The difference between being human and being a reporter

     I'm a reporter when a corrupt politician does something wrong. I'm a reporter when a drug dealer gets busted for trafficking cocaine. I'm a reporter when robbers and burglars get away with things people worked hard to get.

     But sometimes... you can't be a reporter. You have to be human.
    
     When I got into this, I was warned it would be hard. They told me I'd have to work weekends. Mornings. Nights. Holidays. I wouldn't be able to see my family, they said. I'd have to work my ass off for the same amount of pay that someone stocking shelves at Wal-Mart gets paid.

     I carry around a heavy equipment bag, filled with a camera, lights and microphones and I lug a tripod around on my shoulder. I set up live shots by myself. I ask questions that I think the public wants to know the answers to. At the end of the night, I get calls from the side I pissed off telling me they're unhappy and people lied to me blah blah blah.

     They told me I'd have to love it, or I'd go crazy.

     Well -- I do love it. (Side note -- I still think I'm going crazy)

     I love pissing the bad people off. I love when people ask me how I do what I do. I love live shots and writing scripts and editing my own work and standing on a box and delivering the news.

     I love what I do and I wouldn't trade it for anything else.

     But there is one thing I don't love. In fact, I might venture to say I hate it. It's the one part of my job that I know I will always hate doing, but it will always, no matter what, be part of my job. And the responsibility of having to do this one thing will only grow throughout the years.

    People die. People go missing. People are murder and people kill themselves. It's the sad truth. The world would be in real trouble if it didn't revolve like this. Unfortunately, not only is it up to the detectives and other law enforcement, and EMS and hospital workers to see death and to deal with the impact it has on family members, it's also up to the reporters.

     We have to ask the questions that hurt the most -- what was he or she like? Did you see this coming at all? What do you want the world to know about them?

     To the family members... all I can say is sorry. To the family members of the Spirit family whose grandfather shot his six grandchildren, daughter and then himself in Bell, FL, I'm sorry; to the father and husband whose daughter and wife were shot in cold blood inside their home in Ocala, I'm sorry. To the family of Melvin Persenaire, whose loved one, known as "Sarge" was found dead in the woods in Bronson, I truly am sorry. But you have no idea how much it meant to me that I was welcomed inside your home and you spoke to me like I was a human, not a reporter.

     I like to think that most people do things that are in the best interests of others. That's at least how I strive to live. When I picked a career that I knew I'd be stuck with for the rest of my life, I knew I wanted to somehow help people, and I wanted to do things that normal, everyday people didn't do.

    Of course, I'm new to this whole reporting thing -- and relatively new to this whole life thing -- so there are a plethora of things I'm still figuring out. But, what I can't figure out each and every time I have to walk up to someone who is hurting after the loss of a loved one, is how this is possibly helping anyone. Yet, I still have to do it, and for that, I truly am sorry.
     
     But you know what, every time I do this, I also hurt. Not as bad as the family or friend, but I hurt. I see the sadness and the loneliness in the eyes of those grieving, and I hurt. I don't cry then and there and I don't give up or walk away, but I do hurt. And I'm glad for that -- because the second I stop hurting, that's when I stop being human. And if I turn into a reporter doing the hardest part of my job, I know I've failed as a person.
   

Just a word on what I'm craving...

Doubles, man. Doubles. You can't find them ANYWHERE in good old Gainesville. NOWHERE.

It's actually quite upsetting. But anyway, I suppose I should explain what they are and why I love them so much.

Doubles (pictured above) is a common Trinidadian and Guyanese food. As you can see, it's basically a sandwich-type food. The "bread" is somewhat roti-like. It's called bara, it's a bit thicker than roti, and it's smaller. The internet describes it as "flat fried bread". I'm sure you get the point. The filling is called channa - basically curried chick peas.

They're freaking delicious, man. And I miss them so much. Top them off with some pepper sauce, and you have the most delicious meal a vegetarian can down. My mouth is watering.

Recipe time! (I totally got this from the internet, am too lazy and have no time to make them, and will just wait until the next time I go down to SoFlo to eat some).

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Original recipe here: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Doubles-234097

Ingredients

For dough:
1/3 cup warm water (100°-110°F).
1/4 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon active dry yeast
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground turmeric
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper

For filling (curried channa):
2 cups dried chickpeas, soaked overnight in 6 cups of water, or 1 (16-ounce) can chickpeas
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 medium onion, thinly sliced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 tablespoons curry powder (see Tips, below)
Pinch of ground cumin
Salt and ground black pepper to taste

For assembly:
1 cup vegetable oil
Hot pepper sauce (see Tips, below)
Kuchela (see Tips, below)
Thinly shredded cucumber

Preparation

Make dough:

In small bowl, stir together water, sugar, and yeast. Let stand until foamy, about 5 or 6 minutes.

In large bowl whisk together flour, salt, turmeric, cumin, and pepper. Stir in yeast mixture, then add additional warm water, if needed, until mixture comes together into slightly firm dough. Knead dough in bowl 2 minutes, then form into ball and cover with damp cloth. Let dough rise in warm, draft-free place until doubled, about 1 hour.

Make filling:

If using dried chickpeas, drain and add 6 cups fresh water. Simmer until tender, about 1 hour. Drain. If using canned chickpeas, drain and rinse well with cold water.

In heavy skillet

over moderately high heat, heat oil. Add onion and sauté until translucent. Add garlic and sauté 1 minute more. Mix in curry powder and sauté 30 seconds, then add 1/4 cup water.

Stir in chickpeas, cover, and simmer 5 minutes. Add 1 cup water and cumin. Season with salt and pepper and bring to boil. Lower heat and simmer, uncovered, until chickpeas are very tender, approximately 20 minutes.

Assemble:

Punch down risen dough and allow to rest 10 minutes.

Dampen hands, pinch off walnut-size piece of dough, and flatten into 4 1/2-inch diameter circle. Set aside. Repeat with remaining dough.

In deep frying pan over moderately high heat, heat oil. Fry dough circles, in batches if necessary, until lightly browned, about 40 seconds per side. Drain on paper towels or on wire rack set over baking sheet.

Place 2 tablespoons filling on 1 piece fried dough. Add pepper sauce, kuchela, and cucumber. Top with another piece fried dough. Repeat with remaining dough and filling. Serve as snack or appetizer.

Are we a product of our raising? An American Reporter with Guyanese Blood--

Here's the thing... I'm American. A proud one. I'm probably more proud of an American than most Americans I come across. Know why? I'm grateful. I grateful for every single opportunity this country throws my way -- freedom, education, the ability to meet amazing people who have changed my life and continue to do so.

I cannot say I'd have these opportunities if I were back in Guyana. I know I wouldn't. Thank you, 'Merica.

So not only am I grateful for the opportunities I get every day I live in this amazing country - I'm grateful for the people who brought me here - my parents. The people who sacrificed their livelihoods, left their homeland, everything they knew, to bring their children to America - for one thing. Opportunity. One word has never meant so much to me and my family.

Now, growing up with Guyanese parents in America... that's a different story. I'm sure neither of them would have imagined I'd turn out to be a reporter. A doctor, an entrepreneur, a housewife even. If they knew their daughter would grow up to make standing in front of a camera and holding a microphone talking about shootings and drug busts her passion, I'm sure they would have raised me differently.

But I wasn't raised to be a reporter. I was raised in the most Guyanese fashion one can find outside of Guyana.

I'll explain what that means...

The values, the standards, the rules.

For instance...

One of the most common questions I get from my American friends is, "why don't you watch movies?" Yea, it's weird. If someone asked me to make a list of all the movies I've watched in my life, I could probably write them all down on an index card. I don't watch movies.

Why? Well, when I was growing up, my parents didn't make that a thing. They didn't set us down in front of a television and have the TV be the babysitter. They made us do our homework. They made us do chores. They made us read books. They made us go outside and ride our bikes. Movies? TV? Video Games? Yea, okay.

I remember having many conversations with my parents where my brother and I sitting in our rooms slacking off and doing nothing productive was just not an option. It was not. And I love my parents for that. I know the meaning of hard work because of that. Today, I always feel bad when I'm not doing something productive. I even feel sort of bad whenever I watch movies or play games.

Well, Americans watch movies. Now... I know it's not a big deal. But I've grown to notice that this has taken away from my ability to small talk, to understand references. Every time someone brings up a classic movie I didn't see growing up, it reminds me my childhood wasn't normal.

How about my life plan?

I'm not completely sure what my parents had planned for me, but I can tell you that one scenario from my childhood has always stuck with me --

When I was younger, I remember my parents would have us do chores, constantly. It taught us the meaning of hard work, and let us get just a glimpse of what their lives were like living in Guyana - working from sun up to sun down.

So, we would wash and clean the car every two weeks or so, clean the house from top to bottom every Saturday, pull the weeds from the garden in our front yard every Sunday. We would always be outside doing something, and I remember our neighbors would constantly comment on how hard working we were, how our house was the nicest on the block. You're welcome, mom and dad!

I'm not sure why this particular scenario has always stuck with me - but one day I was pulling weeds. My mom called me inside to help cook roti. I didn't want to. For some odd reason, I wanted to stay outside and pull weeds. Well, it turns out, according to my dad, at that time, "girls do work inside, boys do the work outside". Meaning, I would have to go inside and cook because that's what girls do.

Looking back on it now, I laugh. I laugh because if I told my dad about that now, he would think he was absurd for saying that. He's changed so much since then - I don't even know how to cook roti and he's fine with that.

But those are the little things that have always stuck with me - things I know are not how "normal Americans" were raised. But that's what my parents instilled in us, the thought process I've had to escape from throughout the years - the boy does one thing, the girl does another. Well, I don't need no man. And when I have a man, we'll share the duties. And my parents know that.

Okay, one last thing, probably one of the most important things that have affected my career...

I wasn't raised to talk - I was raised to speak when I'm spoken to.

That sounds a lot harsher than it is - but it's true. Now, this hasn't stunted my ability to talk - obviously my profession is based around talking. But it has made me hesitate as to when the right times to speak are - and those times don't always match up with the times that are actually right to speak, as a journalist whose constantly trying to get information out of people.

Don't get me wrong - it's not a matter of whenever I would speak, I was told I was wrong for speaking. That's not it at all. Simply put, I was raised to believe that I should always be careful what I say and how it comes out. The teeniest, tiniest hint of rudeness or know-it-all tone would result in obvious disapproval - there's a time and place for everything you say. Careful.

My point is - I wasn't raised like other reporters. I wasn't raised to run my mouth. I wasn't raised to be outgoing to live a life full of fun. I was raised to work hard, make a decent living, get married, have children and make sure the cycle is continued. I was raised like other Guyanese children were - sternly.

I may not be married and I may not have started a family like a traditional Guyanese girl would at this age, but I'm happy.

At the end of the day, my parents support my choice to be a reporter. This is my passion. The life I live today and the job I love doing every day shows that people are not a product of their childhoods. People can change if we set our minds, our hearts and our souls to it. And I have changed.

I've changed from the shy, uncertain little girl who barely ever spoke to anyone to a confident, beautiful, intelligent and hardworking woman my parents are proud of.

2010 - last day of high school (I always wore my hair like that, btw)

2014 - Three months into TV20

I didn't realize it growing up, but happiness is what my parents wanted for my brother and I. In my adulthood though, they've shown that that's the case. And you know what? That's proof they can change. They changed for their children.

Thanks, mom and dad. I love you.

Any Indian would appreciate this --

...Even some non-Indians!
It's an ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL A Cappella of Bollywood Songs from 1940 to 2013, and it truly does make me nostalgic! I grew up listening to all of these songs ... and now bits of them are wrapped into a cute little video, sung by these six very talented men! I know what I'm spending my night listening to... Enjoy!

Sh*t Guyanese Parents Say!

OH MY GOODNESS THIS IS HILARIOUS!

Just wanted to take some time to share this amazingly funny video. As a child, I got every single one of these from my parents & this video had me dying! Any Guyanese kid can attest that this is exactly how Guyanese parents act. I'm SO glad there are others who got this - WAY too funny. Props to the actors who put this together - you pulled it off perfectly!

Dhal & Rice & Caraila

Dhal & Rice & Caraila - it doesn't get any more Guyanese than this. This meal is my childhood. It's like the Guyanese version of what American kids think of broccoli - it's disgusting when you're a kid... but you magically love it as you grow up.

Caraila is also known as bitter melon. Yes. Bitter is the perfect word to describe it. It's got a kind of taste that I'll never be able to explain... so I won't even try. I found a very informative site on it that you should definitely check out if you're interested -- http://caribbeanpot.com/tag/guyana-corilla/

I absolutely devoured that caraila today & I think what I appreciate most about it is it's extreme health value. From what I've been told & what I've read, caraila is "good for your blood" and has been suggested as a substitute for insulin for diabetic patients.

I've always had caraila with shrimp - it just adds more flavor and makes it seem like you're not just eating a big old bowl of bitter.

Dhal is a staple of India that was brought over by the Indians when they were taken to Guyana by the British. It's basically "split pea soup" with added Indian spices and seasonings & I would never be caught eating caraila without it! Check out the Wikipedia page here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dal

So after doing some further research, I've discovered there are a million crazy ways to make "dhal" & they all come out way differently from each other. But luckily I was able to find the Guyanese version here: http://www.inner-gourmet.com/2011/08/guyanese-staple-dhal.html

That's almost identical to how my mother makes her dhal & it's got pretty pictures to help you along!

The best thing about dhal, in my opinion, is that if I want a quick meal, I can just pull out some roti & dip it in my dhal & call it a day. It's basically what I grew up on & it fills my right up!

And that, ladies & gentlemen, was my Guyanese meal of the day. Oh - and there was pepper sauce right to the side, buried in the caraila... mustn't forget that ;)

The best Guyana-themed movie I know!

For anyone looking to learn more about the history of Guyana & doesn't want to spend time reading up on the country, this Guiana 1838 will capture your heart & educate you at the same time! The movie tells the story of the African & Indian slaves who were brought to the country by the British. It shows the foundation of the country & the reason behind many of the cultural tensions that are still present today. It was also shot in Guyana, so you'll get a glimpse of the beauty of the country as well. I definitely recommend for anyone who is interested in learning more!