I haven’t written for a while. Every day is like a time loop; Wake up. Fish. Work. Repeat. When I came to Iceland, I started writing as an attempt to work through some personal issues. It was therapeutic, or at least it had the illusion of being therapeutic. It’s different now. The emotional toll writing has taken on me is hard to describe. I used to love it, and now it serves only as a reminder that everything is fucked and the life that I once knew is over. The hesitation I have placing pen to paper only serves as a road block to working through my emotions. I understand that I might never see my family again, but It’s something I do with great reluctance. Dragged through the mire, kicking and screaming, clawing at the ground.
The adage that time heals all wounds rings true right now.
I need time.
Sadness and self-pity aside, something unexpected happened to me yesterday. It was exciting enough that decided to rummage around in my bag for my notebook so I could write it down.
I had the day off and spent it walking around in the hills north east of town. I stopped by to see Anna earlier, while she was tending to a herd of cows. We sat down on top of a bluff that overlooked the pasture and chatted for a couple hours as clouds passed overhead. Anna spoke of her life before and I reminisced about my love affair with adventures. She was in the middle of a story about her parents when she noticed one of the cows had pushed open a gate on the opposite side of the pasture. She jumped up with surprising agility and ran toward the fence. I shouted, asking her if she needed help. She yelled back that she didn’t and that she would see me tomorrow. I was about to yell back, but by then she was too far to hear me.
I headed east across the rolling green hills, around rocky ravines and through a river that started in the high country. Its brilliant blue water mirrored with the azure sky above. When I was a few ridges over, I looked back and could barely make out the herd. Five more minutes and the faint clanking of bells floated by as a whisper on the wind.
I started walking down toward the coast and stumbled upon a landscape I hadn’t seen before. Everywhere I looked, the island’s black volcanic base was covered in a thick green moss. It was like walking on a mattress. I hopped around like I was on the moon. It felt new, as if its creation 18 million years ago happened yesterday. Close to the edge of the mossy area, I found a small alcove, large enough for an adult to hide in. Tucked in the back was a small bag. I immediately felt a little uneasy and stood up to look around.
Silence.
I reached down and opened the bag. There was a notebook with a bunch of writing in it that I couldn’t read, a pocket knife, and a small tarp. When I opened the top pocket, a Snickers bar fell out and came to a rest near my feet. My heart started pounding, and I stood up again. Consumed by a cycle of fear and paranoia that wouldn’t leave for at least 15 minutes. Was it a trap? Was someone watching me? My paranoia got the best of me. I set the bag back down, climbed atop a mound of moss-covered rocks and scanned the horizon. I listened to the stillness that can only exist in a land without distractions. Nothing moved. There were no birds in the sky, no herds of cattle, no flocks of sheep. I could see the waves crashing against the coast far below me, but the sound never came.
After a few minutes I climbed back down and picked up the snickers bar. Part of me wanted to wait, and share it with everyone at the house. Another part of me wanted to put it back, because it belonged to someone else. But the part of me that won was the carnal one that hadn’t tasted anything as sweet as a Snickers bar in quite a few months.
I bit into it and melted. It had been forever since I’d had anything so delicious. It was nostalgic in a way that I never thought food could be. A flood of memories washed over me. Carrying me out past the sea of tranquility. Depositing me in whatever sea a broken man crying over a Snickers bar belongs in. And then it was gone. I felt a pang of guilt and wondered if I had eaten somebody’s last sliver of hope. The overwhelming feeling of satisfaction was too strong and the guilt didn’t.
It was worth it.