Jasmine Wanders

I happened to be on campus yesterday to watch a concert, though the graffiti and artwork captivated me instantly and re-sparked my interest in the fight. I think the photos speak for themselves.

I was less like a kid in a candy store and more like a crack addict in an unarmed cocaine lab. I greedily passed from stand to stand, slurping up all the free samples I could get my hands on – about six in an hour.

Women stuffed in skinny jeans a size too small clack by in heels that would be out of place in any other small town outside of Colombia. Farmers in mud-splashed gumboots wheel their bikes past taxi drivers racing around town, singing along to ranchero music blasting out of their cars.

I thrive on freedom and enjoyed the independence immensely. So when this family invited me to live with them a couple of months ago, I had my reservations.

Street art styles are as diverse as the city’s residents, ranging from political statements to crew advertisements to aliens, robots, and other expressions of artistic capabilities.

Can I just be Jasmine, a girl that feels at home everywhere and nowhere at the same time? A culture vulture, a restless soul, a citizen of the world, a seeker of answers to those eternal questions that have plagued me for years?

It’s just some of the things that I’ve been fantasizing about since I left Trinidad & Tobago in late February 2010, after dancing around in sparkly bikinis for 48 hours straight with my sister in downtown Port of Spain.

The park is home to different varieties of ducks and birds. Some even pose for pictures, like this handsome guy with the crusty gunk on his lip.