Marrying a Stranger: Papers & Pens.
The 80s - Jamaica - Love
The following stories and associated articles were originally published in 2023- 2024. I re-edited them for new subscribers. From March 31st to May 9th, I will release these stories twice a week while I’m in Malaysia and China. If you want to support my work, please consider becoming a paid subscriber. Your interactions with these stories and articles will help me deliver the type of writing you want when I’m back from China.
*Originally, this post was supposed to come out yesterday, but due to a Subtsack glitch, my scheduled posts disappeared the day they were supposed to be released. Now, the system won’t let me schedule posts anymore. Also, some of my drafts are randomly deleted. I also don’t receive notifications when people comment on my posts—if I haven’t responded to you, you know why. The support team has been unable to help me with these glitches.
I hope I don’t have to move my publication elsewhere.
This series is designed for Substack. Each story stands alone, but it holds more weight for people who start from the beginning.
Each story has a related cultural psychology and sociopolitical article.
A quick summary if you didn’t start from the beginning.
My father, a wild-hearted seafarer, claimed he knew my mother was "the one" the second he saw her. My brother and I had heard the story before, but this time, it was with his cancer diagnosis hanging in the air.
Back in 1981, my mother stepped off a train in Antwerp, only to find my father waiting—without knowing her schedule, just a feeling. That "feeling" turned out to be hours of watching trains pass, but it worked.
So, was it love at first sight? Who knows. But when he told her he was heading to the Bahamas and Jamaica a few weeks after knowing her, my mother asked, "Can I come with you?"
Marrying a Stranger: Papers & Pens.
April 28, 1981. 10:30 am.
Miracles happen at 10:30 am.
Gary and Alex stand in front of the locksmith which is on the floor below the Civil Register of Marriages' building. They are both dressed more stylishly than me, even though their freshly ironed pants are a size too big and cover the leather shoes.
"Di only ting mi fada lef' behind," Alex says, proudly pointing to his shoes.
Alex's Jamaican creole is even stronger than Gary's, but his low voice sucks me in and forces me to concentrate on every word.
"You guys look fantastic," Catalina replies, stroking Gary's back to straighten his shirt.
"Fi a beautiful lady, wi do anything."
"Alright, alright. Let's go," I say, taking Catalina's hand as we walk up the narrow staircase to the second floor that leads us to the Civil Register & Marriages office.
"Shall we?" Catalina says, opening the door to the office where a Jamaican official sits behind an impressive desk, wearing a suit with a stiff collar and French cuffs finished with golden cufflinks.
He bows his head and then looks paternalistically over his glasses as he says, "Welcome to Jamaica."
His gaze slides over Catalina's mauve long skirt to her dark purple top. Then he appraises me, my white pants and a slightly crumpled shirt that barely passes the stylish Jamaican's scrutiny.
"So, you are Lucas Jan Amandus—”
The second the name Amandus leaves his lips, Caty bursts out laughing.
“—Janssens.”
"Yes, sir."
The official squints, tapping his teeth with his index finger as he looks up at Catalina.
After another minute, she stops laughing, and whispers, “I didn’t know your middle name was Amandus.”
I smile at the official, wondering if he judges the trivialities we haven’t learned yet.
"And you want to marry this beautiful lady, Catalina Renata Thiers," he says.
"Yes, sir."
He licks his finger to flip another page in the marriage documents. I can read the letters from where I’m standing, but he doesn’t seem to decipher—or want to decipher—what I’ve written.
"Is it true that you stayed at the mansion of Lady Tiyana yesterday?" he croaks.
Must be a good customer of Lady Tiyana.1
In Catalina's dancing eyes, I see she rather enjoys the description of "mansion."
"Well, we will change the name to a good hotel in Montego Bay. We do have good hotels in Montego Bay."
"Thank you," Caty says as the tip of her nose curls with suppressed laughter.
The official’s eyes quiver as he gauges Alex and Gary.
"First, the witnesses must sign this document with their full names."
He motions Gary closer with a slight hand gesture; his eyes glued to the golden pen he hands Gary, making sure he won't replace it with the Bic nestled in the breast pocket of his floral shirt.
Then it's Alex's turn.
"I cyaa write," he says as he nervously fiddles with his pressed trousers.
"Just your full name, Alex," says the official.
Catalina encourages him with a supportive smile, and Alex leans over the desk. His hand trembles as it slowly moves across the paper. He signs his name and reads aloud, "Alex Ander Stone."
The official shoots an irritated look at Alex and says, "Your name is Al-ex-an-der.”
"My mother calls me Alex," he replies firmly.
"So your second name is Ander?" the official sighs.
"Alex Ander Stone."
"I hope he didn't write 'd' after Stone," I whisper to Catalina.
Unable to convince Alex Ander otherwise, the official connects Alex and Ander with an elegant curve, adding character to the marriage certificate.
Relieved that the Alex-Ander issue is resolved, the official asks if I can provide the rings.
"Well, uh, I don't have..." I stammer. "We thought—"
"Rings are boring, sir. We have necklaces. They come all the way from South Africa. Made of ostrich feathers."
Once again, the official's mouth falls open, and he repeats to himself the word "ostriches." Not gold, not silver, and God forbid, diamond necklaces, but jewellery made from the useless wings of ostriches.
"Yes, well… Okay. Dear Catalina, please put the necklace around your husband's neck."
She’s about to do as instructed, but—
"No, Catalina, the white necklace is for me. I've been wearing it for weeks." Then I silently add, "Besides, the black one is more expensive, seven dollars instead of five."
As the words leave my mouth, I realize how stupid I sound.
"Lucas, please put the necklace around your wife’s neck."
My wife?! The words buzz in my ears, and then it hits me—I am married.
With admiration, I look at my wife. She's like a bloom in the breeze, content to sway with the whims of all that transpires.
"Yow, dat cool, yuh a get married a Jamaica, man," Gary says. "Mi never a go forget dat."
"Yeah, man, so cool, so cool. Love a float inna di air.," Alex Ander sings.
"I wish you all the best for the future. Love each other, and enjoy a happy life," the official says.
It's clear that the man bears the weight of the spectacle, touched and yet relieved it’s over.
Or so he thinks.
"Sir, I still have one question," Catalina says, turning around at the door.
"Yes, dear Catalina, how can I help you?"
"Where can I get a divorce in Jamaica? You know, just in case.”
The office falls silent.
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Related cultural psychology and sociopolitical articles.
The mansion of Lady Tiyana is the brothel where my parents unwittingly ended up the night before their marriage.