Living in Jamaica is a unique experience for me. I am from a small town in Colorado, that I refer to as "Pleasantville," even after working with victims of domestic violence for 2 years. While I remain more than aware that violence and hate occurs in this town, my Pleasantville hometown allows young women to wander the streets alone at night and children to roam free in the streets, watched by their all-knowing, loyal neighbors. It is not required that you lock your back door at night or your car when you leave. Unlocked bicycles scatter the town; after all, stealing a bike in this town would be bad "bike karma" and no one would think of jeopardizing their fate. Weekend festivals invite well-to do families who walk from their downtown Victorian homes, recently remodeled with the finest products, all of which are environmentally friendly, of course. There are very few homeless animals that wander the streets because vet students are everywhere and most every local owns at least one dog. Lush gardens take over the green lawns used to replenish the Saturday Market and locally owned Food Coop. Community living is important to the people here and local businesses are supported with extreme loyalty. Coffee shops operate with volunteers and donations to various non-profits. Hiking trails are filled with the adamant out-doorsey locals; walls of rock littered with climbers; gangs of bicyclists on the ambitious climb up steep, windy roads to the mountain reservoir. Beautiful, serene and clean, I live in a responsible, safe and healthy city; the perfect havin for yuppies and Whole Foods markets. 

Does it sound nice to you? It is. This fine city was once named the best place to live in the U.S. Sound too good to be true? It is. That's because although this caucasian majority, upper-middle class society offers amazing comfort in a beautiful setting, it lacks a sense of reality, diversity, culture and color. Its a comfort zone that is all too reassuring to the local kid who has grown up in this Pleasantville, never to call another place home. The "everyday is the same" lack of adventure and excitement bores me to tears. I have never felt that I was learning so little. I've never felt so unfulfilled. Where's the comfort in safety when every moment lacks spontaneous life-altering events that inspire us to grow and learn? Where are the less fortunate people, who ask for our compassion, left with nothing but constant struggle, who nonetheless strive to succeed in spite of their challenges? All the while inspiring those of us with more opportunity to not take advantage of the luck we were given in life. And where are the local farmers who see harvesting and fishing as a way to survive, pouring their hearts and souls into providing for their families? Compared to those who farm for something to do in their spare time, throwing out the vegetables when no one consumes them? Where is the old woman, who has absorbed more wisdom in her years than I could ever imagine having; slaughtering chicken to make herself a meal and with successful luck, selling her fine meal to those who see it as second best to grocery store quality? 

These are the lessons that my soul was striving for, unable to obtain in a town full of luxury, security and pleasant faces. Growing incredibly frustrated, I put a thought out into the universe, concentrating my energy outward-asking the universe to send me an opportunity in which I could grow, learn from others and use my compassion to spread good energy where it was needed. And funny that without directly asking, my father's good friend asked if I wanted an intern position at his resort in Jamaica, a country whose customs and culture was vastly different from my own. 

Now having been here 2 months, I can honestly say that I have a love/hate relationship with Jamaica. After all, it is this place that has completely forced me from my comfort zone, exposing my vulnerabilities despite the many attempts I take at subconsciously avoiding it. And while, at moments I am entirely inspired and spiritually aware, there are also times that I am completely hopeless and let down, feeling as though I've failed at everything.

The blogs I will be posting are my stories, a real account into what I'm feeling as a new found Jamerican, caught between the good and the bad, the reality of the situation and the sugar-coating view of what you want to hear.