Escape Island

I find myself packing my bags in the middle of the night. Not sure where I’m headed, but just the thought that I could go anywhere gives me some twisted sense of comfort. Run away, young padawan, the world isn’t for you. If it is, it’ll come find you. Stupid thought. This bag-packing thing happens often nowadays. I’ll lie awake, staring at the ceiling, and suddenly decide, “Nope, can’t do this every day. Surely, life has more to offer?” So, I pack—clothes, toothbrush and an extra pair of shoes. I always keep a good chunk of cash handy, just in case I muster up the courage to actually leave. Deep down, I know I never will. The idea of escaping feels far more soothing than the actual act. Being blessed with rationality is a curse. Sometimes, I envy delusional people because they are always happy no matter what.

Once, I had this dream. I was on vacation with some friends. I seemed happy enough—content, even. I had grey hair. We were planning a trip to this remote island located in the South of Italy. Very off-the-grid, huge stretches of beach, no tourists, a friend had said. Just us and the ocean. We all agreed. The answer to cosmic loneliness is cosmic solitude. Or so I think. But on the day we were supposed to leave Milan to go this island, everyone bailed. They wanted to shop instead. I am not a big fan of shopping. Especially, if it requires me to step out. Stepping out and spending money are the two activities I try to avoid and shopping includes both of them hand in hand. So, I decided to go to that island alone. I went back to the hotel, packed my bags, and took a bus straight to the port where a ship was waiting. It looked like it was waiting just for me.

Only three other people were on that ship. It was evening-ish. I carried all my luggage for some reason, as if I was never coming back. The ship sailed, and I didn’t even look back. Six hours into the trip, the captain told us he’d recently discovered another island. “It’s just a couple of hours from here,” he said. “Should we check it out?” We all said yes.

We reached the new island by morning. As I was about to deboard, I noticed none of the others were moving. “Why aren’t you getting off?” I asked. No response. Strange. “Will you deboard”, I asked the captain. It felt like none of them could hear me. “Fuck it”, I mumbled and stepped off without my luggage. The moment my feet touched the sand, the ship disappeared—like it had never existed. Oddly enough, I didn’t panic. Maybe because it was a dream. There were people around a fire on the beach. As I walked closer, I realized they all looked... familiar. They were me. Different versions of me. An 18-year-old me. A 21-year-old me. A 27-year-old me. A 40-year-old me.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

The 27-year-old me looked up and said, “You wanted to run away. So, here you are.”

“All of you ran away too?” I asked.

“Yep,” said the 18-year-old me. “You see, you can’t really escape the world.”

“But how did you get here?”

“Same way you did,” said a much older me, almost nonchalant.

“Is this real?” I asked, panic creeping in.

“As real as all the other things,” said 40-year-old me. “The urge to escape? It brought you here. But the truth is, it doesn’t last. Life has its ways of pulling you back. Money, fear, friends, family—everything out there will stop you from truly leaving. And if you do leave, and it’s a big if, all you’ll find is this—a reset. A loop. The default state of numbness.”

“I don’t get it,” I muttered.

“Remember packing your bags at the hotel?” asked 21-year-old me.

“Yeah.”

“And remember sleeping after packing your bags?”

“No, I just lay down waiting for the hotel bus”.

“Nah, you slept. You are still sleeping”.

“So, I’m still at the hotel? This… this is all just my way of escaping?”

“Exactly, your feelings to ‘escape’ escaped, not you. You can’t”, said an older me.

“Fuck.”

I tinker with thoughts sometimes. You do that? Not overthinking—overthinking is selfish, always about you. Tinkering with thoughts is just killing time. It doesn’t make you insecure or bitter. Maybe a little sad. Or apathetic, if you go deep enough. And sometimes, the tinkering electrons, they even help to fill the void, even for a bit. Like the other day, I was tinkering with the idea of escaping. We keep chasing things—money, love, validation. It’s just one thing after another. Endless. And even when we get everything, it’s still not enough. But can you escape it? I guess not. You’re too deep in the game. Running away solves nothing. You quit a job to escape a boss. Freelance instead. Now everyone’s your boss. Quit that too. Do things only for money. The cycle continues. The solution? Nobody knows. So stop thinking about it. That’s the solution. Just stop. Maybe the meaning of it all lies in not finding it.

Funny dream, wasn’t it? Except it wasn’t a dream. It’s a story I tell myself. A reminder that running away won’t fix things. Because no matter where you go, you’re still here—on this planet, part of the system. Accept it, and maybe, just maybe, life gets a little lighter. Or maybe all of it is a dream.