On this island there are many living beings. They fight, murder, strangle, envy, love, regret, and suppress each other.
One such being is a proud woman. She has bleach blonde hair, which is always perfectly done. She cares for no one. What is her best quality? Her toughness. She’s amused when they try to hurt her. How could they – she cannot even hurt herself! Her home has high white walls, thin stark sheets, and little furniture. She sits blank and stares into the beautiful nothingness. The island is secure with her in control.
Her arch enemy, the one she hates, lives next door. This enemy is pure emotion. Her hair is sparse; she has no time to manage it. She feels everything, expresses it with her soul. The only instrument of expression in which the proud woman allows this emotional woman to use is the pen. She writes; the walls of her home are chiseled with emotion, her soul visible within the writings on the wall. The island is suspicious of her.
On a joint island lives a free spirited, nature based woman. Her hair is red, in loose waves. She wears no makeup, has no desire for expensive clothing. She lives off the land; her walls are the clear blue sky, endless. She knows what herbs are used for, makes everything she owns from natural resources. She is one with nature. She loves, she is love. In her spare time she meditates, dreams, and dances. The island loves her, and fears her.
The other side of the island is the home of another woman. She is the best friend of the proud woman on the next island. This woman is confined, restricted, blinded. Her face is undistinguishable with the makeup she wears. Her walls are black; her gray hair in a tight bun. The air surrounding her is artificial—her life is artificial. The island hates her.
I know this island well, it’s many facets. I hate it, love it, understand it, and am utterly confused by it. I want it to grow; I want it to dry up.
I am this island.