Utopia

 

There once was a land made of gold, where trees would grow and water would flow. A land filled with riches to accommodate all the people of the world, a floating paradise standing tall on sky high pillars of crystal and pearl.

The land was vast; it provided wealth to its habitants. The grass grew greener by the day and the sun’s rays never ceased to grace the mountain tops. Beautiful seas surrounded the land, and nature in its whole embraced it to complete the spectacular scenery.

There was an abundance of water, and no shortage of food. Fruits would grow daily in a consistent variety, and each day a fresh batch would be picked. Beasts of all sorts equally strived in this perfect paradise; most of them were healthy enough to provide fresh meat for the starving population.

Whoever lived in utopia would instantly fall into the island’s charm; for its magic had the power to take away pain, erase all sorrows and troubles, and grant nothing but bliss and delight.

And as the days passed the inhabitants grew fond of the island’s resources, and they became accustomed to its peaceful way of life.

But in the corner, far away from the mountain tops, at the bottom of an abandoned valley, stood a small hut, basking in the shade that accompanied the everyday sun. In that hut lived an old man who had adopted solitude for the better part of his life, avoiding any form of interaction with other human beings.

Some had heard of him, others have thought of him as a myth, but none had ever seen him. For the old man chose to spend the entirety of his time in the well-being of his hut, observing life as it unfolded before his eyes.

He would sit in his chair, facing his window, and watch the children play in the daylight. He would watch as the years rolled back. For he, too, was once a child of this island and basked in its might and glory. But his heart, once joyful and full of life, had grown drab and bored of this perfect setting. For it was a stranger to heartache, treachery and misery. And so, his heart remained still and never grew. And so did the old man. Surely his physique carried the scars that testified of his old age, but his soul had never truly stepped into life: he had not gone through the many experiences that a man undergoes and commemorates throughout his lifetime.

And how could he? He pondered. How could a man set out to live life’s most important experiences when he has known nothing but perfection? How could he come within touching distance of mistakes, live through the slip-ups that shape a man’s soul if his days were marked by accurate events that allowed no margin for error?

He had come to this conclusion: life as it stood on the island was boring and its people were slowly decaying. They could not embrace life’s most revered treasure: Experience. For without it life becomes nothing more than a succession of events and carries no personal growth to man.

The old man, having achieved personal clarity, tried to warn the inhabitants of the island. However, their souls were lured by the riches of the enchanted paradise.

Fools are those who choose materialistic gain over educational profit. For those who come to achieve their goals in the easiest of fashions instead of undergoing the struggles of life are no more than hollow souls walking amongst men.

And the inhabitants of the magical island �" those who have fed off its riches for years to the point of becoming dependent on its resources �" are stray sailors who have lost their way at sea.

Certainly, the old man’s influence may have been quelled by the island’s power and dominance, but his indomitable will to fight off its illusionary prizes at the expense of being rejected by his peers meant he had tasted life to its fullest, as he had learned the true meaning of hardship and struggle.

It is only when we come face to face with adversity that we are truly tested. And the moment we overcome adversity, the moment we conquer our struggles, only then do we truly get a glimpse of life and achieve the growth our soul longs for.

A man who has never truly experienced has never truly lived. Is it better to die a thousand deaths through life’s perilous trials than to die once having never come across experience?