What does Independence mean to me?

By Anansi’s Daughter

The first thing I used to look for wasn’t the parade… It was whether Daddy say we going to watch the fireworks tonight. Every August, Trinis does become patriots overnight. Suddenly everybody profile picture have a flag.

People who cyah remember where they put their passport suddenly know every word of the National Anthem. And somebody auntie posting, “Proud to be Trinbagonian!”…right before she asking if anybody know how to apply for a Canadian visa.

I have to laugh because that’s us. We could complain about Trinidad from sunrise to sunset. Crime. Traffic. Groceries. WASA. T&TEC. The potholes that have addresses of their own. But let somebody from another country say one bad thing about Trinidad…Boy…Whole Facebook unite faster than doubles does sell out on a Saturday morning. “Excuse me? We talking about we country. Not you.”

Proud to be Trinbagonian!

Growing up, Independence wasn’t just another public holiday. It was a whole season. School assemblies, little children sweating in starched uniforms trying not to drop the flag while singing Forged from the Love of Liberty. Teachers reminding us who Dr Eric Williams was and why August 31, 1962, mattered.

History lessons suddenly becoming real. Somebody always volunteering to be Dr Williams in the school play because they knew they’d get to wear the famous spectacles.

Then came the parade. Soldiers marching so perfectly in step yuh wondering if they ever blink. Police officers. The Defence Force. The bands. The uniforms. Everybody standing a little taller.

And when night fall, it was time for the fireworks. Every child asking the same question every five minutes, “When they starting?” Then the first explosion hit the sky. Red. White. Gold. Green. Everybody stop talking for just a moment, even the adults. For those few minutes, nobody thinking about bills or work tomorrow. We just looking up together.

Proud to be Trinbagonian!

And then there is everything else that makes us… us. Carnival, where complete strangers become family behind a music truck. Calypso reminding us that music could tell the truth better than any newspaper. Soca making people who say, “Ah staying home tonight,” suddenly end up in a fête until sunrise. And steelpan… imagine taking an old oil drum and creating one of the most beautiful instruments in the world. Only a Trini would look at scrap metal and hear music.

Then there’s the food. Lord…the food. Doubles. Bake and shark in Maracas. Corn soup after a fête. Pelau. Callaloo. A proper Sunday lunch with macaroni pie that everybody secretly judging. Pastelles at Christmas. And if Granny cooking…forget the diet. Today belongs to she.

Then Tobago…If you’ve ever watched the sun setting over Pigeon Point, floated in the calm waters of Store Bay, or stood on the sand at Englishman’s Bay wondering how somewhere so beautiful could be real, yuh understand why visitors come once and never stop talking about it. And somehow, we does still take it for granted.

Proud to be Trinbagonian!

But more than the food…more than the beaches…more than Carnival…what makes me proud is we people. The neighbour who carrying over a plate because they make “a little extra.” The doubles man who know yuh order before yuh even reach the stall. The maxi driver waiting two seconds because he see yuh running. The church auntie making sure everybody eat after Mass.

The way we laugh. The way we lime. The way one conversation outside church could last longer than the Mass itself. We have a way of making people feel like family.

Now don’t get me wrong. I know things hard. Sometimes the grocery bill does have me praying before I reach the cashier. Sometimes the news does make me wonder if we’re losing ourselves. Sometimes it feel easier to complain than to hope.

But Independence reminding me that loving a country isn’t pretending everything perfect. It’s choosing to see what is still worth protecting. It’s believing our future can still be brighter than our present.

And as Christians, maybe that’s exactly how God calls us to love. Not by ignoring what is broken, but by becoming part of the healing. By raising children with values. By serving our communities. By choosing honesty. By praying for our leaders. By loving our neighbours. By refusing to give up on this little twin-island republic.

Because freedom isn’t only about what happened in 1962. Freedom is choosing hope over hopelessness, choosing forgiveness over bitterness, and choosing faith over fear.

So this Independence Day, wave the flag. Sing the anthem. Watch the parade. Look up when the fireworks light the sky. Take a drive to Maracas. Spend a weekend in Tobago if yuh lucky enough. Dance to a little Sparrow, Kitchener, Machel or Kes. Eat the doubles. Call your family. Tell somebody you love them. And thank God for Trinidad and Tobago.

Because after all is said and done, after the fireworks fade, after the flags come down, and after the parade over, I could still stand with my hand on my heart and say, Proud to be Trinbagonian.