A GRAIN OF SAND

I wipe my tears in the shade of the only coconut tree on the island. My attempt to make fire failed again. I feel like I've been trying for years to signal my despair. I am stuck on a tiny and mean island. You can walk its length in 10 minutes.

The sand clings to my skin like unwanted memories, gritty and persistent. This barren speck, barely more than a mound of rock and sand, feels like the edge of the world. The ocean stretches in every direction, a vast, indifferent mirror reflecting my darkest fears. I spend my days cursing in the scorching sun, wishing I had someone else to talk to. Are they looking for me? I wonder every day as I keep waiting for someone to come and get me. I scan the horizon until my eyes ache. But there's only blue, endless and empty, mocking my solitude.

Living just with myself is not easy. Every day it gets harder. Is this how other people feel about me? I never knew I was such a dreadful, boring, and unpleasant person. I am utterly useless. I am locked in a state that is not desperation, nor depression, and definitely not exaltation. Is this how I make others feel? No wonder they don't want to find me. I sit here, day after day, replaying every awkward conversation, every missed connection, wondering if my presence in their lives was as burdensome as this island feels to me now.

The nights are the worst. The winds confirm my thoughts: I'm terrible, and there's no point in doing anything. The waves are angry, encouraged by the wind, making it impossible for anyone to come after me, even if they want to. The stars laugh at my state, a pathetic, helpless human. I usually lie awake listening to the coconut fronds rustling whispers of judgment, each gust carrying the weight of my failures back to me.

This is limbo. How did I end up in this limbo? I want to say that a storm brought me here, but in reality, I have no idea. Maybe I drifted here on the current of my own neglect, wave by wave of inaction.

I pull myself together, wipe the last tear, and start to pace the length of the island. My feet, although adjusted to the burning sand, still send sparks of pain up my legs. The self-loathing marathon begins again. Nothing hurts more than realizing that you are not actually that good of a human. With each step, I sink deeper into my frozen state, the numbness spreading through my veins like ice over the sea.

The friendship I didn't stop from fading, the promotion I didn't fight for, the projects I didn't finish, the donations I didn't make, the words I didn't say when they were needed, the smile I didn't return, the love I didn't chase, the family dinners I skipped for work, the fear of failure that stopped me from trying something new, the new ideas lingering at the edges of my brain that I ignore, the call I didn't make, the job I didn't quit, the stories I didn't write… They all attack me, suffocate my mind like a rising tide I can't outrun. Each regret is a wave crashing harder than the last, pulling me under. I kneel at the edge of the water, defeated. A sudden wave crashes into me, and I stumble, gasping as it soaks me to the bone.

It's the face-palm I needed to stop spiraling. I get up and look around, water dripping from my hair. For the first time in I don't know how long, I saw the infinity and beauty of the sea, its endless blues shifting from sapphire to cobalt. I appreciate the warmth of the sun on my face, not as a torment but as a gentle hand. The gold of the sand sparkles like a scattered treasure, and the majestic palm tree sways with quiet grace. For the first time, I don't think about myself. I just observe, and my mind can breathe again. Then a wild thought comes to mind.

What if no one is coming?

Not because they don't want to save me, but because they can't save me from myself. No one knows the exact shape of our storms, the precise currents of our doubts. We're all grains of sand on our own tiny islands, waiting for rescue that only we can provide.

I get into the water for the first time since I woke up here. A lot of firsts in the last 5 minutes. I float for a bit, looking at the sky, realizing how big this world is. Yes, I am a grain of sand, but isn't that great? This universe is infinite, vast enough to hold every flaw and every possibility. Whatever I feel, it doesn't matter in the grand sweep of waves and stars. So I can feel how I want, I can choose my own tide.

With that thought, I start to swim toward nothingness. The water is colder than I remember, resisting my first strokes, but I push on. After a while, I realize I can't see the island anymore. There’s nothing around me but the horizon. I laugh at myself, breathless. How silly I was to be worried when I had land and coconuts. Look at me now, suspended between sky and sea. My arms burn, legs cramp, but I draw another breath and continue to swim. Uncertain of my direction, but for the first time in a long while, certain that I will find my way. The sun climbs higher, turning the water to liquid gold. Soon enough, I see some land in the distance, a dark smudge against the blue. My heart beats faster. My mind starts racing.

Why even go there? You won't like it. You can always float back to your island. The risk is too high. You don't need more in your life. The old thoughts claw at me, stronger now in the open water. I close my eyes, and I am tempted to go back to my familiar hell, where at least I know my regrets. I remember the wave that crashed into me. I take a step back, mentally. That's not who I am anymore. Those regrets are just thoughts, not facts.

I continue to swim toward my unfamiliar heaven. Each stroke is a choice, each breath a defiance. Sharks circle in my imagination, but I focus on the shore growing closer. Finally, I reach it exhausted, my lips cracked, my body depleted, fingers clawing wet sand. But exhilarated. Alive. The island was never a prison. The prison was waiting. Now, I am free.