Crystal Evans The Writer- My Writings, Unhappy Childhood and My Life

People sometimes ask me why did i become a writer or why did you write this story? Why is your stories laced with social commentary and elements of life among the Jamaican working class? Don't you grow tire of such themes? Are you writing about your life?

Response :

I once said i wrote books for every Woman with a the girl trapped inside that some man once told that she was not good enough. My aim is to create rather powerful heroines. Women who irrespective of their everyday struggles manage to be successful. Success does not necessarily mean glamour,their success could be transitory, a working progress, a dream on its way to coming true. My heroines are the women i have been, the women i am now and the women i would love to become. They are not me, they are a part of me. They are my realities.


Did i have an unhappy childhood? Yes, I have spent most of my life feeling completely out of sync with the world and growing up in a semi-literate community did not help. People saw my smart as meaning i was crazy, my anomie behavior as madness and to give legitimacy to their beliefs, they spent their time painting my intellect as weird and occult. I have since dumbed down around them so as not to make them uncomfortable. My success is unknown to many in my natal district, this kind of accomplish would scare the hell out of them.


I think the scariest part of writing is when you know that publishing exposes you. People will readily assume things about you and what you are about based on what you wrote. They will attack you if your writing does not reflect their viewpoint because it is so much easier to make it personal than to rationalize what you wrote.

My deviation from the standard caribbean or Jamaican literature has not really brook any respect from my peers. I am not a good writer. I am a novelist. I write what i feel. I do not know anything about technique than what i learnt at Sixth Form doing my A-levels. I write stories. I write about life. I have no other glamorous accomplishment to speak of so in my interviews do not ask me about what i have done with my life or if my writings are justified by a piece of paper a professional handed me stating i am licensed to do this.

My stories are not entirely fictional, they are for the most part influenced by real life events. My overactive imagination compensates for the banality of my existence and i suppose some other soul within my culture, children of my own socialization would benefit from a respite from this reproached reality.

Chapter excerpt: the country gyal journal

Copyright ©®™ Crystal Evans

I knew what I wanted for myself even before listening to the Kelly Clarkson's song that mirrored the poignance I often felt staring out the window of my grandmothers house during a late afternoon shower that left the air with an earthy perfume. 

I wanted to break away but before that I was happily content with my life. Mama would bring back patty from the factory and we would fry them over in the frying pan and eat it with Gratto Bread. I remembered my sisters and I eating out the peanut butter in the fridge or licking out the milo tin that mama hid in the cupboard. We would pull the chairs and take down Horlicks from off the fridge top and eat it like there was no tommorrow. Our favorite delicacy for lunch was bread and sugar or condensed milk washed down with water. 

When Christmas time came we had roast breadfruit and fried saltfish, I particularly enjoyed using my finger to lick the grease from my plate and if my granny was absent, I would readily obliged the usage of my tongue in the same manner. 

We had jokes and Dolly house was nice. We married each other with Bulla Cake and Water, sometimes we had money to buy dollar cooler and suck suck to quench our thirst as we played in the sweltering son. 

Sometimes when the rain came down like a torrential downpour we remained inside and played jacks and ball or watch Tv. We didn't have Dolls but managed to find some old weaves and plastic bottles to improvised. We had plastic Dolls and our nieghbour Kiesha mother sent down Dolly with clothes set from foriegn come give her. We were not jealous but vaguely aware for the first time that albeit we were never hungry, we still lacked and want. 

Our favorite past time would be carrying water from the standpipe across the cow pasture, early in the morning when the only sign of the sun was a chalky, powdery pinkish haze on the skirt tail of the horizons, when dew water wash your foot like rain and the mist of the morning smelled by leaves. When you use dew water to drop inna your yeye from it's dollop accumulation on the dasheen leaves because your granny  said it would get the gunk out of your eye after waking two mornings with it glued shut with matta.

  We would race across the grassy surface at the same time the common fowls marched across the cow pasture in lines like a soldier and we avoided sliding, falling face down in a pile a cow shit. In the days when we were not staring in awe at the length of Brother Roach Donkey penis, we would be hunting bees, using paper and bottle to trap them, then setting them free. We were oftentimes stung but never deterred, because chasing bees and butterflies were the happiest moments of our lives. 

We had games like Chinese skip when my sisters, I, Doodo Pet, Quennae and Puuchie Loo would play chinese skip until the sun went down or our parents called us home for food. We enjoyed roast goat seed, hog seed and the only thing we hated about Pigs was cleaning out the Hog Crawl. 

Boys were rude but never as violent as they are today. Boys had work to do like tying out the animals in the mornings and my cousin once lost a herd of goats in the hills, he could not sleep in the house as my grand uncle ordered him to find the goats before daylight or don't come back there. He slept in the hills that night even when my Granny cried shame on Uncle Roy for being such a heartless brute. 

I hated playing with boys because they hurtle the ball with too much speed therefore the impact was often more excruitiating that when girls played alone. We got more jokes, winced and pleaded with the boys not to crack a bone when they caught the ball in our usual bat-and-run-a-bound- games. 

These boys were not interested in playing crickets and flying kites on the open field in the searing sun like boys did when I was a child. These boys wanted console games and smartphones like the American teenagers on cable tv. They wanted to drive chromes vans and date women with chrome skin. Everything they valued had to look like silver or gold, shiny and attention  pulling like the lifestyles of those in movies. 

I remembered how my first pickney boyfriend kicked a ball and pushed the bucket of water off my head. It was unponderable the intensity of the hatred he reserved for me up until adulthood. I think he is still reeling over the comment I left him with, one I overhead my grandmother telling a man one day. " even if you gave me you hood, I wouldn't know what to do with it". I didn't understand what my grandmother meant by that but between eating the Mangoes and Guinep he brought from bush for me in a crocus bad, I told my twelve year old admirer that I was not remotely interested in him and his Dolly House business. 

Now I leave this community, glancing up at the regal spread of the mountains posed above the trees, kissing the horizon against the serene blue sky, meditating over the very purpose of my existence. 

The Country Gyal Journal

©copyright Crystal Evans 

Latest Novel 

Excerpt from The Country Gyal Journal! 

He slammed the door and I thought about all the people who slammed doors in my face ever since I was a baby. My mother who never gave me a dime in my life and had never been there for my sisters and I or my father who turned a blind eye while my stepmother verbally abuse us. 

I wanted to go back home but I could not face those bitches who would tell stories sprinkled with anything but the truth about how I left country thinking I was going to become somebody and ending up back there worst off than I was before. 

The men would have a field day and now that I was out of plastic I would not be expected to act like Ms Goody Two Shoes anymore. These bitches made me feel inferior my entire life while complaining that I acted superior to them. 

What a parody.  Me coming down Bucknor Lane with bags and belly big like a balloon, the women looking out at the spectacle, listening to the susso susso coming from the verandahs. I would be the brunt of female jokes for days and these women would relish in my failure as it would substantiate what they had suspected all along that I was never really better than them, just trying to be better like they did and failed miserably. 

I would join the ranks of the "has been", using my ass to wipe floor from sunrise until dusk, chewing on people's name like wintergreen, hoping that by bringing attention to the failure of others I would not feel as useless and inadequate as I really am. I would gain amusement from life's tragedy and spend my entire life as a gaping spectator.  I would prefer to lie beneath Andrew a million times and suffer his indignation than go back to those streets and join the ranks of the women there. 

I would prefer to fit in here than lower myself so that I can be one of them. I am never going back the way I came. I choose to be a maid and a concubines of my employer than to be another baby mother, lurking at the shop front trying to snare a man so that I can buy Lasco to feed my baby. 

Woman Scorned: Excerpt from Book

Love is an elusive emotion. You can't help it. It just happens, unexpected, unbidden. It is like a disease, a drug additive, constant and obsessive. Our reaction to someone we like is fascinating, intricate and confusing. Our angst about love and relationship is tied to our fantasies and ideation of what being in love is and suppose to be like. 

We might not admit it but we all have a checklist in our head of what we are looking for in a partner. We want that other half that we believe completes us. It is this mode of thinking that opens a trap door for obsession and addiction to love or the idea of being in love. Love is a powerful

Drug. A lovelorn woman's lover is a drug addict looking for a next fix. The slightest comment, look or embrace triggers a state of euphoria sending doses of dopamine into the blood stream. 

This explains why it is very difficult almost unlikely for a woman crazily in love with a man to be able to resist the temptation to call him, to seek out that "cocaine like high" we all experience in a new relationship.

And like the literally drug addiction, a high is often followed by an abysmal low. The perverse magic and materiality of love is a timeless obsession since the beginning of our existence. It is this unmerited, offhand feeling that makes a simple quirk of the lips or upward tilt of the eyebrows unmistakably sensual. 

Love lends an inimitable pleasure to the deep baritone of a man's voice, a seductiveness to the power of his leg strides and a breathtaking aura to his presence. Love transforms the growls, snarls and grrrrrrr of a man's voice into the sexiest attribute. You either have it or you don't!!! 

Love transcends the simplest of gestures into something extraordinary. Eyes that once behold the world become Windows's to ones soul, limpid pools of pleasure, glances of indiscretions and light feathery touches sending tingles from skin to bone. Your entire body awakens, fluids rushing into places and sensational sounds emits from ones lips involuntarily. 

When you fall in love. You unknowingly place your happiness at the mercy of another's companionship. Those who say otherwise, have only skipped cross the raggedy terrains of love in a parachute and from the other side -beckon you to come across its steep landscape barefeet. 

Black people and the belly full laughter

I am often surprised at the way unaccomplished people use laughter, often loud ululations to bring attention to themselves. They could never be laughing at me, I know their laugher is a sham to divert attention away from the paucity of a life. They like that belly full laugh. It means they are not hungry, at least not hungry for the right things. 

I was never given more tools than them so how come my success is responsible for their downfall. I never cheated, facilitate their failure and usurp success out of their hands. I merely sought to develop myself. People can hate others for their ambition, my grandmother would say that it's not her fault that they are theirs. 

Human's may seem as if they cannot make up their minds. They already have decided where they want you to be. You see if Oprah never made it out of Mississippi she would always be reminded about what happened in her past and most of her peers would use her past to discredit her. They will be like  "oh there goes Oprah thinking she better than us when she got pregnant in school or her relative raped her". You see your own will not love you until strangers start claiming you. They just trying to benefit from your stardom. Hoping the stardust will rub off on them when they tell people they know you from way back when. Oprah is a celebrity now, she's out of their reach, she's a real star because strangers heaping praises on her. They will celebrate her accomplishments because she's not near to outshine whatever reflected light ounces off them. 

When it comes to black people you cannot blossom in their eyes, it reminds them too much of their own inadequacies when someone from their own dirt paved streets makes something of themselves. It simply means they didn't try enough. Don't think they do not gloat with malicious satisfaction when the girl who is doing well in high school gets pregnant and become a drop out like so many of her peers. Do not let them fool you, we all know black people are crabs in a bucket, they are happier seeing everyone crowded at the bottom. I don't know if it is slavery that made us so distrustful of each other and insecure about our brothers prosperity. White man tricked us by dividing and conquering, but our insecurity is bigger than that it stems from our parents who indoctrinated us to only seek success for ourselves so that we might be considered socially superior to our neighbors. We become discomfiture with others success because we think that they view us in the same light that we were socialized to frown upon failed people. We think they look down on us and we create problems, distractions to keep the attention off our pitfalls. 

It is true there are many black people who believe they live better lives among whites than among their own. While they might have a point, and good reasons to get away from their own kind, we wished those who get out of the bucket would turn around and help a few good crabs out. 

Where ever you are in your life, it is truly a milestone for you. I don't know how far you are coming from and I genuinely believe you deserve every ounce of happiness and success that you have now because you have proven yourself worthy. 

Don't allow anyone to ever make you feel ashamed of your success because it makes them feel uncomfortable. Make the most of your life because chances are you will die alone. 

Crystal Evans Jamaica: The Writer

Good Morning 

Some one asked a friend of mine if "me can write book?"

Writing for Crystal Evans has never been about architecture or decorative language. Lie it can be like that sometimes. It is more about painting and sharing the canvass. I once told someone that I merely write what I see with my eyes. It's the same experiences that you talk about the only difference is that I choose to put it on paper. 

My entire writing career has been an act of revision. I share the foibles of my experience with interest and sympathies for the human interactions I have. Even them (people) have not yet discovered that they are mere actors on a stage and that within a drop of water lays the entire universe. I don't create myths, I paint a portrait of truth.There is much revealed in our everyday interactions. The most humbling truths are discovered in ironies.  My eyes are my windows to the world. I may not become a great writer. But I have never found one writer that has written anything that I would call garbage because even fools and the insane have a story to tell, we can if we look deeper, learn from them. I aim to plant seeds in the minds of the youths that will come to fruition in their adulthood. Writing to me is the truest art, it is a superb talent because its invention has made dead men immortal and transform the tides of our future. 

Strive not to be a merely a success but a value to your society... Borrowed Albert Einstein 

Crystal Evans

Http://Jamaicayouthempowerment.info/

If you want guarantees in life, then you don’t want life. You want rehearsals for a script that’s already been written. Life by its nature cannot have guarantees, or its whole purpose is thwarted.

To live your life without expectation–without the need for specific results–that is freedom.

~~~ Higher Perspective

Gussy's Homecoming: Buried like a King

Today is Gussy's Funeral, he had a phenomenal cleaning day, an inimitable grave digging and historic Wake and I am almost sure he will have a thanksgiving service unlike no other. 

I believe that if Jesus was killed by his own people then any of us, as good as we might be, as Puritan as our moral stance or as transparent a character as we are, our individuality is forever at the mercy of the tribal values.

There are many Ghetto Jesus that we crucify along with thieves because people within our own communities set them up. We have Pharisees and scribes who sit on their self righteous throne and pretend to want good for our collective well being. When In truth they are only seeking their own individual opportunism and salvation... It's a facade, it's not really about us. It is about them. 

The self righteous must be poked with the truth to shatter their fake veneer and allow their real personalities to explode like a dynamite. 

We are the architects of our society which means it is not set in stone. We can break it and rebuild it anyway. Why do we pretend that our notion of a society is not intangible and pliable to our aspirations?

There was a time when slavery was considered acceptable by very Christian, highly religious societies. What does that say about how we as a people see injustices. Well it is ok to be cruel to people if they are from certain economical circumstances or if "upper echeleon" of society deems it so. We tolerate injustices as long as it does not affect us or it benefits us in some way. 

I gave a tribute at Gussy Funeral about how I thought someone like him who has done more good than bad for his community was killed by the protectors of our community was a chilling paradox. Gussy who several pastors attest to assisting with community charities. Grandpus a man who we all knew from childhood was dying in an infirmary and Pastor Evans had approached Gussy with his wish to be buried not by the infirmary but the generosity of his community. Gussy told pastor Evans no problem, just get everything together and I will pay for the package. That was Gussy... 

A boy crashed in a bike collision and his mom could not afford his surgery and she approached Gussy. It cost 100,000 dollars and in a few hours Gussy rounded up contributions from every one and the mother was on her way to saving her son. 

A young man of poor circumstances died, a destitute old man and Gussy along with his friends assist with the burial. Gussy gave to the poor and assist the needy. He has done more for this community than any elected politician, he was only twenty four years old. 

If you wanted to do a business, Gussy was approachable. Everybody could come to him and ask for assistance. Gussy made dreams come true. Gussy send pickney go a school. Why do you suppose the officers allowed us to properly mourn his death instead of treating him like the common criminal some people assumed he must be to be gunned down by the police. 

Man has an idea for a play involving key actors in the Jamaican play community. He approaches Gussy as an investor. Gussy started advertising his play the Wednesday and he was killed the next morning. That's my last memory of his coming from his afternoon football session with his friends driving his brothers jeep advertising an event no one has ever considered doing here. 

Restocking Hardwares, building a pool bar, a craft market in Negril for his older brother. Investing in parties, committing to charities. Is he a criminal or a martyr? 

Well yes he might have been a criminal in the eyes of some people. If so be the case then we have police and politicians that are criminals too but we don't hear anybody demanding that they be gunned down and flung into van back like a dog.

 Oh Right, I forgot, Gussy mother sell pon roadside and him daddy push hand cart fe mind them and when him couldn't manage the economical strain of taking care of the children , he abandoned Miss Madge. Gussy Father admits at the grave digging that if Gussy walked past him, he would not even recognized his own son. He cried when he admitted that Gussy called him several times, saying "daddy cone check me no". He cried that Gussy called and told him about what he was doing and everything he bought. Gussy was a forgiving young man and reached out to his father. 

None a you have any right to judge these youths cause unoo don't know weh them a come from. I carried water from stand pipe up until I was seventeen years old, I had to get up every morning go clean out my fathers business place and the house before u go school. Sometimes me late. I have back problems now from carrying those heavy jugs and I can't sleep till morning light because my body is trained to wake before dawn and do domestic chores. I thought my life was hard then but I now realise that some people have it worst than me. My father never abandoned us. He might not have been the greatest father but I was never hungry and I went to school everyday. Do you think it is fair to Miss Madge for someone to take away her child that she has made sacrifices for and invest in before he came to actual fruition? 

Stop reasoning with your prejudices and classism because that is what this is a about. A girl wrote that we should never assume that my cousin went to heaven because him was never living a life to warrant entrance in the kingdom of God. I kept thinking " what the fuck does she know about Gussy? He has done more good than her and as far as I am concern in a greater position for heaven than she, the pastor himself said that gussy better than nuff so all Christians because he had a good heart . 

I know because Gussy black like a tar and he looks Ghetto cuz poverty no wash offa him yet. Hard life still a show pon him. He does not look refined and he's not related to anyone important. He's a king where he is from and that is most important. Gussy will always be remembered, he's done more for this community than people born inna money yah. I know one particular one, you couldn't even get a thousand dollar fe borrow from him cuz him always bruck and him a drive convertible. And Gussy gave away thousands of dollars. But mr convertible might contend that Gussy was kind and him end up dead cause its his generosity that lures the good and the evil towards him. That maybe do but it never deterred him from giving back to the poor. I have to learn to live with his death. It's gonna take the woman in me to get over his death. 

When i see people from near and far bawling and wailing at sight of the escalade drawn chariot with his lifeless body in a glass casket. I know from every indication that he was loved by everyone. 

Death had an epiphany on me. It has a way of putting life into perspective. When Checky was murdered, I no longer I obsessed about the fifty something pound I gained after my daughter because Checky lived in a gym everyday, everyone knew how he worshiped his body and to see all that hard work go to waste. I would have taken Checky back even if he was fat like that Gabriel girl that played "precious" because I liked interacting with him. Gussy death exposes how much I should never take anyone for granted, cherish every moment I spend with the people I love because you do not know when someone is gonna your life. 

I do not know how anyone can think it is ok or justifiable for Miss Madge to bury her son after all that she has invested in him. After struggling to sell on the road side and pushing hand cart to buy the chicken back and the bag a rice to feed her four sons and three daughters, someone or any one deserves to deny her the right to get grandchildren from Gussy... Smh... Donkey say the world no level. 

Note to Self: Crystal Evans

I saw Tyler Perry made a post on Facebook earlier regarding a note to himself when he was younger. I realized that I too have often looked back on my younger years and wished I had known half of what I did now. Truth is I would have spent more time reading instead of playing Jaxs, cricket, bat and run a bound, volleyball and netball. I would change so many things if I could live my life over. 

But then life is all about living and learning. I was born an empty vessel and if I had parents to teach me certain things and create a firm foundation I would not spend so much time trying to find myself. If only my family had sought some of the lofty ideals that they held for me then they would have given me a jump start on life. Truth be told they didn't know much so they could only afford to share with me what was already revealed to them. My dad recognized my passion for my books and he propelled me to seek educational advancement so that I could have a better future than he did. 

I have come to concede that committing to my academically task was not so much of a burden but because I was distracted by so many things happening in my life, I was unable to do my best.i turned out pretty well but people believe that I could have done better. I have come to realize that there might be some merit of truth in their perspective. 

At twenty five, I am committed to making the best of my latter years. I believe for the most part that god has a unique plan for my life and whatever happened in my past was shaping me for the future. God is sculpting me for something great. If Nelson Mandella can go from prison to presidency then there is hope for me. 

Note to myself 

Conflict Resolution to fight Crime in Jamaica

I was watching the news last night where a family member was murdered because she controlled a family house and there was an ongoing dispute over it. I think one of the biggest catalyst for crime and violence is domestic disputes and until we can find effective ways to resolve our issues than resorting to murder then we will never have a peaceful jamaica. As a youth politician I believe that we need a rigorous conflict resolution programme that engages our community and we need mediators who can help to settle disputes before they escalate into body bags and funerals.




We have to build community programmes and outreach centres where mediators are placed within communities that have several flare up of intermittent violence to assist in helping citizens alleviate some of the disparities and frictions that often arises during their day to day associations.

People in Jamaica are not taught to apologise. This is a central issue within our society where people refuse to admit and acquiesce whenever they are wrong . We need an overhaul of our morality continuum. I heard that the minister of education, The Honourable Ronny Thwaites purported that a tolerance subject be added to the school curriculum.

I believe that our school needs an ethics class where children are encourage from youth to be tolerant of people, to understand that someone's opinion will differ from yours as people have divergent views and different experiences. People who do not conform to your beliefs should not be ostracised, murdered or maimed because you are offended. Children are encourage to always seek mediation instead of "chucking" violence whenever you and someone have a misunderstanding. We must emphasize the value of human life and relay the notion that murdering someone does not solved any problem in hindsight, it creates more violence such as reprisals etc.

We must also encourage our children in this curriculum to learn that walking away does not mean you are coward and even so cowards will always live to see another day. We should teach them also that sometimes the only way out is to stand up for what you believe in. Do not let anyone cower you into fear and submission by duress. We only submit to people that we respect and value their existence because it complements our humanity.


We need to rebuild our trust in the police force. Crime and Violence escalates because people with knowledge of criminal activities and perpetrators are afraid to give information to the police because most crime lords are alleged friends and allies of Police Officers. Until we get a collaborative effort between citizens and police officers we will not be able to eradicate the stench of criminality within our communities.


Politicians often think that crimes are committed on the basis of needs and wants. This maybe true but there is a growing dynamism within communities in Jamaica where the prevalence of guns and the accessibility
to guns for many young men has made assassins wealthy and parlours a very thriving business. There are bigger issues because in areas where Member of Parliaments and Councillors are absent than young men murdering and stealing. Where they are not role models, governance, young men easily become soldiers for the wrong set of people.


Our children especially our young men should be persuaded not to carry out people's dirty work. When I was a child we went to church every Sunday. We need to get back to our roots, Most of our values and morals are stemmed from our Christian principles we were taught as children. Our children need to go to bible school so that they can be morally shaped.

"One Love: Jamaican Blogger Tag"

I was going through the Jamaican community of Bloggers and discovered this on many of the Blog Sites `

THE RULES FOR THIS TAG:

-Title your post “One Love: Jamaican Blogger Tag”
-Link back to the blogger who tagged you ( you may add a brief definition of what a tag is if you for the benefit of your readers)
-Copy and paste the rules at the beginning of your tag.
-Copy and paste the questions as well so readers know what’s going on.
-Answer the questions (No duh!)
-Tag seven other (untagged) Jamaican bloggers to continue the trend. Kinda forces you to make friends, no?

The questions are as follows:

1.Why did you give your blog its name?

Haha actually I got the name from a Guy i used to date . Kudos to Doctor Rohan Mullings for that name (such a smart ass). I wanted to write about how i was feeling at the time, I had fallen rather sickeningly in love with some random guy and writing was a form of therapy for what i was going through and when other women started emailing me about their relationship issues. I decided that I might want to do this not for me but for other women too.


2. Why did you start blogging and why do you blog now?

Because it offered me a platform to say what I wanna without having to censor my writings and also gain audiences for the books I published.Blogging is my life. I started out as an aperture for venting my feelings and it has morphed into a podium where i can pontificate my ideas and perspectives upon my audiences. I think writing has always been apart of me i mean, you do not come second place in Jamaica in CAPE literatures IN ENGLISH FOR NOTHING.

3. Do you think being Jamaican influences your blogging style?

Yes it does. I mean I have lived in Jamaica, all my life and its culture intrigues me at times and some other times, I wanna run away and not come back here at some of the antiquated beliefs that so many Jamaicans have. It is a unique kind of place with a complex set of people bonded by similar historical and social elements.

4. What do you think about the increase in Bloggers in Jamaica?

It is a good look, it means that people are thinking and writing and I am glad that so many of us who do not have a platform like a local newspaper where we can share our ideologies are afforded opportunities to express themselves. I have been reading other blogs by Jamaicans and I am impressed by what I have encountered and some of the stories that are out there.

5. What is your favourite thing about being Jamaican?

I like the creativity of our people and if most of us were afforded the opportunity to express our myriad of talents then that would be a move forward towards the progression of our society. Most Jamaicans are blunt and I think it is good that my Jamaican parents don't grow cowards as I observed in some other cultures. I mean children are taught from your young that this world is a cruel, evil place. Parents do not really sugar coat reality in Jamaica. What you see is what you get.


6. Ackee and saltfish or “ (mackerel) run down”?

Definitely a ackee and salt thing. me love it with the white rice and everything else. I love tin mackerel if a that you a ask and the mackerel with the ackee and some pumpkin rice. yeah a me that.

7.Stew peas or stew chicken?

Haha i love stew but i love stew chicken, with a little pepper and some ketchup with a little sugar in the gravy...old time style yuh know.

8. Tastee Patties, Juici Beef Patties or Mother’s?

JUici beef my thing deh especially the cheese patty. lick lick lick

9. Pantucky or KFC?

DWL. This is a hard one, love my jerk chicken and yes the occasional Kingston fowl coop. but Jerk chicken with roast breadfruit or a piece a bread is definitely more finger lickin than kfc because i hate all that fry food in one sitting but love kfc still.



10. What do you hope to be the future of blogging in Jamaica?

With the advent of the Jamaicablogawards i think that blogging has a great future in Jamaica, moreso as i said before that this coming generation is committed to social media and will be turning to the internet for information on their culture either or recreation or scholastic studies. We the blogosphere are here to fill that gap by providing content that is credulous, witty, educational and engaging for this new computer/reader generation that is coming up.

Tag:
Battymatilda
Corve Dacosta
Perceptual Post
EBFellowship is on twitter @place2belong
Javed Jaghai is on twitter @Chatimout
Jaevion Nelsons
MooreMayhem - Carla Moore
- See more at: http://dmarcuswilliams.blogspot.com/

What are my beliefs? What defines Crystal Evans?

Have perseverance as one who doth forever endure, thy shadows live and vanish, but that which is in thee shall live forever more;that which is in thee know, for it is of knowledge, not fleeting life, it is the man that was, that is, for whom the hour shall never strike!

The Voice of the Silence HP, Blavatsky

What constitutes Crystal Evans? Why am I here? Why am I different from most people I know! Why do I make discord with the societal instruments that existed long before I was conceived in my mother's womb.

Why do I interrogate the core beliefs of the society that I live in? Why do I challenge men to treat women better? Big Society to give the youths a chance or Criminals to realize how ,much their behavior is detrimental to the advancement of this noble race? The human race. 

Why am I purporting that one be intrepid in face of ignorantly driven animosity? How do you reason with someone with the psychology of a nine year old with underlying psycho social tendencies that has nothing to do with you?

How profoundly do I believe that my concepts will be internalized by a society that is more interested in instant gratification, bling culture and being ingrates to people with money? How do I convince them to begin to dig deeper than popular belief to embrace the truth of the universe. People tell me I have changed. Yes I have grown much into myself in five years of blogging. Finding my true purpose, day in and day out.
I read a book that claimed that the true meaning of life is growing into our full potentials as sentient beings.

What happens when I die? The laws of nature suggest that energy never dies, it just moves from one host to another. I read a book written by a Buddhist years ago that claims that death to the organized mind is but yet the next great adventure. Another book suggests that every life we live, we experience it on a different plane. If we make the most of this life then we are birthed into the next realm into a better life.
It does offer some comfort to know that death is not permanent unconsciousness infinitely.

I do believe we live on in our children and that is how we gain immortality. I do however subscribe to this philosophy being that we eat plants and animals, when we die, plants and animal feed on our decomposing corpse. Life within itself is one great cycle.
I envision that death must be like when I fall asleep and the night events past with me being ignorant of it. I also assume that dying must be like the fight I have with my eyes when I try to stave off sleep but it eventually beats me.

My body involuntarily does what it wants despite what my mind tells it to. That's the revelation, this world, its illusions, the unknown, all exist in my head..
Hence my belief in Karma....

I am no greater than any other human, just being true to myself...