The Silhouette of Freedom

To the person whose window lights up in the night,

It’s really quiet now. I think that’s the thing that has stood out to me most these days: the marked sense of stillness. We’ve all been given the space to think and ponder. We can sit outside in the middle of the day and just take it all in. I don’t think we ever understood what that was before. The world was loud, fast-paced, and everyone was stuck inside their own egocentric cyclone, glued to a device or an agenda and never obtaining the capacity to step out of it. We’ve been given the gift of perception in the wake of the end of the world. For that, I am grateful.

Four months ago, the words post-apocalyptic served only to create the most obvious example of an oxymoron. They did not ring with any sense of familiarity. I spent very little time pondering how I thought the world may cease to exist, because I figured if there was to be some dramatic display of the end times, it would be just that: the end. For me and everyone. I never trusted the movies and creative works that sought to explore what may happen to those left behind after some kind of biblical rapture. It just seemed antithetical to the very principle of an apocalypse. Of course, I knew that there would come a time when everything ended, but I found no merit in thinking about that fact. I never imagined that humanity would be stripped from existence in the way it was. We weren’t wiped out by some violent occurrence, we were wiped out by our own proclivities toward selfishness and ignorance.

I was never someone who relied on technology to keep me entertained or occupied. I always preferred the crisp sound of the turning of a book page to the sterile noise of fingerprints against a glass screen. I know that is what has kept me alive. Modern technology gave us unprecedented opportunities to connect. It allowed us to learn more, to discover more, and to spread awareness in ways our ancestors never thought possible. While we all hoped that we would use these opportunities to make the world a better place, our human nature got in the way of that. We used our cell phones as mirrors and sought to amplify our voices and images above everyone else's. Our attempts at empathy became more and more contrived as we formed our opinions on the stances that were provided to us. Our views of the world became more and more refined until we were all simply looking back at an image of ourselves. There was nothing to challenge our ways of thinking, nothing to force us to take a step back. When we began to neglect the realities of those around us, humanity was stripped from the world. That’s how we lost it all. And we’re continuing to lose it.

There are few people like me these days. People who wake up and go to sleep unattached from a machine. I hold close to other things. Items that remind me of the softness of my existence. When everyone around you has turned into somewhat of a soulless zombie, it becomes quite difficult to remember who and what you are. I’ve kept a couple of items that serve that exact purpose. In a small box under my bed, I keep the trinkets that prove my humanity: My grandmother’s heart-shaped locket, my father’s old paint set, and my little brother’s teddy bear. I’m afraid that if I forget where I come from, that I’ll become like the others. The interconnectedness that brings us into existence is what allows us the sanity to stay alive. My grandmother’s legacy, my relationship to my brother, and the very idea of family grants me the responsibility to become something more than just myself.

I wrote all of this months ago, and I now find myself returning to it with a hardened view of the world. I’ve lost so much of my optimism due to the oppressive forces of loneliness. I was wrong to focus on perception when contemplating what makes someone humane. It's the relationships that keep us sane. I’ve been alone for eight months now. My family and I still live in the same ecosystem, but they are lost. It’s only me now, and I’m becoming increasingly afraid of losing myself. This is why I want to write to you. I have been writing this to you for months and I find myself unable to properly introduce myself. So, instead of explaining to you who I am. I’ve simply given you a glimpse into my mind.

I see your lights on in the dead of night. You’re not programmed like the others are. You’re like me. I see your silhouette matched with the shadow of an art easel or a book. When I glance at your window, I don’t see the dominating glare of a screen. I see liberation. I know well enough how lonely that freedom can feel. I’m reaching out to you in hopes that we can meet. It’s been months since I’ve spoken to someone who isn’t completely catatonic and, quite frankly, I am desperate for that kind of interaction. If you're at all like me, you need me as badly as I need you. I do hope you’ll respond and I do hope to one day meet you. Stay safe and stay liberated.

Sincerely yours,

Lex

I never ended up giving that letter to the silhouette across the street. I feared that if I did, I may lose the dream I had of someone else being out there who could relate to me. Sometimes I think I only imagined that person, and that they never even existed. I hope that’s not the case, but as long as I keep their existence in my mind alone, I am guarded from the harsh realization that I am desperately alone.

In my head, I sent the letter. The mysterious person is actually a young man about my age. We would chat for hours about the existence we’ve both been subjected to, finding several moments to cope with laughter and smiles. We would become inseparable companions of the highest order. Maybe we would fall in love one day and have children who we would fearlessly guard from the atrocities of our post-apocalyptic reality. Our future would have real substance because we would have each other. We would spend our days reading, and painting and watching old movies that reminded us of happier times. We would constantly be learning and teaching, the way humans are hardwired to do. Above all, we would have something to look forward to, even if it was just the idea of seeing each other every day.

I fall asleep each night thinking about what our lives would be like together. I’ve decided that it always plays out better in my dreams; I find no reason to contest that in the real world. His letter stays tucked away under my bed with the other memories of how togetherness felt.