Disillusion

I’ve been living alone, stranded in an island for many years. A hermit, in other words. I used to have a name, but I’ve long forgotten it. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m myself, no matter which name I decide to use.

At night, the stars and their constellations were my silent, twilight poets. Long after my life concludes, their everlasting memoirs would comfort whoever succeeds me.

The sunrays pierced the windows drapes of my crude hut, waking me up at the crux of the morning. A brand-new dawn greeted me. An invariable ritual executed by companion, sol. Grateful for witnessing a new day, I dressed up and set out to begin a new day.

My life is quiet and peaceful. Nature’s bounty keeps me well fed and amused. A myriad of flora and fauna littered the islet. I’m blessed by these circumstances. Or so I thought.

With the passing of time and running out of hobbies to pass time, I came up with an idea. I decided to coordinate a way to map out this piece of land I was stuck in. I gathered enough food and supplies that I would hope they would last for a while. I would begin my expedition by dawn of the next day.

Feeling confident, I set out to the western half of the island, hoping to find something exciting. What I discovered left me dumbfound. As I kept roaming, curious structures cropped up in the horizon. Could they be remnants of a long bygone civilization? Regardless, I kept marching, puzzled of what I would find ahead.

By the time I drew near, it was indisputable that this was, in fact, a prosperous town. I could discern a municipality, stores, and whole neighborhoods. Was I hallucinating? This revelation freaked me out. A breakthrough of my own myopic delusions.

The locals were as astonished. “Where did this eccentric hermit come from? How come we never noticed him? Is he able to communicate with us?” – their whispers and murmurs of the gossiping were quiet yet deafening. The townsfolk were wearisome.
I felt disillusioned. I discovered a domesticated herd. A congregation of dull folks.

With utmost politeness, I refused their offer to be part of their community. I bid them good bye and hoped never to cross them again. I left this standardised confinement in the middle of the night.

I was at a loss on how they’d enjoy living. Nights devoid of stars. Paved, stony roads, designed to deny themselves of the gentle caress of nature in one’s feet soles. Worst of all, a willingness to design gilded cages. They gave up freedom for the sake of a comfortable, self-imposed incarceration.

At last, I retreated back to my haven. The irreplaceable joy of freedom aroused every one of my senses. I felt alive once again. The struggle of freedom eclipsed the anodyne of deliberate captivity.

Sometimes, the grass isn’t greener on the other side.

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