022 no man is an island

No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as any manner of thy friends or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. -- John Donne, Meditation XVII


Dear friend,

It's been years now, hasn't it? It's hard to keep track, but the Boulder is covered in tallies - one for each day, until there was no more room. Looking back, I don't know how I've managed to survive this long.

I mean, I hate coconuts. It's irrational, I know, but I hate them. I abhor the thickness of each shell. The milk disgusts me and the meat is no better. I despise their very shape.

I hate the sand. Each grain is another second in this hourglass of a prison, another second that I've lost, another second that I will inevitably waste, stranded on this wretched island.

I hate the sun. He is a pedantic old fool, watching me at all moments with a disapproving glare. He spends the day burning me into a mess of peeling red skin and exposed nerves. When I am finally acclimatized to the heat, he flees into the west so that I may freeze through the night.

I spend most of my time scanning the beaches. I wander the entire perimeter, lap after lap. My heart races with every glint and glimmer, though almost always it is a mere shard of glass, a small pool of water or a trick of the light.

But today - today I found it. This little green bottle, this single happiness in my life. He is like a messenger of the gods - like Hermes! If only he were as swift.

How many years has it been? How long have we been writing to each other? How many letters have we exchanged, trusting our hopes and our dreams to this little green bottle and the tides that carry him?

I think that you are all that gets me through the day. Without you, I would have no reason to get up in the morning. I would swim away from this place, as far as I could go, and when my arms failed me I would drown in my own indifference. Or at the very least, I would finally get around to writing that giant SOS along the shore (dragging heavy rocks is a drag).

My biggest fear is neither thirst nor hunger, nor rabid cassowary attacks - scary as they are. No, my biggest fear is that the ocean currents change and little Hermes is lost forever.

So even if I never see you, thank-you. Thank-you for the stories you have given me. Thank-you for telling me about the flowers you discover and the sand castles you build. Thank-you for keeping my sanity intact. It is comforting when you say that your island is just as humdrum as mine, though your way with words makes it sound so much more exciting. Despite everything else - despite the coconuts, the sand, the sun, the cassowaries - you make me thankful for being stranded. So thank-you.

I hope you get this message soon, and in good health. Write back soon.

Yours,

E.