The Eyes Have It

I'm no snowbird, not by a long shot. When I first decided to visit Jamaica, it was my first time leaving the Continental US since I came from my little twin island years before. It was the middle of January and I was just excited about thawing out in a more desirable climate. For the flight, I picked up a few magazines to occupy myself, one selection being King magazine. Sidebar: One of my guilty pleasures consists of poring over misogynistic glossies. It gives me a bird's eye view of the horny counterculture I've come to know so well. My moral compass doesn't exactly point due north, but that condition has been...well..conditioned. Anyway, while thumbing through the pages, I spotted an item that seemed apropos to my getaway. The truth behind the famous wet t-shirt Jamaica poster that caused many to stop and salivate stare. Instantly, I recognized it from countless record shops and travel agency windows of yesteryear.

Upon reading, I learned two very significant things. Firstly, the luscious beauty in the Jamaica ad is none other than Trinidad native Sintra Bronte. Words can't describe the merriment this little factoid filled me with. Can you say 'bait and switch', Boys and Girls? Apparently, what you see ain't necessarily what you get. So for all those titillated tourists who scurried down to 'Yard' in search of similar hot young 'tings', they were likely disappointed. For the fine island women sweet like 'Julie' mango- a trip to Trinidad would have fared better...no disrespect to the rest of my Caribbean sisters.

As I read on, I discovered something even more interesting. Something that spoke to me louder than any nationalistic pride. Bronte is quoted in The Jamaica Gleaner: "The photographer said to me, 'Sintra, I want you to think of the most beautiful thing or person while posing.' I thought of a Jamaican man I had fallen in love with from the first day I set my eyes on him. That picture was dedicated to him and will be for the rest of my life." This resonated with me on so many levels. When I look at that poster now- I am drawn to the look in her eyes. She looks to me quite simply, like a woman in love.

On any given day, I can mentally retrieve a myriad of pictures of myself that captures her exact sentiment. For the intended viewer, it was crystalline with just one look into my pupils. In each photo there is no denying that I was bar none, unequivocally, head-over-heels in love. My own eyes speak of a permanent devotion forever tucked away from others. Away from prying eyes and curious bodies- longing to know what my soul tastes like. Only one person knows. My eyes could never mask that. Sintra has been there...truly, madly, deeply. And so have I.