Utopia

I wake up to find a thick white mist covering the windows. The sound of the ripples on the lake and the drippings from the leaves made me realise it is still raining – a fine, almost invisible drizzle. But it’s a relief from last night’s downpour. Soon, the sun rises – with a breeze carrying the mist away, and the surrounding woods began to emerge. I open a window and the cold early morning air makes me shiver. Is this really early summer?

I put on a pullover over my t-shirt and go outside. The morning light breaks through the wall of the tall trees and onto the lake in front of the cabin, with sunbeams shimmering drops of rain everywhere. With each breath, my lungs are pierced by the thin, pure, clean air of the forest. The air is showered with chirping of birds flitting from branch to branch. I sit down beside the lake and listen to them screeching out to keep in touch with their partners.

In that serenading moment, I return to the small world of Ava. I smell the meadow grass, hear her laughter breaking the stillness of the night air. I think of her lying on the lush green, counting stars – as I had seen her in the moonlight, wrapped in her favourite white summer dress.

What is she doing now? Of course, she must be sleeping, sleeping deeply, in the warmth of that curiously cozy world of hers. Is she dreaming, dreaming about me – my mind wondered. No. Let her be spared of anguished dreams. The dichotomy of mind – it wishes she still loves me, it also hopes she’s finally not in pain.

Is there hope for one, without the other?

As the strength of the sun increases, I return to the cabin. I make some toast and fry some eggs on the pan while pouring a glass of apple juice to wash the food down. After eating, I settle down on the couch by the window with The Old Man and the Sea in my hand. This cabin of my brother has an old, decrepit bookshelf crammed with hundreds of books of what appears as randomly selected fields. Only a few are novels, mostly they’re on philosophy, sociology, politics, economics, biographies. After fifty nine days, I have covered only a handful of them.

I had a vague idea that the book earned Hemingway both Pulitzer and Nobel, but never came across a copy of it. Yesterday, while I was looking for Yeats, I happened to come across this one instead, somehow. The book tells the story of Santiago – an old fisherman with vast experience who is facing a long streak of bad luck by going eighty four days without any catches, and how he fights to catch a large marlin and bring it back.

As I read the bond between Santiago and his young apprentice Manolin, his struggle to score the catch of his life, his fights against the army of sharks, and finally his return, I cannot but help to dream. In that quiet woods, amidst the rustling of the leaves by the soothing summer breeze, I find hope. A hope to dream again.

Almost two months ago, I packed my bags, applied for my vacation, handed my keys to my roommate and drove to the cabin in the middle of the woods. I needed an escape from the humdrum of the city, from the cacophony of social media, from my memories, from myself. For the last two months, I have stayed alone here, with the occasional visit to the nearest village to restock the essentials. The first few days were hard. The loneliness of the woods made me scared. The howling of the winds got me to stay awake through the nights.

But little by little, I started to appreciate the dense barrier of trees which kept the world and sunlight at bay. Little by little, I noticed how much I love the chirping of birds. Little by little, I started to fall in love with the rain soaked earth. Little by little, I realised being alone and being lonely are not the same. Little by little, I started to heal.

And I started to love. Love the old worn out cabin with it’s ancient charm, love to see the sunset by the lake, and love myself.

Suddenly, I find myself going back to last summer. Ava was driving the black convertible. The cool winds of evening made her hair dance in joy. As I kept looking at her, for the first time my heart raced for someone. For the first time someone touched my heart. Is this how it feels to fall for someone?

I am now back at the cabin – but with her. She is leaning against the window as she scrunches her eyes to find the squirrel which just ran away into the tree. I smile. Is this how it feels to be happy?

Now I am at the mountains. I look around to find her lying on the snow trying to make an angel. She looks at me and smiles. My heart feels warm. Is this love?

She said I loved to stay with her but was never with her. She said I loved her but was not in love with her.

She was wrong.

I know now.

I look outside. The convertible is covered in dust. I get up. It’s time to wash away the old dust. It’s time to return home. It’s time to return to Ava.

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Photo by Ruben Mishchuk on Unsplash