It’s been a year and a few months since my last blog….(I am so tempted to say it – so here goes “Bless me father for I have sinned”) 
It is not that there is no desire to write – I just happen to find myself at a crossroad. I consider myself a rather unique individual blessed with a range of talents. My determination to use all my talents to the fullest leads me to have a very full and I daresay interesting life. In the words of Erma Bombeck _ I wish to go before God at the end of my days and say I have no more talent left because I have used them all.
This crossroad that I have reached does not really raise the question of which talent to stick with but rather how to combine them all so that when I present them they represent ALL of Gina Rey Forest.
I, being a poet and photographer before anything else, found myself appalled at being so reluctant to take up a pen – even though the inspiration is there. On the other hand, I finally figured out that the reason I couldn’t bother is that people generally like to place me in the box that they are most comfortable with. So why give them something new and exciting and different? But inactivity is a decision also and why should I be true to their perception of me when I would rather be true to myself?
Why do we have this need to define ourselves? Why paint ourselves in a corner and say this is my little box, this is all I am. Why not paint ourselves towards the door so that yes we have this brightly coloured room when we leave and walk out onto a brand new canvas and then say there is a possibility that I can be more.
In my current life situation, I find myself counseling young adolescents (another talent that I did not realize I had and would not had I painted myself in a corner) – they find my life exciting and interesting when I find it to be normal.
They find it interesting that I moved into their community (a downgrade of circumstances in their eyes) while I view it as a necessary move to be with the one that I love and who loves me. They ask themselves what kind of woman am I when I will strap on a backpack and hike through dense bush, go on a wild hog hunt, camp out in the night and not be afraid, then recite poetry that moves them (to tears sometimes), play a practical joke on my kids, lecture them about showing caring for their father, yet have no concern about how they feel about me. I go out on a fishing boat with him, I will dive with him, and yet sometimes choose to stay at home and play in my garden. At the same time, I will rant and rage when the house is dirty (I tell them it is because I hate housework and therefore do not want any created for me). I am a licensed fisherman, computer literate, a photographer who would rather showcase real Jamaican life on a postcard rather than the regular tourist attractions. I write books on various topics, I love history, I talk to my dogs and my cat as if I expect them to respond with a verbal answer (why should I limit them either – one day they might). They find it interesting that I will tell my kids – mostly girls – that it is not necessary to get into the tracing and cussing out loudly – when according to them – when I speak – even quietly – a few well placed words delivered in what they call my firm voice makes them feel as if they been properly cussed out and that they wish I would just “trace them off” instead.
I am nothing anywhere near what their perception of a woman should be. They are stunned when I tell them that I do not know what it is to hold out my hand to a man to ask him for money because I have always worked to support myself.
How do I define myself when others have so much trouble defining me? I do not fit neatly into any box. There will always be an arm protruding, some toe poking out or some tear that will appear on the same box. And why should I?
So I guess I will continue to be as “me” as possible – undefinable, mysterious. Just when you think you have me figured out – you will see something else. If you see a product of poetry and /or photography, an event that is not like everything else, that is unusual and so outside the paradigm – it’s okay to wonder if I did it.
