Life..?

  The almost empty bottle of alcohol slipped from her fingers and crashed below her, on top of the massive rocks that formed the beach in that part of the port. It wasn’t an area to go an have fun of anything, rather a place for people who loved seafood to go and have a delicious dish of crab, lobster, fish or any other creature from the sea. The small pier on which Cynthia was seating, her legs dangling like she used to do when she was younger, was located in a part closed to the public, far from the restaurants and the bustling ambiance of the now exclusive and upscale area of commerce that was located a few steps away.

 Where she was, she could hear the ocean crashing softly against the rocks and then pull back and then crash the rocks again. She found that beautiful sound to be very soothing, especially at that precise moment of her life when she was feeling cornered by thoughts and things that were happening all around her. She knew the place from one time she had been invited to a party there and now she looked at the pieces of glasses on the rocks, as if they had the answer to all of her problems. And apparently, the answer was to open up the other bottle she kept on her coat and start drinking again, no regrets at all.

 Cynthia had never really been a lover of alcohol but it felt soothing for that moment to do something like that. She wasn’t into drugs or anything like that, having a crippling fear of dying from an overdose, so she would more often than not go to her nearest store and buy a couple of middle-sized bottles of alcohol, which she could feet nicely into her large winter coat. And it was that, the weather during that time of year, that made it all the more perfect. She knew it was the perfect way for her to handle what was going on and she wouldn’t let anyone else decide for her what to do or how to do it.

 As she took a good sip of the clear liquid in the bottle, she paid special attention to a fishing vessel entering the port. She was certain no one could see her there, on the spot she had chosen to be in, but realized it would be very annoying to have someone come and stop her from going on and on with that part of her life. Because that’s what it had become: alcohol had become the perfect gateway “drug” to make her feel a little less, something she really needed each time she was reminded of her past but also her present and the prospects her future held. Everything in life triggered her and made her unable to respond normally to anything.

 The fishing boat passed and Cynthia waved at it, already a bit drunk from the alcohol but also because of the cold. She closed her coat a little bit more, realizing she had chosen an especially cold evening to go out and sit over the ocean. But the truth was that she had never “chosen” such a place or such an activity. It was only the thing she could do without feeling she was doing the wrong thing or acting in an undesirable manner. She wasn’t a mess there, by herself.

  It was also easy to hear the screams and laughter coming from the people in the restaurants, but Cynthia tried hard not to pay attention. One reason was that she didn’t really liked any of the people that visited such places. They were mostly snobbish, the type of folk that don’t even realize people don’t normally have the kind of money to dine in such places every single night. That was exactly what she realized the day she was invited to a party there and soon realized how much of a mistake it had been to attend that event, at that time and in that place. It was all wrong and there was no real way to mend it.

She made everyone feel uncomfortable and the only thing she won out of that experience was the fact that she was very clear on how other people perceived her and what she didn’t really like about all of them. She was one of those people that don’t really mind what you say about them or how you say it, or at least they seem to not care at all. That’s way her appearance in that party was such a disaster, even if other things were feeling as if they had been improving in her life for quite some time. But those awful moments of social awkwardness made everything feel worse and seem worse, and she didn’t really need that.

 When she finished the bottle, she dropped it intentionally over the rocks, applauding loudly when the glass shattered and pieces flew all over the place, to the ocean, over the algae and on the rock. No one appeared after she had clapped. Maybe no one cared or maybe she had a way with the city and its strange places, but her next move was to go back to the mainland and try to exit the area without anyone looking at her. She was successful, after avoiding to look back on her way to the exit. Once there, she walked, cold and shaking but feeling a bit better. The cold wind on her cheeks was apparently doing wonders too.

 She sat at the bus stop and realized she was a bit tipsy. She looked around, and realized her only other companion was a very elderly woman who didn’t even have a reason to be walking around so late in such a remote place. Cynthia looked at her and tried to guess if she was actually younger than she seemed or if she seemed to be into the kind of things that hip people liked doing over there. She didn’t have much choice anyway, as the bus appeared soon and they both entered. Cynthia sat behind the driver and the old lady walked very slowly to a seat by the middle of the bus. Maybe she was buying something she wasn’t supposed to.

When Cynthia got home, she felt really dizzy and also very tired. She dropped on her bed in two seconds after she had arrived and realized, in a moment, that she was drunk and that she hated most of the people with whom she interacted ever. Everyone including doctors, shrinks, supposed friends and family and all other people that always try for you to have the life that they want for you, instead of the want for yourself. She really hated them, with feeling.  

 She then decided to strip for bed and stood in front of the mirror, looking at her almost naked body. Cynthia was not a supermodel but she wasn’t the ugliest woman in the world, she was fine. But she didn’t have much else aside a degree she never used and a lot of debt towards her parents. She was one of those so-called “leeches” that live in their parents’ home for years and never really go. Her fortieth birthday seemed close, even if it wasn’t going to happen for some more years. It was pressing on her, her mind and the body she was looking at.

 It was obvious that she didn’t really feel great about all of that but even so she got herself into a pajama and then into bed. She heard her parents entering the house right when she was about to fall asleep. It was nice she had chosen that precise night to be able to come back without her parents being there and asking something about her life or, much worse, not saying anything but giving her looks and glances, certain attitudes too, that made her realize what she already knew. But how the overcome the fact that she was a non- achiever?

 How was she supposed to overcome the fact that she was just one person, unable to change the world around her? That’s why she needed to drink, why she really needed to have a proper reaction to everything happening around her. She could just be there and take it or end it all in two seconds. Neither of those two options was an actual option, she didn’t have access to any of them. So, she had to endure and keep at it until something happened. But it had a toll on her and maybe that one would be the last straw for her and her consciousness. She knew very well she was not the kind of person to hold for years and years.

 Cynthia often found herself looking up at her ceiling, wondering about all of those people she had met at least once. She wondered about their lives, their success and their stories of greatness and achievements. And she felt so tremendously alone after that. She remembered the times she had borrowed money from her father to pay for a quality education and it had all amounted to nothing. They didn’t really say it but she knew, deep that, that it was the case.

 So every night was a struggle and every new day felt as one more iron ball had been put in a jar representing her life. It got heavier and heavier, never easy to properly carry around.

Cape Horn

   The island had seemed so close, just a few minutes away from us. But the sea could never be trusted in that region. The weather changed in seconds and we were suddenly in the middle of gigantic waves and the most terrible wind anyone had ever experienced. We were prepared though; we had been doing calculations in order to properly avoid the disastrous things that could happen in that sector of our journey. But one thing is what you expect and one very different is the one that you get.

 The storm was fierce and seemed almost sentient, as if nature had no intention of letting us pass through. We were close and also so very far from our target and it felt almost like cruelty towards us that we were not being let to land on the island or to continue our journey. We wanted to set foot there but if that wasn’t happening, we could have scrapped it from our itinerary. But if we couldn’t pass to the other side, if we couldn’t reach the other side of the continent, shame would befall us back at home.

 We had sailed several weeks ago, promising to be successful. Many others had already done it in the past and we wouldn’t be breaking records or anything like that, but our small town was one proud of its seafaring history and we really wanted every single neighbor and friend to be proud of us. Besides, we were still very young in comparison to most sailors, so that was a thing we could play for the media, if we were successful. But first we had to overcome nature and she wasn’t letting us do what we intended.

 Wet and tired, still trying to make our yacht change course every two minutes, I remembered training with the group for months. Some did think we were idiots for attempting to do the journey, instead of just going to college and get a degree on something useful. Small town people don’t often care about dreams or things that are beyond themselves, they just want young people to know their place fast in order to keep the order and move along. They want some degree of tranquility and we weren’t there for it.

 What we wanted was to make something in life that would make us special or at least memorable. We all knew very well that our lives would probably not amount to much. After all, we came from a lost town in a place no one really cared about and we didn’t have money or fame to make us different, because that’s what makes people stick out in this world. We just wanted to do something that could make us proud in the future when we would have boring jobs that don’t pay well or we get to form families that we don’t really know how to envision from this young age.

 It was hard to explain it to them and that’s why we had to do everything by ourselves. The boat had been lent to us by a guy who had actually circumnavigated the globe several times. He was really interested in our story and came to help and train us. He even wanted to come with us but his doctor forbid it because of his health problems. He never really told us what was wrong with him but it was obvious it was quite serious. After we trained, he would often seat alone for ours, just staring at something in the horizon.

 His training was rough. He made us do in a few months what all sailors have to learn in years. He tried to make us understand the passion that makes a sailor become in love with the ocean and he taught about so many other things that relate to navigating, like the lives of marine creatures and many legends that had been told to him on his journeys around the world. It was amazing to listen to him and really feel that he loved what he did. His passion made us feel that what we were about to do was not crazy or stupid.

 Our parents and other friends did tell us that several times. Even journalists from small radio stations and television channels that came the day we departed, asked us if we were insane to do what we were going to do. And we all laughed and joked and just shrugged it off because there was nothing that they could say that would derail us from doing what we intended to do. It was already something that we had in our heads, deep in there, and it couldn’t be moved, changed or destroyed. We had to do it.

 Some were sad the day we left but not because they felt regret but because they missed some of the guys and girls that had decided not to go with us. Many did, almost half of the initial group to be honest. But I think we understood where they were coming from, because it’s not so easy to say that you’re leaving and don’t even know if you’re coming back. Because the trip is not about us and our skills as sailors, it’s about the world that we live in, the kind of people we may find and nature’s relentless struggle to be all-powerful.

 It was nice though, to feel the wind in one’s hair and sniff the salty air all around. That first day and first night were the pinnacle of many of our lives. We felt like adults, like really fully adults, for the first time since we had graduated high school. We felt like men and women capable of doing things that no one expected from us. Everything around us and our senses told us that this had been the right idea all along. We were right and we were going to prove to every single person in the world that no one can be taken for granted for any reason. We had our chance to prove them all wrong.

 We stayed in that storm for two whole days. Rations were beginning to go scarce but we had a good person managing that, in order to resist for at least two more days. We were even thing about going back to the last port and just try some other day, but going back also proved to be very difficult. In every direction, waves were beginning to grow larger and larger, the sky was always grey and the wind pushed the boat in the opposite direction. It was almost impossible to be sane in such a situation.

 We decided we couldn’t stop, we couldn’t just give up. Pushing through was the only way we were going to move on to something else. So we checked the equipment, we confirmed it on the outside and we pressed on. The idea was to go through the storm and then head straight to the nearest port in the coast. It would be a very small town, but that seemed suitable for a group of people that came from a very similar place. Actually, we were all looking forward to the kind of hospitality only given in such places.

 Everyone performed admirably, as if they had done this all of their lives. They were all essential in make the boat go through the toughest waves and pulls and pushes of the wind. We risked our lives and we did feel death looming close by. But we couldn’t back down in that moment. We had to push through once and again and again, until we could finally rest and leave that horrible storm behind. For a moment there, it was almost certain that we would die and it seemed we were ready for it, like never before.

 But nature suddenly seemed to feel kind and generous. The waves started shrinking and the wind also calmed down a bit. A hole through the clouds opened and we could see the sun, shining brightly over our tired heads. And then, very close once again, we saw Horn island. It felt so close again and we were tempted to try and land there but we decided against it. We couldn’t let the storm trap us there. So we decided to salute the island and move on up the coast, towards something more certain.

 The people on the village we docked in were extremely nice and friendly. They gave us food and even let us use their washing machines for our laundry. We were going to sleep in the boat but they also insisted we should all sleep in nice beds that night, so that’s what we did.

 We ended up staying there for four days, after fixing some problems with our ride. Then, we said goodbye and moved on to the next port. We would go north and then on to the open ocean again, to cross the Pacific. We were still a long way from home and we were very thrilled about it.

Rooms

   As soon as I opened my eyes, I was in fear. I couldn’t see a single thing, as everything surrounding me was pitch black. I could fear the air moving around me and I thought, for a moment, that I had heard some voices. But aside from that, I was there, in the dark, waiting for something. I did not know if I was standing up or lying down. I did not know if I was inside a building or outside. I felt cold, so maybe I was outside. But why was it pitch black? It made no sense at all, or so I thought.

 For a moment, I tried really hard to remember what had happened before. It was obvious that, as a living person, I would have been somewhere before. Or maybe… Maybe I was dead. Maybe this was death and I had just discovered what millions of people had wanted to know for millennia. Maybe death was just staying put for something that may or may not come. At least there was no pain. But that fear, that sense of dread, the one that makes you want to run away from a certain place… Is that death too?

 Then I noticed I had felt the wind earlier. Dead people are not supposed to feel, so maybe I wasn’t dead after all. Maybe someone had condemned me to a prison of darkness, maybe I was just incarcerated in the most horrible jail and I would live the rest of my days in the dark. That thought in my mind made me want to move but I couldn’t. I hadn’t realized it but my body was completely unable to move around. I could move my eyes but that was useless in such a dark environment. There was nothing to do, but wait.

 Of course, that’s easier said that done. It seemed easy to just be there, somewhere, and wait. But one can grow tired of waiting and waiting, without anything coming to you. Besides, darkness is inherently inhuman. As creative beings, we have learned to combat the dark, as we see in it everything that we fear about in the world. We see monsters that are here to kill and eat us, and we see our past failures and shortcomings being displayed over and over, in order to torture with everything that we are.

 I maybe shed a tear or two, I don’t really remember. Trying to think seems to be almost impossible in such a dark space. You don’t even know what you’re doing and when you can’t even see your nose or move around your wrists, it makes it even more surreal and horrible. I wanted to use my voice, to see if someone would come and help me. Maybe there would be no one to do that but at least tell me why I was there, where was I and how had I gotten to such a place. I just wanted to interact with someone else, even if that meant torture or the silent treatment. Anything was better than that.

 Suddenly, I felt myself move. At first, I thought it was something around me or under me, but then I realized it was I. It was me who was moving but I couldn’t really it was me making the orders. I was scared, but I didn’t try to fight it off. My body seemed to glide in the dark, probably looking for something. Then, I heard voices again. The same one I had heard the moment my eyes opened. They seemed distant but I knew they were coming from people or at least from something that could talk.

 Then, light started to flood the place I was in. An aperture had opened in front of me, horizontal in shape. White light was rushing in, as if the gates of a dam had been opened. I covered my eyes, trying to avoid being blinded by such a bright flow of light. I walked slowly, one foot after the other, trying to breathe as calmly as I could. I didn’t want to rush. I was afraid to die at any moment, as everything had been too much for me, just too much. I finally got closer to the light and I realized, I was in control of my own body again.

 I stopped covering my eyes and decided to check myself, my hands, my legs, my feet. Everything seemed just as I remembered it. The only strange thing was that I wasn’t wearing any clothes. Of course, I knew that was uncommon but, for some reason, I did not care at all. I had survived the darkness, the obscurity of who knows how much time. I had felt myself dying or already dead, so who cared about having no clothes on? Maybe there was a reason for that and I had to know what that was.

 So I decided to walk into the light and find out. Every single part of my body was engulfed in white and, for a while, I couldn’t see anything that wasn’t that color. It was so powerful that I couldn’t keep my eyes open. So I closed them tight and tried to navigate, walking like an idiot but knowing I hadn’t seen any objects in front of me before closing my eyes. I have no idea how much time I spent walking like that, but I eventually felt the wind on my skin again, so I decided to open my eyes.

 The light room had been left behind and now I was in something else. It looked like a forest, complete with the tallest trees I had ever seen and the sound of small animals and birds all around me. I even heard a stream passing nearby, and dead leaves being stepped on by several types of creatures. However, something told me that I wasn’t really there or at least not completely. I just knew that forest was just another room, after the one with darkness and the one with blinding light. It made no sense for me to just appear in the forest out of the blue. Nothing made sense.

 However, there was no coming back. I couldn’t see the light room anywhere, I couldn’t see which way I had come through. It was just the forest and I. So I started walking, feeling with my toes the moistness of the ground and the harshness of the rotten tree bark. Walking felt better than being in that dark room trapped inside some sort of prison. At least in that forest, even if it really wasn’t a forest, I could feel a little bit of freedom. When a bird landed near me, I started crying for no apparent reason.

 Watching such a delicate creature made me crumble, so much so that my knees failed and I knelt in the middle of that place, almost by force. I couldn’t stop feeling what I was feeling, I couldn’t stop blaming myself for a bunch of things and excusing myself for others. So many things were going trough my head that it made me feel sick for a moment. And just after a couple of minutes, it all ended in nothing more than a sob. I felt weak and stupid, but I stood up and kept walking towards the stream.

 It was just a small brook coming down from some mountain. The water in it was cold but filled with life. There were fish swimming upstream and plants moving around with no will of their own. It was beautiful too but I knew that I needed to keep moving. It made no sense for me to stay there forever, to just give up on knowing who I really was and why had I been dropped in such a horrible place. For a moment, I thought I would cry once again. But I didn’t because I had grown tired of not being in control.

 It was then, when that thought happened to cross my mind, when a door, a simple wooden door, appeared out of thin air. It stood there, by a tree, as if it had been waiting for me to get to the conclusion that I had gotten to. Fearing no more, I got closer and opened it. A big breath and I was in. I found myself to be in another room, much smaller than the ones before. There was no detail on the floor or the ceiling, only an armchair at the center, with someone sitting on it. I walked around the armchair and swallowed hard.

 It was I. The person sitting in the armchair was me. I had some sort of goggles on and gloves that attached me to the chair. My head was tilted to the right, as if I had fallen asleep. I tried to touch my shoulder, his shoulder, but noticed my hand went through his skin, as if he was made of nothing.

 No. I have to correct myself. It wasn’t him who wasn’t real. It was me. I was the one that had been living a lie and he was the one outside, somewhere else, the actual me trying to do something. But what was that? I would never know. Right then my body started to fade and everything returned to the dark.