A Sunrise at Sea

 Through My Daughter’s Eyes: A Sunrise at Sea

When my daughter suggested that I write my next blog from her point of view, I smiled. After all, who better to describe the thrill of cruising as a teen than the one who transformed right before my eyes over five unforgettable days aboard Carnival Sunrise?

She's cruised before—Carnival Destiny, Luminosa, Splendor, but only Sunrise, in 2022, etched itself into her memory with such vibrancy. She was young when she boarded Destiny, her memories a blur of buffet lines and snapshots from a family album. But Sunrise? That’s where the real transformation began.

We had booked a five-day cruise from Miami to the Cayman Islands and Jamaica. Truthfully, we needed a break from the grey pace of New Zealand, and where the ship was headed was secondary. Our plan was simple: cruise first, head to our homeland, Jamaica, at the end.

From the moment we stepped aboard Carnival Sunrise, the energy was electric. The air pulsed with music, laughter, and possibility. As a mother, I was both excited and anxious when I signed her up for Club O2, the teen club aboard the ship. I had my reservations. What if she didn’t fit in? What if she needed me?

I walked her to the door of Club O2, lingered a little too long, and returned every ten minutes to peek in, just in case. But there she was, already chatting, already laughing. She didn’t need rescuing. By day two, I hardly saw her. She popped into our cabin to change, sleep, and bathe, then disappeared into a world of newfound friendships, music, dance, and teen adventures.

Our dinners together became fleeting moments. Even the formal nights, designed for lingering and laughter, were met with, “Mom, I have to go. They’re waiting for me.” Her ship nickname? "New Zealand." Her new friends, intrigued by her accent, were amused that a Jamaican teen couldn't speak Patois fluently. They said she “sounded like a white girl.” She laughed and leaned into the nickname, claiming her uniqueness with pride.

She was so exhausted from all the late-night fun that when we docked in the Cayman Islands, she begged to stay on the ship. I let her rest. But when we reached Ocho Rios, Jamaica, we had to disembark; we had family waiting. The moment my daughter heard me speak in Jamaican Patois, she watched as vendors softened, their sales pitches retreating. “She’s Jamaican,” they muttered. And just like that, we were home.

We laughed with my sister at the port, exchanged hugs and goodies, and made a beeline to Juici Patties, because no trip to Jamaica is complete without tasting those iconic beef patties. As we returned to the ship, my daughter bounced right back into cruise life and her new circle of friends.

That’s when I learned about her Cruise Crush. Yes, my baby had caught feelings on the high seas. I knew then I’d spend the rest of the cruise solo.

On the final night, I asked her to pack. She left the cabin around 11 PM and didn’t return. Midnight passed. Then 1:00 AM. Then 2:00. Panic crept in. I searched every familiar spot. Nothing. Finally, I went to the help desk, where security was called. Within five minutes, they found her—tucked away with the other Club O2 teens, hiding on the stairwell, trying to stretch their final night just a little longer. They’d been told to return to their cabins by 1:00 AM, but youthful rebellion had other plans.

When we disembarked, my daughter gave Carnival Sunrise a resounding 10/10. She had entered the ship as a quiet, cautious teen. She left with confidence, stories, laughter, and a treasure trove of memories.

And me? I cruised alone, dined solo, and worried like a typical Jamaican mother. But seeing my daughter blossom at sea? That made it all worth it.