It is easy, on a clear week­end morn­ing, to mis­take Mara­cas Bay for some­thing eter­nal—the curv­ing of the sand, the green wall of the North­ern Range ris­ing sharply be­hind it, and a blend of the Caribbean Sea and At­lantic Ocean press­ing in with steady force, all com­bined to sug­gest per­ma­nence.

Of these two, si­nus is by far the more com­mon. It’s be­cause of the chang­ing cli­mate. The air is be­com­ing more and more pol­lut­ed This ir­ri­tates and in­flames the lin­ing of the res­pi­ra­to­ry sys­tem which re­sponds by over­pro­duc­ing mu­cus and oth­er chem­i­cals that cause dis­ease.

For years, peo­ple mis­un­der­stood you. They fo­cus on the wrong fea­tures, make as­sump­tions and miss what tru­ly mat­ters.

Some may con­sid­er it a flaw or a char­ac­ter­is­tic to be rid of. But for Aken­na Kublal, vi­tili­go has changed her for the bet­ter, shap­ing a sto­ry of pro­found strength and re­silience.

As Trinidad and To­ba­go con­tin­ues to re­flect on the mean­ing of In­di­an Ar­rival Day, the mem­o­ry of the late for­mer prime min­is­ter Bas­deo Pan­day lingers pow­er­ful­ly—not on­ly be­cause of his po­lit­i­cal lega­cy, but be­cause of his en­dur­ing ad­vo­ca­cy for an­ces­tral iden­ti­ty and cul­tur­al recog­ni­tion.

For the vis­i­tor, the most im­por­tant con­sid­er­a­tion is what they want from their vis­it. Is it to achieve a phys­i­cal mile­stone, or do they want to ex­pe­ri­ence amaz­ing views of Bei­jing and take great pho­tos?

In the or­nate halls of Schloss Leopold­skron — where lake mist meets baroque grandeur, and The Sound of Mu­sic once framed cin­e­mat­ic his­to­ry — con­ver­sa­tions turned this year to some­thing far less nos­tal­gic and far more ur­gent: the fu­ture of cul­ture it­self.

For half a cen­tu­ry, the rhyth­mic heart­beat of Skif­fle Bunch Steel Or­ches­tra has echoed through south Trinidad—a tes­ta­ment to re­silience, cul­tur­al pride and un­wa­ver­ing de­ter­mi­na­tion.

The roads that wind through San Raphael to­day of­fer few clues that this qui­et east­ern Trinidad com­mu­ni­ty stands be­side one of the most sig­nif­i­cant and trag­ic land­scapes in the is­land’s his­to­ry.

If you look close­ly at Kes the Band’s much-raved-about NPR Tiny Desk Con­cert per­for­mance, you’ll see a smil­ing De­nil­son Gul­ston play­ing con­gas, bon­gos, and cow­bells next to his fa­ther, Dane Gul­ston, on the steel­pan.

Every young artist dreams of tak­ing the stage, lights, mu­sic, and ap­plause. For most chil­dren, this dream is lim­it­ed on­ly by imag­i­na­tion and op­por­tu­ni­ty. For Kay­ley Da Cos­ta, the jour­ney to the stage re­quired some­thing more: an ex­tra­or­di­nary fight against her own body.

As the rainy sea­son re­turns to Trinidad, so does the rise of par­vovirus cas­es seen in pup­pies. Ca­nine par­vovirus, com­mon­ly known as “par­vo” or even mis­pro­nounced “par­go”, is one of the most se­ri­ous, con­ta­gious dis­eases that af­fects dogs, par­tic­u­lar­ly un­vac­ci­nat­ed pup­pies, lead­ing to se­vere ill­ness and death in Trinidad through­out the year.