Chasing Reflections
A woman’s journey from mystery to magic I Entry One
Every evening, I sit on the edge of this rock, my feet caressing the dancing waves, while my eyes remain glued to the light emanating from across the ocean.
I’ve spent my days gazing off into the distance, hoping to find a trace of someone, anyone other than me, over the distant mountain. But all I have ever seen is the reflection competing with the dimming light of the setting sun, only to die along with it.
As the darkness sets in, I reluctantly leave the rock and walk right into that nothingness and become one with it.
I’ve no memories of how I drifted to this lonely island two years ago. No matter how hard I try, the fuzzy fragments of my memory keep bringing me back to the shore I’d woken up on, starved and parched, with only two chests by the side of my washed body.
“Who was I?”
“What was my name?”
“Was I a daughter to someone or perhaps an orphan?”
“Where was I headed to?”
My mind was flooded with questions when I had gained consciousness, frantically pressing for answers I could never find.
Disoriented and lost, I wandered into the woods like a ghost for hours, hoping to find a soul. It was when my desperate calls for help froze in my throat that a chill ran down my spine, realizing that I was absolutely and tragically alone on the island.
It took me days and an elaborate spell of torrential rains to come to my senses — a rude resignation that sitting under a tree wasn’t going to bring back my memories.
It was time I accepted my fate, which was staring into my eyes.
I often wonder why no one lives on this island, why no one ever came for me in two years. I don’t know if the world knows that a place like this even exists — so enchanting, yet undiscovered.
Whatever its story is, it’s the only home I remember.
Mornings are my favourite time of the day here: waking up to the melodious chirping of the birds and the warmth of the welcoming sun, feeling the gentle caress of the first breeze as I lay in my bed, my days are spent witnessing the marvel of this place.
It’s the nights I detest — the pitch-dark cold nights engulfed in the emptiness that feels endlessly long.
The mere thought of how generous this place has been to me fills my heart with gratitude. The island has provided me with everything I believed I had lost: a safe shelter, the warm sun, welcoming trees, fresh water, and food. It embraced me when there was no one else to claim me.
It’s been a home, but it’s a home without a soul — another human soul. I worry I will lose mine too, if I don’t find a way out soon.
I have to leave.
Taking stock of my week-long efforts, I smile to myself as I peel off the bark from the grove of a pine tree.
Content with my work, I glance down at the logs on the ground, confident they would be enough to build the boat I had envisioned.
Soon, I’ll set sail to the other side of the ocean, where the reflection emerges from.
Soon, I won’t be alone anymore.
For years, I’ve dreamt of this day, and now, as I stand over the fruit of my labour, I can feel a dash of doubt creep in.
I don’t know what awaits me on that mountain.
Will I find someone there?
Am I doing the right thing, leaving the only safe place I’ve known?
I don’t know. But I have to find out for myself.
I have to try.
With one final look back, I quietly bid farewell to my lonely home and settle into the boat — never to return.
The journey continues in the next instalment….
(Inspired by my blog: https://explorative-soul-hima.com/)
