In a fitting moment, Mom and I watched the series finale on the eve of my journey back to Guyana. Most questions answered, most loose ends tied up, purposes fulfilled… a contented ending.
LOST, if you didn’t follow it, is a 6-season TV show that revolves around the survivors of a plane crash on an island in the Pacific. We watch as each character is developed and as the qualities of the island are revealed. There’s a group of around a dozen survivors the show centers around, and then more, outside (“other”) characters come into the story, as well. As the flight survivors try to get home (contacting the outside world, getting a sub, a sailboat, etc.) we see just how special the island is – its electromagnetic forces have caught others’ attention and there are power plays on different local and global levels. It’s a combination of science fiction and man vs. science (and/or faith vs. doubt). The strange traits of the island are bizarre and entertaining, but it’s the actual people on the island that caught my attention the most.
The survivors’ lives before, during and after the Island were always lacking. When they came to the Island, they all were worn down, escaping something, searching for something. Their live's paths all led them to that point of reaching the island, the redeeming trait of each of them, despite past events or stunted expression. Whether they knew it or not, they were looking for something more. Once on the Island - even though they tried fervently for so long to get OFF it – they were changed, it made them blossom; they were given a second chance, they were made more complete for it. The Island and each other did this, though they didn’t realize it at the time, and most did not want to be there; they longed for the familiarity of their past life. While waiting for a way home, they made do with what they had, they learned how to function, survive, enjoy, they let go of past perspectives, made friendships and partnerships in ways they never imagined and witness some true world wonders.
The plot twists, as some actually got back home, trying to pick up where they left off. Though, they were still touched by the island and in need of the bonds created on the Island. It still was with them, and eventually, those that got home, went back. No longer the same person they were on that first flight, and certainly not the same as they were before leaving the Island; each had individually grown.
Though they had all lived their own lives during their time at home, there was no denying the influence of the Island. The plot twisted again, and due to time travel, they made it so it was as if they never even landed on the island (what (would have) happened when the plane reached its intended destination). In this alternate reality, they still found themselves pulled to each other, experiencing memories of a former, forgotten life on the island, until it all came together, it all added up. Things were how they were supposed to be – they had their old life/memories while carrying with them their experiences/memories/relationships from the Island, it added up to complete their story, to balance them out.
I decided the parallels between this whole PC service thing and LOST are too great to ignore.
Oh, I was so satisfied by the ending and the show as a whole – no matter how ‘out there’ it was. Masterful story-telling, masterful characters and masterful presented themes. Destiny, fear, challenge, love, sacrifice, completion. And yes, I feel a parallel to this story, at this particular point in my life. I’m sure the show has many general life predicaments applicable to many, but here’s how it relates to me: Two worlds, one person; when/where/how will those two worlds collide to complete the person? I have referred to these two different locations, the environments and my roles as ‘worlds’ before, and I stand by that.
Most of my memories, instead of vivid episodes, seem to be hazier, dreamlike states of mind wrapped around emotion. When in Guyana, a foreign place, I’d remember, to varying strengths, feelings of Home- love, security, boundaries, people, places, things. I carried them with me, knowing I had them, and that they were probably still there, but it became something only distantly related to me – I was somewhere new, with no one from my former life. I was a blank slate, I became someone (partially) new, all on my own. I’ve done well, and for that, I’m proud. I was changed, and the change became normal.
Coming home, then, after two years…
This trip home was a combining experience, encouraging my two worlds to collide. I was experiencing it from new eyes, with the influences and memories of Guyana, the carefree-ness, the confidence and happiness gained. I was in the car, going down a street, and could picture a savanna dirt road down there, the red dirt, the knee-length grassy middle part, the grr of the motorbike and breeze. I’d hear crickets and other bugs at home, but hear cicadas, howler monkeys and the Rupununi bugs at the same time.
I refreshed all old memories of streets, stores, sounds and ambiance of Home; its feeling was familiar, ingrained in me, timeless, just how I remember, how I remembered when I was Away. Despite any impatience I have with what I feel is its static and restrictive nature, I know I gain strength from Home, as well, and I have a purpose to fulfill there, too. Going home, I also gain back a little bit of who I was before. Before I left Home for my service, I sat in Mom’s living room chair, rubbing my hands over the arms, trying to memorize the feel. I whispered to Maggie “Don’t forget me.” The chair’s still there, still feeling the same way, Maggie still remembers me. Those things haven’t changed.
But I have. And no matter what end I’m at now, there’s longing for the other, in some ways, though also, the other seems as if the dream, the foreign place.
“One day a man dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn’t know he was a man. Suddenly, he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakably a man. But he didn’t know if he was a man who had dreamt he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was a man.” – Chuang Tzu
~Happy Thanksgiving, America!~
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