Selfless Possession

Chapter 1

I take off my bag that's crossed-over my body and set it beside me in the grainy sand. The ocean's always at it's calmest when I venture out to the shore at 5:40 a.m. It's waters, with the help of a hint of moonlight, allows me to look at the world's reflection for a short amount of time. My own reflection just gazes back, watching over me as I get lost in nature's beauty. I sit in my one spot on the narrow beach, just in front of the palm tree closest to the sea. On the right of me is a fairly large boulder, and on the left, a small patch of shells I created from stray shells that wash up around me. Sometimes they'll all be there from the previous day or so, and other days there won't be any, meaning the ocean claimed them back. I sit on a tightly weaved bundle of vines that I made for here in the mornings. The wind is almost nonexistent, only the occasional breeze that comes from the waves. The island mountain blocks out the rest of it. You would think it would be completely quiet too, but the birds are always chattering away, as if to say "Where have you been, did you sleep in?" or "We've been up for an hour already, what took you so long?"

I never answer them, though. I just let them continue their one-way conversation.

This is the only place I can peacefully think. Or not think. Whatever I feel up to. Everything around me and everyone I know are so busy from sunup to sundown. Nothing ever seems to slow down. The oceanside before dawn is the only somewhere I can do everything at my own speed and not have to worry about disrupting the busy pace of my surroundings. I have my own little world for a short amount of minutes, a few days a week. Nothing here can bother me, and I can't bother anything else. I don't have to worry about responsibilities creeping in or fuss over anyone else's needs. From 5:40 until I have to start heading home, I'm on my own personal time. And that's a joy in itself; to have time to just me.

Here at the shoreline is my only time I hold to myself and only myself. I rarely share it with another being. Once in a blue moon, I'll let someone join me, but I always end up regretting it. They usually chatter at me alongside the birds. But unlike the birds, they get frustrated when I don't answer, and decide not to come back the next day.

Or maybe it's because I never give them the option to come back.

None of them get what's so important about my moments down here, but it's the only thing I really have to call mine. No one else seems to understand what having something to yourself means anymore. I guess I don't either. I share just about everything else in my world, down to my toothbrush. Nothing I own is owned by just me.

Except for this approximately 15 minute period I have before the day ushers me away.

This is what I do. Me. Not anyone else. This is my thing, on my own time, with my own thoughts to keep me occupied. As long as it doesn't cause harm to me or anyone else, I feel it's okay to enjoy a tiny, personal reward.

Today is one of those days where I don't feel like thinking. My mind is mentally exhausted, as it always is, but today seems more than usual. Maybe it's from the lack of sleep I had; the tucans in the nearby palm tree decided not to go to bed last night.

But I know it's because today marks the 3 year period my plane crashed on this island. I know it's because today's a reminder that my life was robbed from me and the rest of the passengers.

This year, unlike other years, I don't want to think of the struggles all day long. I just want to forget.

So I just sit here on the sand, letting the water lap at my feet. I block out the bird squeals and listen to the voices of the waves. It's much more calming than the squawks. The sound is peaceful and it isn't really conversing; the ocean doesn't want an answer back. It's waters understand my mind and lets me have my moment. It just gives me a peaceful noise to focus on so I don't have to focus on anything else.