Tracy,
How are you? I know it has been a long time. As soon as I think of your name, I can instantly visualise your face. It is right there, coming out of the darkness in vivid detail. Your eyes especially. Remember how you said I could never remember what colour your eyes were? I remember them now. Green with fine glints of gold like spokes on a wheel. It is a good image to have in my mind at this moment.
You wouldn't know this but I have been working in South-East Asia for the past couple of years. Mainly setting up call centres for telecommunication companies. Currently, I'm in the Philippines on a little getaway. Anyway, I was on this beach a week ago, surrounded by the usual tourist clutter and noise, and I start talking to this local guy. A Fisherman. A nice enough old guy. And he tells me about the island. The deal was he would take you out there with enough supplies for four days or five days. Basically, however long you want to stay out there. The point is you are completely alone. I have to do this, I thought. So the following morning, bright and early, I set off with the Fisherman in his boat.
We got to the island maybe 50 minutes later. He drops me off on the little beach and I have this fantastic time on the island all by myself fishing, drinking brandy, cooking my fish over a fire, singing, walking around naked, taking photographs with my phone (well...until the battery died) and generally exploring this tiny, remote paradise. It was an amazing feeling knowing you have the entire island to yourself. A rare experience in our over-crowded world. In my mind, this was the real vacation. A break from the tourist hustle and the constant roar of moped engines back on the mainland.
Anyway as planned, on the fifth day, the Fishermen turns up. Sadly I get back in the boat and we take off. I remember turning so I could looking back at the island, already feeling nostalgic for my time there, thinking chances are, I'll never come back here. We got through the reef and then we were crossing the strait in that shitty little boat, the sun pounding down on our backs. Out of nowhere: bang! The motor explodes, producing a black cloud of smoke. It scared the crap out of me. We soon find out that motor is completely dead. The Fisherman begins tinkering with it, taking it apart, not that it does any good. After about thirty minutes I'm saying, hey man. What about this? And I'm pointing down at the sea water which is coming through the cracks in the metal hull. Slowly but steadily. And then I'm looking around, seeing there are no life jackets, no oars, nothing which can be used for the purposes of flotation. And then I'm looking out across the strait at the closest island which could be five or six kilometres away, although it is difficult to say for sure. I begin bailing sea water with my cupped hands but eventually the boat lists and begins to sink. With everything in it: iPad, phone, clothes, my passport. I am actually angry about losing all my stuff at first. I am thinking about the steps I will need to take to replace these items. The Fisherman and I have no choice but to get in the water and start swimming. The Fisherman is about sixty but very lean and muscular. I am taking it slow, avoiding the front crawl which is too energy consuming, alternating between the breaststroke and the backstroke, as I aim for what looks like the closest island. The whole time I am telling myself you have no choice. You have to make it to that island. Even if it takes all day. It had been years since I swam any real distance.
I guess the final bit of bad news (in a day full of unexpected bad news) is the current. As I swam, I started to realise that we were getting swept sideways and further out to sea. The Fisherman calls out to me but he was too far away by then so I couldn't hear what he was saying. Occasionally I look around and see his head bobbing on the flat surface of the ocean. It seems crazy to me that a local guy, someone who has lived here all his life, could get himself into this situation.
As it gets dark I am floating on my back and I realise that I have no energy left. It has been a long day. The island we were trying to swim for is very small now in the distance. We are in the open sea. The sunset overhead is spectacular with shifting colours that take your breath away. This is the letter I should have written to you years ago Tracy. I sincerely wish I'd done it. It's a shame all these words have remained bottled up inside my head. I should have told you what I really felt about you at the time. I shouldn't have been so cruel, so egotistical. You deserved better than I was capable of giving you back then. Of all the woman I've known, and eventually insulated myself again, you were the one I should have fought for. I was just too stupid to see it.
Anyway, in this moment, I can think of nothing else to do but compose this letter in my head. (I would have said 'email' but I know you have a thing for old letters). The point is either I think about you for a little longer or I go under. Last time I checked, before it got too dark to see, the Fisherman has slipped beneath the surface. I wonder if it will be peaceful? Of course, I am scared but I know what is inevitable. I guess I'm going push it back just a little longer.
Love, Jon.
How are you? I know it has been a long time. As soon as I think of your name, I can instantly visualise your face. It is right there, coming out of the darkness in vivid detail. Your eyes especially. Remember how you said I could never remember what colour your eyes were? I remember them now. Green with fine glints of gold like spokes on a wheel. It is a good image to have in my mind at this moment.
You wouldn't know this but I have been working in South-East Asia for the past couple of years. Mainly setting up call centres for telecommunication companies. Currently, I'm in the Philippines on a little getaway. Anyway, I was on this beach a week ago, surrounded by the usual tourist clutter and noise, and I start talking to this local guy. A Fisherman. A nice enough old guy. And he tells me about the island. The deal was he would take you out there with enough supplies for four days or five days. Basically, however long you want to stay out there. The point is you are completely alone. I have to do this, I thought. So the following morning, bright and early, I set off with the Fisherman in his boat.
We got to the island maybe 50 minutes later. He drops me off on the little beach and I have this fantastic time on the island all by myself fishing, drinking brandy, cooking my fish over a fire, singing, walking around naked, taking photographs with my phone (well...until the battery died) and generally exploring this tiny, remote paradise. It was an amazing feeling knowing you have the entire island to yourself. A rare experience in our over-crowded world. In my mind, this was the real vacation. A break from the tourist hustle and the constant roar of moped engines back on the mainland.
Anyway as planned, on the fifth day, the Fishermen turns up. Sadly I get back in the boat and we take off. I remember turning so I could looking back at the island, already feeling nostalgic for my time there, thinking chances are, I'll never come back here. We got through the reef and then we were crossing the strait in that shitty little boat, the sun pounding down on our backs. Out of nowhere: bang! The motor explodes, producing a black cloud of smoke. It scared the crap out of me. We soon find out that motor is completely dead. The Fisherman begins tinkering with it, taking it apart, not that it does any good. After about thirty minutes I'm saying, hey man. What about this? And I'm pointing down at the sea water which is coming through the cracks in the metal hull. Slowly but steadily. And then I'm looking around, seeing there are no life jackets, no oars, nothing which can be used for the purposes of flotation. And then I'm looking out across the strait at the closest island which could be five or six kilometres away, although it is difficult to say for sure. I begin bailing sea water with my cupped hands but eventually the boat lists and begins to sink. With everything in it: iPad, phone, clothes, my passport. I am actually angry about losing all my stuff at first. I am thinking about the steps I will need to take to replace these items. The Fisherman and I have no choice but to get in the water and start swimming. The Fisherman is about sixty but very lean and muscular. I am taking it slow, avoiding the front crawl which is too energy consuming, alternating between the breaststroke and the backstroke, as I aim for what looks like the closest island. The whole time I am telling myself you have no choice. You have to make it to that island. Even if it takes all day. It had been years since I swam any real distance.
I guess the final bit of bad news (in a day full of unexpected bad news) is the current. As I swam, I started to realise that we were getting swept sideways and further out to sea. The Fisherman calls out to me but he was too far away by then so I couldn't hear what he was saying. Occasionally I look around and see his head bobbing on the flat surface of the ocean. It seems crazy to me that a local guy, someone who has lived here all his life, could get himself into this situation.
As it gets dark I am floating on my back and I realise that I have no energy left. It has been a long day. The island we were trying to swim for is very small now in the distance. We are in the open sea. The sunset overhead is spectacular with shifting colours that take your breath away. This is the letter I should have written to you years ago Tracy. I sincerely wish I'd done it. It's a shame all these words have remained bottled up inside my head. I should have told you what I really felt about you at the time. I shouldn't have been so cruel, so egotistical. You deserved better than I was capable of giving you back then. Of all the woman I've known, and eventually insulated myself again, you were the one I should have fought for. I was just too stupid to see it.
Anyway, in this moment, I can think of nothing else to do but compose this letter in my head. (I would have said 'email' but I know you have a thing for old letters). The point is either I think about you for a little longer or I go under. Last time I checked, before it got too dark to see, the Fisherman has slipped beneath the surface. I wonder if it will be peaceful? Of course, I am scared but I know what is inevitable. I guess I'm going push it back just a little longer.
Love, Jon.
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