My father left Jamaica when I was three. We were practically strangers until he suggested I live with him in America while attending college.
In the U.S. — my new country, my new home — writing became a necessity for my survival. I wrote in journals, scribbling poetry to pacify my homesickness. I liked to imagine the words floating on water, carrying me back home. Writing helped me navigate the complicated relationship I had with home and, most importantly, with myself — each identity in conflict with the other. I wrote to make sense of it all.
I took classes at Nassau Community College because my father wanted me to acclimate while he kept close watch. I obliged. He was very protective that way, although he was hardly around...