001: Exit to existence

The bright ray of light greeted me to rise and shine.

In the thin layer of existence, the thick atmosphere of identity: Where are you?

I was looking for you. I got lost in the middle of Self-Doubt Intersection, right in the corner of Expectation Ave. I turned right and three-quarters.

Now, I’m down Spectator Road. It was something I never imagined. Large eye pops everywhere! It was long and winding, all I can say is, “It was tiring, numbing. For a thriller, you’ve got a 5-star rating,” with pitstops on numerous Dollar 24/7 Stores, Cent Shops, and Wall Streetery —

lights, bizarre, and bazaar. Amused or delusion, illusion. I can feel my kaleidoscopic introspection. Crawling through my skin. Deep. Down. Under.

Maybe six feet? I hardly remember.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, piercing me together. Do I make sense? Do I matter?

Now, I can see them chasing me as Mad Max with his fury twisted in sunshine. Midday gnashing and grinding their teeth and heavy trucks. Sprinkling me with catastrophe all because I got some gold and green with me.

But I got away through Regret Roundabout! Round and round straight to Anxiety Express Lane where you can pass all the nerves and jitters. What a sight! All the way to Depression Plaza. I chilled there for a little while. Had some espresso shots to calm my nerves down. Looking at people as they pass by.

At nightfall, I was near Fear Alley across Roulette Wonderland where “Things go as you please, never to have you displeased.”

There was you, even if I can’t see clearly. It’s fuzzy. All of boozy and woozy steady as you put your chips and shouted, “ALL IN!” they dried you out of luck, hung you so dry that the leprechauns can’t even recognize the colors of green and gold.

From all in, to all-out, the lights all went out in Roulette Wonderland. I saw you. There was you. You kept walking with nothing. But you whispered, “I still have the tickets.”

I just looked at you. Grabbed your hand as we stroll the streets of the now-empty Roulette Wonderland. “From nothing we were, to nothing now. We can lose so much yet lose nothing,” you just nodded. You never once agreed with me but this time, you nodded.

With nothing, we still have the tickets and we can hitchhike across the universe, right? A ticket to another journey.

To hitchhike, we raised our thumbs harder than ever. A nice lad stopped and let us hitch. He dropped us at ThrowBack airport. When we arrived, we ran to the desk. We still have our tickets. We handed it to the stewardess. She scanned us and said, “You’ve got excess baggage. Please move to this side while you declutter.” The stewardess handed us two remotes to rewind and remove. She pointed us where the Memory Tray is.

We began the process.

We took the remotes, hit pause, hit play, hit rewind, hit replay. As we vividly see every memory in the Memory Tray, we laughed, cried, or went silent.

The hardest part was to hit delete. I couldn’t lift my finger on some occasions but I know I needed to. I needed to.

I saw you thinking twice as well, especially the memory when you were 25, that guy with a misty smile. You pressed, “DELETE.”

That memory when you were 6, it was blurry but I heard the shouting. You pressed “DELETE.”

It gave me courage.

When we were done with the memory housekeeping, the stewardess let us board the plane.

With nothing, we just reached Freedom Island.