Posts Tagged ‘death’

Birth: An emerge from unconsciousness into a state named Life.
Life: Colourful activities of an abstract existence occurring every day.
Day: A duration of sunlight or brightness intercepted by night.
Night: A darkness indicating a complete rotation of Earth.
Earth: Home of all living things until death.
Death: A resumption of unconsciousness.

Again, as we wake to the noises of life and its never-ending chaos, we embrace today without choice; this is life, a fated existence beyond our control, journeyed with speculations and vain pursuance of ideals, religions, politics and wealth, harnessed by trained emotions of prejudice and endless -isms while being staggered by love.

And so, Earth’s natural murmurs are drowned out by our activities, gradually, we grew deaf to its tune and blind to its revolving order, as crucial information subsides.

Still, there is hope. Earth is big, and we occupy only a small part of it.

Explore outside the confines of man-made societies, trek to the mountains and inhale, swim in rivers, lakes and seas; exhale. Discover other creatures in their natural habitat. Say nothing, and you will hear the natural melodies of Earth, apply patience and you will hear the message.

© Ian T. Sebas 2019


Psychological trauma is ranked as one of the most severe disturbances experienced by humans, with its ability to not only cut deep, emotionally, but to embed its effects for durations lasting up to eternity.

These durations vary from human to human, depending on age, genetics and individual environments; for this reason, it is not viable to think that an abused toddler suffers more and or longer than an adult, who have experienced a psychological disturbance.

Sexual abuse ranks high among psychological traumas, including but not limiting to rape, molestation and incest. Other psychological traumas spawn from exposure to violence, deaths, duress, hunger, disappointment and severe pain.

The term psychological refers to our mental state, our minds, our brains; the part of our bodies which operates as our consciousness and trauma is defined as an upset, a disturbance, a negative effect with the potential of causing permanent damages.

Thus, when a human being suffers from any degree of psychological trauma, health and livelihood are highly threatened and in most cases, injured.

There are no existing nor promised cure for sufferers of psychological traumas, but there are many practiced exercises which offer temporary reliefs and on the plus-side, depending on the age when a person initially suffered psychological trauma, a chance of it subsiding and allowing a healthy life is likely.

My theory is that the lingering effects of a psychological trauma, experienced by a child, depends on the length of time the sufferer lives, the practiced lifestyle and the environment in which the individual lives, after experiencing the mental abuse.

These elements equally tip the mental scale to subsiding and compounding the initial trauma.

I describe my theory as molasses and milk, using a glass of milk to represents a child’s pure, unfreckled, mind-set and the thick, gooey, dark molasses as the psychological trauma.

Add any amount of molasses to the glass of milk and the effect is obvious. The more molasses added will enhance the milk’s impurity.

My theory uses a glass of milk to represent a child, who is commonly expected to grow.

Furthermore, I am using a worst-case scenario, where the glass of milk was equally blended with molasses, leaving the milk darkened and insipid. If left as is or in a position where molasses continues to be added, the milk will eventually be fully consumed and lost; therefore, if the traumatized child remains in the environment where he or she is reminded of the trauma or further trauma continues, as with the milk and molasses, the health of the child’s mental state will eventually become incapacitated.

Likewise, if the glass of milk is removed from the environment and no more molasses is added, its growth will gradually dilute the tarnished effects; therefore, if the traumatized child is removed from the environment of abuse, to an environment where abuse is absent, growth combined with the adapted lifestyle can eventually subside the initial traumatic effects.

© Ian T. Sebàs 2017

© Ian T. Sebàs


Shape like a boomerang, Elma Crescent starts and ends with access to West Main Drive; at least the numbers that really mattered, when I was growing up there.

An approximate forty addresses, known better as yards, with nearly two hundred combined residents, and although we lived in our individual yards, in reality, the residents of Elma Crescent were like one big, gigantic family; everyone knew everyone, and at one point or another, all the mothers mothered all the children and all the fathers fathered all the children.

Respect, of course, went in the sequence of age, and like all family, there were often disagreements, feuds, fights and make-ups among various combinations of the residents.

On Elma Crescent we ate together, played together, laughed together and when there was a death, which from time to time did interrupt our livelihood, we mourn together.
I lived at No. 1, which was one of the few ‘big yards’ on Elma Crescent. A “Big Yard” is otherwise known as a tenement yard, which in actuality is one address with several individual houses within the property; No. 1 had three different houses, housing Miss Carmen, a quietly spoken woman, with a “I’m better than you” attitude; I think it was because she had been one of the few people, who, at the time, had previously lived overseas, Canada, I think.

She had a son and a daughter living with her, that was before Ver and Charlotte came to live with them, then there was Peter, who lived there with his mother and muted sister.

Also there was Min, Olga, Valerie and their brother, Young; altogether they had a few children, including Tony, Shane, Marlon and Kurt. They were blood relatives, who got along one minute then at each other’s throats the next. Very rarely, if ever, did they actually feud with anyone else outside of themselves, but like I said, they had their hands full with each other.

Valerie, whom I called Miss Valerie, out of respect, was the cutest of all, but she was also the most competitive; still, that’s for another story.

There were other people who lived at No.1, including Orette and another couple who had a baby, but they were quiet, for most part, so not much to say about them; including myself and my brother, who everyone nicknamed Sleng, because of his height, there were nineteen people at that address.
Next door at No. 3 was Miss Vi, her husband and their four children, Juliet, Bobby, Mushy and Christine. Miss Vi was deemed the mother of all mothers, for two reasons, (1) when she cooked, she never cooked only for her family of six, she prepared super large meals which were usually extended to other residents and (2) she had one of the few televisions, on Elma Crescent, a small black and white TV, which she occasionally put out in her back yard, for all the neighbourhood kids to watch.

Over at No. 5, another big yard, was also another family full house, there was Christopher nicknamed Buffalo, Conrad who we all called Con or Condozer, Annie, argumentative Jeanie, Speaky-spokey Patricia, who got that name from always adding unnecessary big words to her conversations, Carol, Ava, Sonia, Butty, who never seemed to age, Marcia, Bangy and his brother Byron; among them were a father/uncle and mother/aunt. And like the family at No. 1, they feud among themselves and often time with other residents too.

Feuds being loud enough for all the residents to hear was a normal thing for everyone on Elma Crescent.

At No. 7, was another small family, Tespah, his mother, father and I believed a little sister; the father was a cop. They mostly kept to themselves, but in the evenings when the sun went down, they all came out and briefly socialized.

No. 9 belonged to Dwayne, nicknamed Scrappy, his sister and mother, who spent more time in New York than at Elma Crescent, so it was not often that the home was occupied.
But next door to it, at No. 11 was like most of the other homes, there was Andrew and his brothers, Rohan and Philip, living with their mother who shared the home with her sister, Chick, who had two sons, Conroy and Adrian; Conroy died very young when he got hit by a vehicle while trying to cross Washington Boulevard.

I can’t quite recall who, if anyone, lived at No. 13 and 15 but at No. 17, another tenement yard was where Steve lived, with his Mother, Pam, and little brother and sister, Tony and Kerry-Ann.

Then there was “The Gutter”, a walkway which led to Washington Boulevard, a spot where we, the kids, mostly hung out before and after a game of football, and sometimes in the late evenings.

No. 19, was where the Pastor lived with his family. Oswald and his brother, who later got the nickname, Johnny Barnes, moved in, next door, at No. 21, with their mother and two sisters; the front of No. 21 was a home and the rare used as a church.
One of the sisters was sexually assaulted, on a summer job, got pregnant, had a baby and died shortly afterwards.

No. 23 belonged to the Sheddens, Stephanie, Sean, Philip and Joy; Plummy was always there, but I was never sure if she actually lived there. Next to the Sheddens was supposed to be No. 25, but remained an unfinished project.

Mad Marcus lived at No. 27 with his niece Angela, nephew Timmy, who went to Germany once and returned as a completely different person, plus his mother. Marcus was not actually insane, but because when angered he would come out on the street naked, we all agreed that he was mad; rumours of incest overshadowed that family.

And if my memory serves me right, Kadeesh, the only white boy in the neighbourhood, lived at No. 29; he was noticeably white, but he was considered to be one of us.
Cachie, who was rumoured to be a prostitute, lived at No. 31 with her mother, son and daughter. Her brother Lee, lived at the back and ran a radiator repair business from there. Cachie’s son, who we called Big Chief was stabbed and killed by his sister over an apple.

Herbie and Pat lived at No. 33 with their children. Herbie was the godfather for most of the boys in the neighbourhood, who offered apprenticeship to work in his auto repair shop which he operated from the back of his house. If it was not car engines and oil changes, it was music; Herbie’s second offered apprenticeship was music, where I gladly partake and developed a reputation as “King”.
No. 35 belonged to the Chambers, Donavon lived with his parents, younger brother, Tedroy, an older brother,Troy, and their sister.

And next to them lived Morant and relatives….. (to be continued as Elma CrescentThe Even Side.)

Ian T. Sebàs © 2016