Liberation

— It’s like a conveyor belt, you know…

He carelessly slurps whiskey from his glass and stares somewhere into the corner.

— It moves, and stuff happens to you. Like… like — systematically! It goes on and on… Your dreams die first, out of despair from not being able to jump out of this thing… You are methodically crushed into a Lego block that fits wherever. You get packed and sent away. Au revoir!

He laughs and slurps and coughs, jittering in the chair. Cigarette ash and mess are everywhere. The ceiling fan does maddening heavy loops.

I’ll just fucking go and jump out of this fucking thing! With all of my fucking dreams. I have them right here — in my fucking pocket.

— Au revoir, dumbass!

I shout, slamming the door.

— Whatever.

The night is warm. I breathe in pine resin blended with the scent of evaporating human activities. The wind flows around me, and I drift ahead, kicking up dust on a dirt road. Hissing sprinklers weave me into a hypnotic repetitive rhythm — pleasant sensations of a system doing its job when no one sees it. Providing comfort. Polishing the Lego block edges.

I have to go away, have to go up!

And I do.

---

The path is dark, and my small phone flashlight is only able to pick up so little. Tree branches shake their leaves grumpily. Roots are greasy, dangerous. Occasional glimpses of green, yellow, red eyes. Lizards rustling in dead leaves.

Here I am, inside a forest, at night, making my way up to the top of the hill.

What am I doing? I know what, but I can’t tell it to myself yet.

But why am I doing this? Because I am tired of living this way.

Whatever I do, it “methodically crushes" me — silently, relentlessly — into a form that fits something somewhere, and I am not able to drive.

Stupid, soulless system.

Tears, sandy eyes, runny nose.

Hopeless?

No, no, no — I am sick and tired of it!

My steps are getting bolder. I rush forward!

Here is how I roll, you fucking watch me!

Wind gust. Owl hoots. Rabbit jumps away.

Yeah, this forest seems to be feeling me.

I’m picking up dead wood along the way, rumbling something about me showing how it’s done to someone in my head.

Simultaneously inside the past and the present — experiencing an out-of-body moment, watching myself from above.

And with a final push I break out of the forest borders — like an insect strong enough to break free from a spider’s web.

---

I am sitting on the porch of my family house.

I am 17, and I am writing my life list.

Hehe, look at me — all hopeful and sentimental and shit.

The world seems like a vast place, entangled in human stories of love, the desire to explore, and various kinds of naive truth-finding. I am writing down all the stuff that I want to achieve:

- “Find true love and sense it when things go bad.”

- “Swim in the ocean and feel its enormousness.”

- “Teach yourself not to be afraid to be yourself.”

- “Get licked by a goat.”

Haha, that one’s funny! My imagination is doing its thing.

I’m covered in dreams, actions, directions, plans of my desired identity — dreaming it out of me.

I am happy.

---

On top. Exposed.

I reveal myself to the world beyond!

No one seems to be watching…

I would argue that no one in particular should!

It’s about me and the system.

Me versus the world at large, so to speak.

Here we go — the world does its block-building nonsense; I’m doing mine.

Bark first. Driest, smallest sticks on top of it.

Click, scratch, hiss.

Click, scratch, pop!

The flame is blown away — but emotions surge and overflow me.

Attention flips inside and pulls me back into the past.

---

Flash.

Making a choice here, one step there — my list is always with me.

I’m trying to check ‘em off at the beginning.

Easy ones — done!

Flash.

It’s getting harder as I grow. The list is not happy — the checking cadence lost.

It speaks to me softly at first, trying to encourage:

— Come on, girl! Those items in me are gold. We need to keep pushing!

Me, replying:

— I’m just a little bit stuck here, honey, on this very, very important thing that I’m doing. Not a part of the plan, I know. Wait a little bit longer, please!

Some time passes. Its annoyance grows:

— Hey, lady! No progress from there I stand. Not doing anything of true value.

I do not reply anymore… I’m ashamed.

The voice disappears, becoming more of a feeling — the feeling of existential sadness and regret.

The time is running out and I am not capable of living up to my dreams.

Not able to become that mighty character who seamlessly checks off items on life lists!

The person living the dream — almighty, loving, loved, and kind.

Supporting others. Making the world a better place.

Fucking hell!

I do not even remember what is in that list — I never open it anymore.

---

Click, scratch, pop — fire!

Bark catches it. Sticks are igniting too.

I put more dead wood there, and it burns.

Sunrise breaks, and it’s beautiful.

Something was there in the list about the sunrise, I remember.

I get it out of my pocket.

It is so light, fragile, and scary-powerful at the same time.

Crying, I find the confidence in me to speak to it:

— It’s time for a fresh start, darling… Forgotten dreams should burn to make a space for new ones. I jump out of conveyor belt! I do not allow it to block me that easily!!!

The life list is silent.

I throw it in the fire.

The paper edges darken — turning brown as they heat.

The edges curl and blacken.

It crackles as it shrivels and bursts into a bright orange flame.

My past dreams — that somehow became poisonous, that were holding me back — are now ashes.

I watch as sunlight hits them, swirling up in the warm currents of the fire, flying away from the top of the hill.

I am happy.