ALL REIGNS MUST COME TO AN END

Queen Elizabeth died. I tested positive for Covid.
We both had a good long run.

No I am not comparing myself to one of the longest reigning monarchs of all time. But at the end of the day we are all dust and ashes. And before that we are a multitude of things.

I consider myself a healthy person but I will also overindulge on food and wine. I will walk thirty blocks without a second thought but the mental coercion prior to a simple YouTube workout is, a lot. I despise clutter but I will let New Yorker magazines pile up until they’re an impossible task.

I am neither a royalist nor a monarchist but I enjoyed the Netflix series The Crown. I’m a bone fide fan of each actor that paid tribute to the Queen. I know only the broad strokes of British history. I am more intimately familiar with the colonial domination of my likkle island. It is but one story among many, the Empire was far reaching. But the scars are so deep the wound sits in the marrow of Jamaican society. It’s in the very breath, imperceptible to the eye but you can feel it whisper across your skin every once or so. So while there is a great deal of lovely chubbly stuff Queen Elizabeth represented, she also represented of a repressive institution responsible for multiple generations of trauma.

While many mourn there are many who do not. History is complicated. Emotions are fast and easy. Let grace flow both ways. None should be forced into the performative gestures of their forebears, pickaninnies on parade. That’s my two cents. Let grace flow both ways.

The photo of the Buckingham Palace gate was taken on my first visit, which was also the eve of Meghan and Harry’s wedding.