by new structures that hold no personal history for me. Kingston has evolved without me, continuing its story while my memories remained frozen in time.
Despite this transformation, my connection to Jamaica remains unbreakable. I feel it immediately upon landing - that instant recognition as I walk through the airport and drive along the Palisadoes road into Kingston. It's as if my body remembers what my mind has forgotten.
Each visit becomes a ritual of reconnection: calling cousins, looking up old friends, making lunch and dinner reservations to catch up on years compressed into hours over food and conversation. The island pulls me back into its rhythm, even as I sit in the endless traffic that has become part of modern Jamaican life.
Yes, Jamaica has changed drastically, especially compared to the place preserved in my memory. But the ties that bind us to home and family stretch across time and space without breaking, always unyielding. For all its transformations, Jamaica remains my source of rejuvenation - the place where I remember who I am by revisiting where I began.
Published on May 12, 2025 06:49
No comments have been added yet.
"Beyond Paradise: The Untold Stories of Caribbean Literary Voices
My name is Lynda R. Edwards, and I try to explore the rich tapestry of Caribbean literature that often remains overshadowed by tourist brochures and postcard imagery.
This blog delves into how writers My name is Lynda R. Edwards, and I try to explore the rich tapestry of Caribbean literature that often remains overshadowed by tourist brochures and postcard imagery.
This blog delves into how writers from Jamaica, Trinidad and Tobago, Haiti, Cuba, and other island nations have crafted powerful narratives that challenge colonial legacies, celebrate cultural resilience, and reimagine Caribbean identity through distinctive storytelling techniques and linguistic innovation.
From the groundbreaking work of Jean Rhys and Derek Walcott to emerging voices reshaping the literary landscape, discover how these writers navigate themes of displacement, belonging, and the complex histories that shape their homelands.
Please join me as I highlight how Caribbean literature offers not just beautiful prose but essential perspectives on our interconnected world and the enduring power of storytelling as resistance. ...more
This blog delves into how writers My name is Lynda R. Edwards, and I try to explore the rich tapestry of Caribbean literature that often remains overshadowed by tourist brochures and postcard imagery.
This blog delves into how writers from Jamaica, Trinidad and Tobago, Haiti, Cuba, and other island nations have crafted powerful narratives that challenge colonial legacies, celebrate cultural resilience, and reimagine Caribbean identity through distinctive storytelling techniques and linguistic innovation.
From the groundbreaking work of Jean Rhys and Derek Walcott to emerging voices reshaping the literary landscape, discover how these writers navigate themes of displacement, belonging, and the complex histories that shape their homelands.
Please join me as I highlight how Caribbean literature offers not just beautiful prose but essential perspectives on our interconnected world and the enduring power of storytelling as resistance. ...more
- Lynda R. Edwards's profile
- 9 followers
