I called him Coconut Man. Just outside my window, across the decaying main road, was a grove of palm trees basking in sunlight. I sat on my piano bench and watched his hunched figure push his wheelbarrow along. He moved in calypso rhythm, so typical of slow island life and a result of a limp. “Coconut Man!” I screamed. When I first encountered my friend as a toddler, I had taken up calling him Coconut Man for that was his...

Having grown up in Sint Maarten, I am attracted to all of Caribbean's folk and lore. When I encountered the works of Zora Neale Hurston depicting Caribbean identity, I was instantly enthralled by her powerful and expressive voice commenting on life, rich in familiar details and vivid anecdotes. Her works were so close to my heart that I could clearly envision myself as one of her characters- struggling, living, loving. I came to learn about Barnard College where she developed...

Performing can be lonely. The piano is a funny creature. Its smile never dampens and lights up with the touch of fingers. How envious I am! The seven-year-old me was eager to perform. Children are marvellous performers because most, like little me, lack insecurity. Mistakes were inconsequential because I was armed with a weapon of mutual camaraderie. Yet as I grew older, I desired to attain perfection. In my pursuit, I lost sight of what music meant. See, that was...

“These may be my last words,” whispered Chai Ling. Across the screen, nearly thirty years after she campaigned for democracy in the Tiananmen Square, I sat mesmerized by her ability to confront death around her. I had a poor grasp of Chinese political currents before I completed my IB Extended Essay on the Tiananmen Movement. What it meant to be Chinese was a dominant question: I was ethnically and culturally confused, having grown up with a mélange of colours...