1st stop and the rest looks eventfull

So I have made it to America safe and sound, the first couple of days are quiet, but fun. I got to see my friend after five years, it’s crazy. She hasn’t change at all and even today, I can tell why we are friends. She has forgiven me the worst I could have done to her and that only made our friendship stronger. Thank you Tyler.
On the other hand she is crazy busy, but she is creating something for herself, I have no dought that she is going to be a wonderful stage manager.
This place is a university town. There are like hundreds of different schools, it’s insane. Need say if there are that many schools there are twice as much students, me in there is like letting a fox free in a hen house. Good god. Let the fun begin.
Anyway this is going to be short, all in all met some great people, and tried my best to get into a fraternity house, no success. Discovered this great place that sells organic food. And realise that everything I had planned is not going to go the way I want it. Like planned stuff ever works.
I am going to have to change my travels around. Well until next time see you the best solution for me tonight is getting drunk, things will work out.

THE HUNT FOR THE GREAT IRISH STEW

Between my arrival in Dublin and the boarding of my flight to new York, I had four hours to spare, so I decided I would go to Dublin’s centre, I was hungry. So began the hunt for an authentic Irish stew.
I walked up and down the streets of Dublin, but it seems to me that all they had to offer was fish and chips and cuisine that came from somewhere else, French, Chinese, Turkish etc..
What happened to the Irish cooking? I don’t know a lot about Irish cooking except that potatoes is used. But where was it? How am I to learn about Irish cooking if I can’t find an authentic Irish restaurant? I was so desperate after looking at my watch, making sure that I don’t leave too late for the airport so that I don’t miss my flight, that I asked a taxi driver.
If someone should know where I can get authentic Irish cooking it should be a taxi driver. After all they drive around the whole city. So here I was asking a taxi driver, his response to my question as to where can I get an authentic Irish stew was laughter and the added authentic Irish cooking, try carrots.
I was becoming desperate, I was about to give up, that is until I came across, Madigan’s. Typical pub opened since 1995 although the decor makes it look much much older, stuff fox, lanterns. I went in and got my Irish stew. And you know what it was good, so good.
It was worth the hunt.
I will have a recipe for an Irish stew when I get back home in December on my food blog, http://ping.fm/qxC05
Until next time look out for the rest of my adventure in the land of the free and home of the brave.

TAKE OFF, THE BIG ADVENTURE BEGINS

They were calling rows 15 to 29 first, people started queuing up to get on. A father with two sons of flaming red hair stood behind the queue. First thought to my mind was, with hair as dark as he's got, they were clearly not his kids.I kept listening trying to make out their accent. I could not decide weather it was Irish or American.I let my gaze wonder and it fell on a young blond girl in her twenties as she handed her boarding pass. As she walked towards the plane, I noticed she was fighting back tears. A love story went bad, was she ment to meet someone? Like those happy ending Hollywood stories, could it be she did not get her happy after? We will never know, but as she walked passed I could see her gathering her courage, fighting her tears back and putting on a brave face as she ready herself to move on with her life.The flight itself was normal, I found my seat, strapped myself in took out the book I was reading (Isaac Asimov the foundation) and relaxed. It was the landing that caught me off gard. It seems the pilot could not get the plan straight for the landing, I told myself this could not be the end I haven't even seen America, but a few seconds later I reassured myself, I can't die here, I have to many angels watching over me including my granda maggie, every thing will be ok, I wasn't scared anymore. Then we landed. Touch down shouted my inner voice. We're in Dublin.

THE 1001 MASK OF LUKE JNO CHARLES

Mask of Revenge part 3.1

Is it best served hot or cold?


Revenge (also known as vengeance or payback) is a harmful action against a person or group in response to a grievance, be it real or perceived. Although many aspects of revenge resemble justice, revenge is usually depicted as more injurious and punitive as opposed to being harmonious and restorative. Whereas justice implies actions undertaken and supported by a legitimate judicial system grounded upon a foundation of ethics and morals of the majority, revenge implies actions undertaken by an individual or narrowly defined group outside the boundaries of judicial or ethical conduct whose goal is to force a wrongdoer to suffer the same or greater pain than that which was originally inflicted to a party.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia


No one is born with such concepts in their mind, it is taught to them by society, family and friends. I soften compare a new born child to a book with unwritten pages waiting to be filled. This is the story of how revenge was written into my pages.
You never feel the need for vengeance unless the action done against you pains you. If no one felt pain either physical or physiological then there is no need for that person to seek vengeance.
For a great part of my life I have felt the need to administer revenge on several different people, and if you had read my previous post you would understand why. But the need and want for vengeance has a starting point and this was my point.
When I was quite young say around twelve, I had been living in the Caribbean with my grandmother for quite some time. I went to school, made very few friends, basically everything that should be normal for a child to some extent.
One of my friends name was Omarie Lawrence, he was around the same age as was and we were good friends, or at list at the time I thought so. Our relationship was strange, I needed is friendship because I had few friends. On the other hand I believed he needed my friendship in other to have a scapegoat.
When I was alone with Omarie we would be like any other two friends, we would laugh, hang out and have fun, but when Omarie and I was in a group, then I become the scapegoat, the joke, the one to be teased and ridiculed. And I guess I took it, for some reason I have always had a lot of patience with humans, hopping that their conscience will eventually kick in. in this case it never did.
It was one afternoon at home after watching the movie she devil, with Roseanne Barr. If you have not seen this movie have a look, it’s a typical 80s movie. Anyway here I was watching this movie and I started identifying myself to the character. A house wife to a successful business man who takes care of the kids, and does everything to make her husband happy. Yet still he finds ways to insult her belittle her until he decides to have an affair. She then sits down writes the five most important things to this man and sets about taking it away from him one at a time. The beauty of it all is that she gets away with it and he is never the wiser.
Well I can tell you that was some inspiration because when omarie decided to use ma as a scapegoat again I sat down and decided to do just that that. My list was different from that of Roseanne it went like this:
1 his friends
2 his girlfriend
3 his popularity

I first started with his popularity; Omarie went to an all boy’s school, the saint Mary’s Academy. I simply thought that if I was to be teased because of my effeminacy I might aswell make it work for me. I took it as a habit to wait for omarie at the front of his school for a week. I used excuses like I am here to see someone else, or just passing on my way home.
The fact of the matter is kids are stupid because they don’t know any better and most adult are not intelligent enough to teach them any better. So for some reason the rumour started that Omarie and I we sleeping together. Well who was I to say otherwise, let him feel what its like to be in my shoes.
That being done I moved on to the next item on the agenda. His girlfriend.

To be continued….

The 1001 Mask of Luke Jno Charles

Mask of pain part 2

More and more pain; (when does it end)

http://ping.fm/eF4kM
(music from youtube for reading mask of pain)

For every child growing up the one thing he or she learns is that for every action there is a reaction. It’s a well known universal law. Now the way one reacts all depends on the education that one gets.
Now I don’t really know if it’s because I was naturally talented or if it was because of the loneliness that I had more time to read, but as far back as I could remember I could read before I could walk properly as a child. In fact it is one of my most precious memories, my mother teaching me how to read, or rather making me read. The book was sly fox and red hen my very first book. My mother drummed that story into my head made me read it over and over till I could get it right. It was hard. As a child I didn’t really like it, because it seems to me that my mother was always frustrated with me for not getting it right.
Years later what seem a painful memory somehow became a precious one. I guess in some ways despite the pain of the experience I have my mom to thank for my love of reading and I have red hen and sly fox to thank for learning how to become a manipulative little kid, and oh boy did I put it to good use.

My mother tiered of being in one place left me for others to take care of. First a former boyfriend, who treated me like shit and made me feel the burden that I was to him. Then she left me at her mothers home, who took me in for the only reason that she was getting money and when she got none I was beaten, my skin would bread under the whip. A whip that she would soak in salted sea water. I would go on for days with out food. And as a result I ran away. I Ran away from my mother’s mom (notice that I don’t call her my grand mother, I’ll explain later) several times. One time I spent night in the forest in the dark. I don’t think I slept that night; there were too many strange noises to many creeks and cracks of branches. Today when I think of it there is no difference in me running away and a slave running from a plantation where he or she is beaten. Another time I ran away and slept in a bout house. When I was found the next day I was brought to the home of my father’s mother. For a second there I thought I was saved, they were so nice to me. I met my cousin Julia Luke. To this day we still talk to each other sometimes on facebook. But I wasn’t saved I was given back to my mother’s mom. And it started all over again. Not only did it start again but I was punished for running away. My mother’s mom went to a police officer friend and told him that I was being bad; as a result he put me in a sell for prisoners, with no windows, complete darkness with a small triangle in the door letting in just a ray of light.
I screamed my head off that day. I was told that I was only in there for five minutes, but for me it seams like years.

One would think as a police officer you ask yourself why a child would run away from home before locking him in a sell. To this day I have little respect for authority, they all seem like asshole who can’t think for themselves, brain washed bastards by a system not inclined to help those most in need. Do all humans need policing? And why should the humans who don’t, suffer the policing of those who do. Or even better if so called authority did their job like it was meant to be done would there be a need for policing? For many years after that I suffered from cluster phobia, I could not stand closed places, crowds. For many of the times I suffered as a child I became afraid of it all, I was afraid of life itself.

I was taken away from my mom’s mother though. Remember that lady I told you about that makes a big difference in my life? Well she sent my brother to get me. He found me cowering in a kitchen surrounded by filth. But no this is not where I get saved, because after that I may not have had to face physical pain or abuse, but a mental and emotional one was ever so present.
Obviously I don’t hurt for the same things today, and I wouldn’t want anyone to go through what I went. But that whole mask of pain that carried for so long eventually made me strong and gave me a need for love, it broke me down to an inch of my life. Trust me when someone is so desperate and hopeless enough to be willing to take their own life then it rock bottom.

Yes I am no longer ashamed to admit it. I tried to take my own life. I tied a o rope around my neck, tied the other extremity to a hanging fan and jumped….

When I came through, I was alone in my room, my eyes opening from darkness which I had slipped into. There I sat alone a broken fan next to me with the rope stilled tied around my neck, blistered throat hurting.

In that moment something happened, I had been transformed in some way, my masked of pain that I wore for so long became some thing else, something hard and strange, that stirred things within me. One would think that I saw the world with bright lights and I was happy to still be alive. For those of you who think that, you could not be more wrong. I saw the world for what I thought it really was, dark, ugly and unjust.
I was in pain no more, I was angry, frustrated, infuriated. I asked myself why did I have to feel all that pain, why does it have to be me every single time, what did I do? In that very moment I told myself that if I had to feel all of this its only fear that I share it. That I make them understand. It was like easy to convince myself that if I make them feel what I feel, maybe they will understand, maybe at last they will stop.
I was going to make them feel the pain I felt. Leaving my room and walking outside I dawned another mask, the mask of revenge….


Writing this now I can strangely say that all the pain that I felt taught me a valuable lesson, it taught me to love. I give as much love as I can to anyone who needs it. A strong believer in love of all forms, and I am an advocate for love that is why I am so open to everyone today. Everyone needs love in order to grow strong and good. Everyone deserves love, and no one should endure pain or have to carry it with them to learn of love, so I will keep giving and sharing, making sure that everyone gets some love at one point in their lives. This is a part of who I am today and I hope for ever. That is the legacy of my mask of pain. Have you showed some love today? Maybe you might save someone like me, help them take of the mask before it becomes something else.

TO BE CONTINUED…
COMING SOON THE MASK OF REVENGE

The 1001 Mask of Luke Jno Charles

Mask of pain part 1
What makes you tick? (Growing pains)

I’ve met hundreds of people in my life, most of them love me, some of them can’t stand me, and the rest? Well let’s just say…, the rest doesn’t know what to think of me. That’s perfect I like it like that. I understand that I have created that. Maybe that is what I needed.

At this point before I go any further I would like to explain why, I am pouring my heart out on paper. It is because of several people actually. You see my job allows me to meet lots of people and as such I share my stories with them and after hearing so many comments I decided that I should listen. It was Andy Alton, met him where I work at the regent’s college, he was telling me goodbye and it was so heart felt I almost cry, although I fought hard not to show it. William, my old friend William, who told me I should write my life down in a book, he would buy it. So there you go that is why I am doing this, sharing my story if you will.

So first step growing pains, I should think that every child that is born knows nothing of the world. But from the first slap from the doctor bringing that child to life, he or she starts to learn and react and grow. It’s a pity that most every child started their life out in violence. I mean please come on, what is up with slapping the new born baby’s ass. Talk about child abuse right there. Surely they have come up with a new way of making sure that baby is alive, by now.

So as you could have guess, the person who I have become is linked directly to my childhood. You can ask me what my childhood was like. Go on, I dare you. I personally don’t think I had a happy childhood, but strange as it may seem I would not change it if I have to. I think when I was a child I was scared of everything, seriously I was scared of my own shadow.

I was born of a young mother who never understood the meaning of birth control. The will be moments in my later years when I would ask her why did she not abort me, but that’s for another time. My mother was young like I said, so she was still living her youth, so obvious solution, have someone else raise me. That is where my grandmother steps in and my life in the Caribbean begins.

The beautiful island of Dominica, commonwealth of Dominica to be exact. Quite to often people thinks it’s the Republic of Dominica or Santo Domingo. No this is a little gem of an island between Guadeloupe and Martinique. An English speaking island surrounded by two French islands. Lush tropical forest, 365 rivers, blue sea, black sand beaches, a boiling lack at the top of an old volcano. In short heaven on earth, but like every paradise its counter part was needed and I guess to me that counter part was the hell of a life I was leaving and the things I had to deal with.

Physical abuse by your loved ones, getting beaten up, loneliness and more. No one knows this but did you know that as a child I suffered a bad case of malnutrition. My belly had swell so much I looked no different than one of the poor children they use in the save Africa advert. That is why to this day I am very self conscious about my stomach. Lets not forget the biggest of all, my sexuality.
As a child I didn’t know what or who I was, but I was effeminate, actually quite a lot so. Of course it didn’t take long for me to be called all the horrible names you can think of, fag, fairy, shit pusher, and I will spare you the rest. But when I look back at it you know what I found sad about that? Is that all those names that I was being called I didn’t really know what they meant exactly, I just knew they were bad. Simply by the way they were said, it’s like I physically felt the significance of the words and their social impact on me, before I could even understand the meanings. Obviously today I consider myself a bi sexual more than anything else, I revindicate (claim, demand, require, claiming, request, assert) it even. The other thing that was sad, it was not just kids my age it was everyone, adults as well. When you’re a child you expect adults to protect you. That was not the case in my situation.

You know what hurt the most in that period of my life? My bigger brother, Dunstan Peters. You see he was very popular, and had quite a following, but I don’t remember him once defending me, it’s the in action that I find hard. Over the years I’ve learnt that my brother is the one who needs defending and he could not have done anything to help me.
I guess who I am today started with all the pain, like a caterpillar in a cocoon struggling to immerge. Immerge I will.

Anyway enough with the water works. I’ll let you know I escaped some of that because I went to live with this lovely lady who is going to have a huge impact on my life. And as I continue to tell you the rest of my story you will learn to understand the 1001 masks of Luke Jno Charles.