I thought I was on the last ship. I always thought the end of days would be the same for all. That’s what we were told.
But after I left, many more left the world I knew growing up. And even today, many more embark on a very long journey, like human capsules shutting themselves into an uncertain nothingness.
Our world, suddenly, started to vanish. Or so they said. Still say.
I remember the chaos and commotion before my departure. Our decaying universe matched the equally depressing war of opinions. Everybody had something to say; nobody the strength to change anything. The victims? Those who deeply valued the essence of a world before its ridiculous economical political crisis brought it down to nothing.
The rush to exile was such that many left it all behind. The list of humans boarding hundreds of these celestial vessels increased at the speed of the apocalyptic predictions. Every day more and more of these beautiful lights would be launched to the sky holding promises of a better life. And I too fell for the popular wish. Little did I know that such dream of the cosmic unknown would come at a cost.
But once you make up your mind and found a way into one of these vessels, “you have reached the point of no return”. You automatically become a hybrid of the species you got to be up to that point and the one you’ll become. You drag the world you knew; you don’t get to find out who you could be in that world. You are one more nomad in search for survival.
Once you let the doors of your vessel close, you’ll stay there enclosed and uncomfortable. That feeling of belonging fully to something disappears, replaced with a thousand questions. Once onboard, you only listen to the loud engine as it starts. You can’t hear a sound of what’s going on outside your tiny window.
And just like that, you detach yourself from your present. You can’t see anything of what’s ahead of you. It’s a blind stroll. Only if you are lucky, you get to see other capsules in the distance making their way, painting a lighted path that looks beautiful, hopeful.
That’s how the journey begins.
In that moment, where your vessel is going is irrelevant, as it is the distance you are traveling. Your mind will be instantly paralyzed in looping memories that take over. This is the new exile.
Somehow, it feels like being born to something, while carrying some sort of legacy and deep sadness. It’s the opportunity to start a new story with a very long, convoluted past.
But after I left, many more left the world I knew growing up. And even today, many more embark on a very long journey, like human capsules shutting themselves into an uncertain nothingness.
Our world, suddenly, started to vanish. Or so they said. Still say.
I remember the chaos and commotion before my departure. Our decaying universe matched the equally depressing war of opinions. Everybody had something to say; nobody the strength to change anything. The victims? Those who deeply valued the essence of a world before its ridiculous economical political crisis brought it down to nothing.
The rush to exile was such that many left it all behind. The list of humans boarding hundreds of these celestial vessels increased at the speed of the apocalyptic predictions. Every day more and more of these beautiful lights would be launched to the sky holding promises of a better life. And I too fell for the popular wish. Little did I know that such dream of the cosmic unknown would come at a cost.
But once you make up your mind and found a way into one of these vessels, “you have reached the point of no return”. You automatically become a hybrid of the species you got to be up to that point and the one you’ll become. You drag the world you knew; you don’t get to find out who you could be in that world. You are one more nomad in search for survival.
Once you let the doors of your vessel close, you’ll stay there enclosed and uncomfortable. That feeling of belonging fully to something disappears, replaced with a thousand questions. Once onboard, you only listen to the loud engine as it starts. You can’t hear a sound of what’s going on outside your tiny window.
And just like that, you detach yourself from your present. You can’t see anything of what’s ahead of you. It’s a blind stroll. Only if you are lucky, you get to see other capsules in the distance making their way, painting a lighted path that looks beautiful, hopeful.
That’s how the journey begins.
In that moment, where your vessel is going is irrelevant, as it is the distance you are traveling. Your mind will be instantly paralyzed in looping memories that take over. This is the new exile.
Somehow, it feels like being born to something, while carrying some sort of legacy and deep sadness. It’s the opportunity to start a new story with a very long, convoluted past.
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