I like your weight. The slim, pecan shell-colored gentleman softly declared his appreciation of my figure. He spoke firmly, but gently, as his dark eyes beheld mine own. He had deftly mastered that complicated balance of respect, clarity, and male appreciation that bedevils so many contemporary men. It was at this moment that I fully acknowledged that Jamaica was going to be a place that demanded my growth as a black woman who proudly identifies as a black feminist.