Chapter 47 Indonesian Stories (46)

The tone sounds firm and confident, but I must also admit that when I took a boat alone to this quiet island, I felt a fear that I had never felt in my life.I didn't even bring any books to read, nothing to distract me.It's just me and my heart, about to face each other on the wasteland.I remember seeing my legs shaking with fear, and I quoted to myself a quote my mentor once said that stuck with me: "Fear—who cares?" So I got off the boat alone. I rented a hut by the sea, and the daily rent was only a few dollars.Then I shut my mouth and vowed not to speak again until something changed inside me.Menon is my trial of absolute truth and reconciliation.I picked the right place, it couldn't be more clear.The island is very small and pristine, with sandy beaches, blue sea, and palm trees.The perfectly circular island has only one walking path around the island, and you can walk the entire circle within an hour.The island lies almost on the equator, so the daily cycle does not change.The sun rises on one side of the island at 6:30 in the morning and sets on the other side of the island at 6:30 in the afternoon, all year round.A small group of Muslim fishermen and their families live here.There is no place on the island where the sound of the sea is not heard.There are no motor vehicles here.Electricity comes from a generator and is only available for a few hours at night.This is the most peaceful place I've ever been.

Every morning, I walk around the island at sunrise and again at sunset.The rest of the time, I just sat and watched.Watch yourself think, watch your feelings, watch the fisherman.The yogis say that all pain in life is caused by words, as is all joy.We create words to illuminate our experiences, and the emotions that accompany those words pull us like a dog on a leash.We are seduced by our own spell (I am nothing...I am lonely...I am nothing...I am lonely...) and become monuments to the spell.To go without speaking for a while, therefore, is an attempt to remove the power of words, to stop letting yourself be suffocated by words, to free yourself from the suffocating spell.

It took me a while to actually fall silent.Even when I stopped talking, I found myself whispering words.My internal organs and speech muscles -- head, throat, chest, back of neck -- linger after I stop speaking.Words echoed in my head like the sounds and shouts that seemed to echo endlessly in an indoor swimming pool after the kindergarten children had left for the day.It took a while for the pulsations of speech to die down and for the whirling sounds to subside, about three days. Then everything started to emerge.In this state of silence, there is room now for all that is filled with hatred and fear to rush through my empty heart.I felt like a drug addict undergoing rehab, twitching with surfacing cravings.I cry a lot.I pray a lot.Difficult and frightening as it was, I knew it—that I didn't want to be there, that I wanted someone by my side.I knew I had to do it, and I knew I had to do it alone.

The other tourists on the island are couples on a romantic vacation. (Mainon Island is too beautiful and remote, and only crazy people will visit it alone.) I looked at these couples and felt a little envious of their romantic vacation, but I also understood: "Xiao Li, this is not a joke. Timing for partnership. You have other tasks here." I keep my distance from everyone.The people on the island didn't bother me.I think I'm projecting some kind of horror signal.My poor condition has been going on for years.If you suffer from chronic insomnia, weight loss, and crying, you also look like a psychopath, so no one talks to me.

That's not true.There is a guy who talks to me every day, a kid, one of a bunch of kids running around the beach selling fresh fruit to tourists.The boy, about nine years old, appears to be the ringleader.He's tough and aggressive, and I'd say he's street smart, if there are any streets on his island.I believe he is full of beach wisdom.For some reason, he learned to speak excellent English, probably learned from harassing sunbathing Westerners.This kid notices me.No one asked me who I was, no one bothered me, but this persistent kid came and sat next to me on the beach sometime every day and asked, "Why don't you ever talk? Why don't you So weird? Don't pretend you didn't hear me—I know you heard me. Why are you always by yourself? Why don't you ever go swimming? Where's your boyfriend? Why aren't you married? What's wrong with you ?"

I almost said, "Fuck off, brat! What are you doing - reading my worst thoughts?" I try to smile at him as nicely as I can every day, and politely motion for him to go, but he won't let go until it annoys me.I remember saying to him out of the blue once, "The reason I'm not talking is because I'm on a fucking spiritual journey, you nasty little rascal -- now get the hell out of here!"