Color Matters

I live in a remarkably spacious cement house right in the middle of San Ignacio town. It’s a pretty sweet spot – good location, not far from the South Indian restaurant run by my uncle’s fellow Malayali, George, as well as a little movie theater that puts on free matinees every weekend. There’s more than enough room for me to knock around comfortably, and I have a little private patio for my hammock, and a yard full of brand new kittens next door. My landlord is a lovely, slightly deaf older man by the name of Mr. DePaz, who insists on taking me out for a beer (or several) every time I go by to pay the rent. All in all, I dig it. My only complaint about the place is that when I moved in, it was painted in the most hideous shade of dooky brown. And when I say painted, I’m talking about EVERY SINGLE CONCEIVABLE SURFACE. Walls, ceilings, trim, cupboards – ev er y thing. Even if I were a fan of dooky brown, I think it would’ve been overkill. It was painful. And depressing.

But, with a little assistance from a mother who understands the harmful psychological effects of depressing paint jobs, I’ve remedied the situation. One thing I love about living in the Caribbean is that there’s no reason not to paint your house outlandish colors. Everyone around you is doing it, so why not? Hot pink, electric blue, eye-popping chartreuse, you name it. I decided it was only fitting to go for shades of Caribbean blue and turquoise. Might even help keep me cooler in the sweltering tropical heat. I can’t tell you what it’s done for my state of mind…

aaaah...much better!