A Man. An Island.

My mind is like a sketch of lots of chaotic circles on top of each other with some irregular lines here and there and some random shapes inserted in between. My heart is like an airplane amidst turbulence. I missed flying too, even though I’m not a travel freak. I missed looking down to Earth and see things from the Sky’s perspective as for now, I’ve only been looking upwards most of the time, seeing things from the Earth’s perspective.

I’ve been on the island since the 29th of February and haven’t gone out since then except for occasional fishing trips and sending offs to the airport but I wasn’t even allowed to step off the boat, else I have to face the four walls of a room for fourteen days.

I feel like a small toy kept inside a small box, kept inside a slightly bigger box, kept inside an even slightly bigger box, kept inside a bigger box, kept inside an even bigger box. Sealed. Tied with a nice red ribbon. A nice little present. To whom, I don’t know. But I am ready and excited for someone to open the box and let me out and breathe different air.

I don’t want to sound like a whiner although I feel I already am. I keep telling myself that the world has more problems than I have. What is my problem actually? That I cannot eat fried eggs and burgers and French fries? That I cannot go out and sit and relax in a coffee shop have a coffee and some fancily plated dessert? That I have no one to talk to because I chose not to?

I have no one to talk to. That’s probably that. People say they are ready and willing to listen to whatever you tell them but they don’t. And if they do, the most they’ll tell you is a sticker or emoji. That’s the online part. The people who are physically around me are non-conversable to me.  They gather around and talk about things they want to talk about. Like Biden and Trump and the next football match or Bollywood film. What are my options there?

I’ve been physically and mentally exhausted lately.  Some borders opened and business started to pick up slowly. Travel agents kept calling and texting me round the clock. Sometimes they are polite enough to send me a message at one-thirty in the morning demanding to get an answer. I feel like I am a 24/7 chatbot. Others in our team are not. They don’t answer my calls sometimes and the messages and I feel like a helpless child drowning in a sea of clouds and questions. I never grew up. Maybe. I still need help because I get stuck a lot of times. A lot and a lot of times. I cannot decide. Maybe because I am an indecisive Libra? Or some things are beyond my capability.

Work demands a lot. I demand a lot too in order to work. Sometimes thank you is enough. But thank you is too priceless to be thrown away, I guess.

Loneliness is like a hollow shell lying on a seabed. It calls in the night when everyone else is asleep, keeping me awake in the dark silence. The calls become louder and louder each night and resonate in my head, a woman’s voice, thin like shining silver word. It cuts deep into the skin.

A man can be an island. Desolate amidst the surrounding beauty, numb against the soft touches of the frothy waves endlessly brushing the sand, back and forth. Back and forth.

***

Featured image by Timur Romanov

Author: aysabaw

Hi there! My name is Aysa! I am currently based in the Maldives, a free diver, a frustrated artist and writer and a lover of palm trees and ocean breeze.

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