Blue-Colore-Personal Narrative

Sand, crystal waters, clear skies, and tall coconut trees serve solely as the frame for this event I am about to encounter. From approximately two hundred feet away from the event’s location, I relish the smell of freshly baked Johnny cakes and fried Old Wife fish on my nose. It was without a doubt that I was bound to have a good time. No drinking age limitations would be placed on the amount of red, young, plastic cups everyone around me are about to consume or the anticipated natural high that the soca music brings to our bodies. I am underage, and so are many other people within my proximity. However, I deem myself not worried because this event is Carnival, the idealistic Caribbean setting for relaxation and fun.

As I sway my hips from left to right I sense no signs of negativity, although I know danger exists. My mother is at home watching her favorite episodes of Scandal and CSI: Miami, while my father is at the local bar placing bets on his favorite horse. The numerous young men around me loitered with their pants dragging below their butts due to their magazine-filled pockets. The young women mirror my actions, and we enjoy the aura. We are not scared. We have adapted to the idea that if a crime happens that we must run for cover, to the idea that the

Their actions in the sense that everything must be an eye for an eye. As a community, we typically find ourselves wrapped up in so many negative circumstances because of our inability to communicate effectively with one another. In order to fill this void, my community tends to look toward the infamous white F enclosed in the dark blue background. This form of social media served as the median between two opposing forces, and fist fighting was typically the last resort. Thus, in attempt to determine what my brother was fighting about, was literally a couple taps away. I decided to search through his Instagram to see what he might have been involved