A Difference of Perspectives
“Well that’s pretty obvious: it was the adventure of it. As Dr. George Mallory put it in regards to Mount Everest on old Earth: because it was there. Our ancestors had an opportunity to see the stars and so they did.”
“That’s not true. They left because they had to. The oceans were acidified, the atmosphere was getting too hot for comfortable habitation, populations were out of control, resources of all kinds were starting to run into the scarcity wall – need I go on?”
“You’re such a pessimist, Cyn. Humanity had been looking at Earth’s moon since they could look up to the stars. The desire to leave Earth was always present.”
“That’s true enough, Bright. Yet they left out of necessity. None of those billions of mongrels actually got up off their asses to explore a new solar system – or even a new planet in person – until their backs were up against it. With no choice left the evacuations then started.”
“Come now! The ancient combustion rocket-engine craft were exploring the moon and sent their probes to Mars. More than a hundred years before the evacuations the Deep Black and Yuǎn de Jiàn Tóu probes with the Shen-Fukawa FTL drives were exploring the closest star systems to Earth. Why? Because they could. It was an adventure. The same adventurous spirit which caused ancient Chinese to set sail to distant lands, the American pioneers to conquer their wilderness, and hundreds of early astronauts to reach up to ‘touch the face of God’ as they said.”
“Psh! Nonsense. The evacuations were a necessary act! We’ve been over this! The irradiated landscapes made an impossible task out of feeding so many people, renewable energies proved not to be the magical cure-all to the world’s energy crisis, and regional strife from ineffective governance pitted the best minds of humanity against one another. Those who didn’t kill each other had enough good sense to cooperate long enough to get themselves to safety. With that action the colonies were born.”
“Now who’s not telling the truth, Cyn? If that was the case: why were Rigel and Axis and Wangxia founded? Those were done long before the evacuations. I say it was because of the opportunity to explore. The human heart has always desired this, as my aforementioned examples prove.”
“Bright, you frustrate me… I can’t deny that truth. Perhaps the reason our ancestors left Earth was for multiple reasons, then.”
“I suppose I can agree to that notion. Humanity has rarely ever done anything for one reason alone.”
“Good then that's settled. However, as we sit here in orbit above this long-abandoned, poisonous mud ball I have to wonder: why did we come back?”
Who am I️?
I am a newfound empath trying to flourish in a world that I️ can literally feel draining the happiness from my body. I️ am a daughter, sister, niece, and granddaughter trying to ensure my family is proud of me, even though at this point I️ am not proud of myself. I️ am a lost girl who wants to be considered a woman, someone who can take care of herself. But I️ can not. Not at this moment. I️ am lonely. How can an empath be lonely? Everyday I️ feel the emotions (love, hate, joy, fear, etc.) of others and the only ones I️ seem to identify with are the negatives. I️ cannot allow myself to indulge on the positive emotions of others so instead I️ focus on helping those that emit negative ones and that...well that is what destroys me.
Speck
I am a fleeting speck on a mote of dust orbiting a dwarf star, itself nothing more than a glimmer in an infathomly vast galaxy which, in turn, is an insignificant pinprick of light in the ever expanding universe, one of an infinite number.
I know all this— I know it and I still have the gall to call myself significant.
Who is this
She's been crying for days. Everything goes on like nothing's changed and the ants that have infested this pulsing life globe live on; they move along like the sun's still out and the sky's still blue, and she cries, refusing to join the crowd.
The pain resurfaced a few days back, thundering out in anger until it became soft sniffles, little rumbles; a slow stream of droplets that keep on coming; it does'nt stop.
And the girl who sits in the house at the kitchen table, dry but cold inside -she wonders when the sky will end its tears.
Because until the clouds dry up she doesnt feel like cracking a smile. She's so so lost, her face as blank as a clouded sky.
Its her favorite thing, gloomy days. She's always liked the rain.
Yeah. She does like that. She remembers that.
Her second favorite thing is warm autumn days; with all the oranges and the browns and the pumpkins and the leaves and the childish fun.
It reminds her of the days where light was a feeling and heavy was a thing.
Where a stone was an object to launch into a stream and not a rock lodged in the pit of her stomach.
Where a game made people laugh instead of cry.
Where life was full and we all lived outside
Not trapped in our houses and in our minds.
She's learning about life and where she fits. She's trying so hard to be a One, a seperate from the rest, trying so hard that she's losing her goals, losing her way; she's obsessed with this pedestal version of herself, this goddess of strength and independance and difference that she ignores who she really is, because she wants she wants she wants this unreachable perfect version of what could be.
She's losing herself by trying to find Her Self.
For a long while she was lost in a sea of things she was never meant to be, and one day, its as if someone kicked her awake from a deep slumber;
WAKE UP
And she did. And she looked around and could'nt see where she was, why she was, who she was.
what had she become?
As she sat at the kitchen table, arms deep in a life she realised she never wanted, she began to cry. Everything was wrong, it was all backwards, it was'nt in the right order. When the cries became sniffles she thought of all the things she liked, all the things she knew for sure. She made a list of her favorite foods, her favorite colors, her favourite things.
And she decided to try again.
Contrary
I am the one who hates to be compared
To things that are only superficially similar
I am the contrary one who aced speech without trying
Yet prefers to stay out of the limelight as much as I can
I am the poster middle child, all grown up
Still trying for my parents attention and failing
I am the one cringing at all stereotypes
Because I hate the one others label me with on sight
I am the one who will never have a significant other
Luckily I am also the rarity who doesn't want one
I am the one others see as lonely since I am mostly alone
All the while I am wishing to isolate myself even more
I am the one on a beach anyone else would envy
All I want is some snow and a mountain to climb
I am the one who might not publish this
It gives away to much of what's going on inside