Dear Pen Pal,
Paradise is a placebo. It is a pill we take because we think it will make the symptoms go away. But the source is rarely, if ever, at the surface, and although I have made myself a home in this idyllic place, it is time for me to step out of the sun. You see, this sun casts shadows and hides me here where “life” cannot find me. I crave to be in the thick of it, where “life” happens to you constantly. I lack motivation because I lack hardship here. That is not to say that my time here has been easy, but there is no incentive to make it harder than it has to be.
The energy here is more of a deep breath and less of a grunt. No one here seems particularly bothered by being unbothered. This town is a comfort zone that we pretend and pantomime trying to escape. We are mimes trapped in an imaginary box. Why would anyone truthfully want to shatter the glass? It is counterintuitive to forcibly break out of paradise, but this perfection is a cage itself. The most common phrase of the local vernacular is “it’s hard to leave” or “everyone always comes back.” I can’t help but equate it to addiction. This heaven is a devilish vice. We exist here in a perpetual state of Do Not Disturb and passively ignore our callings from the world.
But there is a subconscious itch, you can hear the scraping of skin. People want out. But where would one go when there is no place better? Self-sabotage; a shake of the head to dismiss the emigratory thoughts, but they keep you up at night, so the matcha is for the insomnia. The bags under our eyes are tan, at least. At the dawn of every new day we wake, drowsily stumble to the porcelain sink, cup our hand around a tablet in the shape of a sun and shove it down our throats, thanking the powers that be for another day in paradise…
No, I am ready for the withdrawals. I want all of the discomfort that is mandatory when shaping yourself anew. An entire calendar year of perpetual travel is an inconceivable amount of time, but yet I will obediently “x” those 365 squares as it has become an obligation to wander with the world from start to finish, at least once in this fleeting life. One less dream deferred. It is strange, for as you wrote in your letter there is great enjoyment to be had in the imagining of the adventure, yet I have no expectations and am attached to no vision or outcome. Perhaps it is because I am not yet on the plane, and there is an abundance of life to be lived here and now. I wrestle with closure as I prepare for the inevitable distancing of friendships, of familiarity, and I welcome that sneaking, creeping sensation of loneliness that will be abundant in such a solo venture. I think the beauty of this prospective journey is that I am not asking anything from it. I don’t hope to learn anything new, nor meet unique people, and I could never ask to return home with profound stories to tell. What is meant for me won’t miss me, especially if I put myself in the way of it. So, no, I beg for nothing and am open to anything. I have waited to wander long enough. I am making my peace with this paradise, and this sun and I will hug in a new sky.
Love,
Ryan Anthony Dube
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