I woke up early the next day, took a train to Marina South Pier. Heard they have ferries there. I packed a carton of milk, some chocolate pies, and cat snacks—those in a little plastic tube like warmers to feed with your hand, tuna-flavoured. If I were a cat, I’d love that.

I did my research. It says there will be cats, so I shall be prepared to greet the locals.

Staring into the ticket plans:

“Lazarus Island, St John’s—”

Then I bought my ticket, ADULT ticket.

The dude that registered me asked questions, some questions, while handing me my yellow ticket.

“Em, you, uh, on a holiday?”

“Sure, I have a day off.”

“You, uh, gave yourself a day off?”

“Sure.”

“Ok then, here you go, MR Daniel.”

“Thank you, have a great—”

“There’s a maritime gallery upstairs, too bad it’s not open today.”

Then I just walked around—many fishermen, captains, big beards, old dirty uniforms, all the marks of great stories. I don’t have to ask them for… maybe I already knew them through their eyes, the bottle they drank from, their accent, tiny things.

Behind them were the great big ocean, waves and winds blow. I take the stairs to the third floor, nothing more than a couple crows.

“Sorry guys, I’m just gonna pass.”

Then there was a group of Indian men, laying sleeping all over the floor, looking at me.

No, I wasn’t talking to you guys but okay, maybe you guys too now that I see you.

I turn and walk towards the outside,it was raining drops of the sea, my leather shoes stepping, and the sound of water splashes.

Putting my both arms over the fence, the stagnant water soaked into my dress shirt. I got a clear look at the port, smelled the rainy cold wind, people rushing, ships sailing on and off, tourists who picked a bad day complaining and holding on to the gate for balance.

Experiencing every bit of this typical Monday morning.

I look up, some rain drops joined my tears, now they are just the rain.

Both salty, both water.

 second floor, oh that’s what he was talking about, the gallery.

Yup, it’s closed, but I can still glance at the ship models over the glass.

 from a total layman’s view, it’s a miracle how some of these ships even stay afloat, they shape like heavily improper fractions.

Then,I use the gentleman’s room, as I expect there to be no privacy in toilets on the islands.

The waiting area as well, empty, just me and—three teenage girls?

 the only thing I am deadly allergic to besides squid,

The crew’s ship member comes up to me.

“Got enough food and water?”

“Yup.”

“You know boy, it’s an awful small group, just you and the three over there.”

He let me on the ferry first. As soon as I stepped on the platform I was shaken by the waving grounds beneath me, I forgot this is part of the ocean. I hesitated for a few seconds and remembered I am a man, so I kept wobbling to the ferry and got in a seat near the entrance—always good to be prepared. FOR WHAT, DANIEL? You can’t swim.

Then the girls got on.

I pretended to be interested in whatever is happening outside the window so we don’t accidentally meet each other’s eyes, again.

Then the ferry starts, big rumbling noise from the engine. I stick out my neck like that could get me more views somehow.

It was all fresh but got boring very soon, staring at the ocean for a long time hurts, literally.

Like it’s coating my pupils in thick water.

Finally arrived on Lazarus Island, I jump off the ferry and very difficultly turn back and give the captain and crew members a nod. If this trip lasted one minute longer, I would have thrown up all my breakfast. I really can’t risk talking.

As I rushed my steps to get to stable, non-waving ground, I saw a cat, just a cat sleeping near an electric box.

“Is that a cat?”

I squatted down, offering my left fingers for what might be a gentle sniff or a slap that can dive through my skin.

He’s a good mister, don’t even care that I was there. I gave him a little pat on the head and started my journey.

I drew a little map of plan:

• Explore the Lazarus island.

• Explore the Kias island.

• Skip over the St. John’s island.

• Remember to feed the cats.

Oh this will be awesome.

I took a route into the forest, the three girls took another to Kias Island.

Actually, nothing too special here—just another park that cost fifteen dollars and a headache.

Talk about parks, I took out my mosquito repellent, sprayed it all over my kneecaps. I learned my lesson. Smells like ginger.

The rain stopped. For now. I studied today’s weather. It shall return.

Doesn’t matter. I choose to be sunny. For now.

Small glass houses, small ports and open sea, a lot of sea.

My mom is intellectually challenged.

Okay, what?

No, she really is—just passes as a normal citizen.

She can’t comprehend basic given information, sometimes gets lost in her own logic.

And I am just supposed to leave her in this world, like that?

I remember nights where everyone specifically said not to cook. Everyone is busy and will all be eating at our own time. She will cook and call everyone to go home for dinner.

“But mom, didn’t I tell you we won’t be home?”

“Be fast baby, dinner’s getting cold. Mommy cooked your favourite—broccoli!”

I—broccoli was no one’s favourite. Maybe my sister’s, when she was six.

Then I felt bad just leaving her there with the cold dinner. She doesn’t understand why everyone refused to eat it. She spent a lot of energy on it but it’s not appreciated.

She can’t comprehend or even register the fact that we won’t be home as an option in her mind.

She always did things she thought would be the best for us but doesn’t have the capability to make sense to herself that maybe her kids don’t need it or like it at all.

And she could forget about a burst of anger that happened fifteen minutes ago and go back to her normal “loving?” self.

It scared me. A lot of the time.

For her. And for myself.

Am I inherited?

Is that how people see me?

Does my family know about this?

My poor mom will just keep getting hurt emotionally and no one will be there to explain to her why.

And as for me, she’s just thinking that one day I will magically become her little girl again.

I told her many times that I will be gone one day and she can’t seem to wrap her head around what that means.

She tells me about a future plan she has—one with me in it.

Trips she wants to take with the family, with me.

What am I supposed to do?

I somehow walked into Kias Island without paying any attention.

Some laughs snapped me out of my mind—those girls. They were at the land link area between the two islands, taking selfies.

Don’t know what’s so funny.

I walked past them into the island.

It’s very much like the grass field me and Addie went to—just with shorter grass and a bigger area. A whole island.

It’s maybe only 1/50 of the area of Lazarus Island but it’s my personal favourite.

I chose a nice spot, sat down and started doodling in my notebooks.

Butterflies surrounded me.

In nothing but wooden fence, connected by white ropes and gravel ground.

Only a little locked-up electric house in the distance and a couple lone trees.

I could live here. Like the Little Prince and his planet.

That house could be my rose.

Maybe I didn’t understand the meaning of that story…

I heard those laughs again. GIRLS! Coming my way—oh god.

I shifted my body a little, so I don’t face them.

They passed behind me still laughing.

What’s so funny? Really, I want to know.

I’m here looking for the meaning—what are they here for?

Teenage girls deciding to hang out on a wilderness island?

Maybe there’s more to girls than I thought I knew.

Maybe sharing the same set of reproductive organs isn’t enough.

I kid you not, I heard:

“我跟你说，如果我嫁给那个男的我会—”

“哎，你害不害臊，想这么远了，”

“你不要这么恋爱脑好不好，才刚遇到人家你就这样”

Whoever that dude is, I’m rooting for you.

Wish I had your kind of charm.

And they laughed. And laughed.

And left the island.

I left as well. I saw the clouds forming.

I stood in the middle of the land link for a while, staring into the ocean and the blurry buildings that might or might not be there.

This is what people do in books. In movies.

Maybe if I stare hard enough, it will make sense.

Many things become clear to me when I just do it myself.

This might not be one of them.

Just as I made my way out and was distracted by something all over the grass—some fluffy flowers.

I picked one up.

Like Addie’s fluffs but a thousand times bigger. White with pink flower bulbs.

I later found out they are called “fish poison,” so I probably shouldn’t be touching them.

I definitely should be eating them.

Well. It’s too late.

Then what made it worse—the GIRLS started following me.

Wherever I go, they are behind me.

Not directly, but they kept a haunting distance.

Whenever I turned back, I saw three white bright dots.

And somehow their laughs travel further than the sound of the ocean waves.

An hour has gone by. I am on my way to St John’s Island.

And somehow… they are STILL sticking with me.

I went into the bathroom. Somewhere they can’t go.

As I expected—no privacy at all.

What kind of stall has no door?

Maybe it’s time to learn to pee standing.

No, Daniel, we are not peeing on ourselves today.

I poured cool water over my face, and walked out.

God. They are STILL there. Just right outside the toilet. Like they are waiting for me.

I kept going.

Maybe if I ignore them, they will go away.

I took out my little map and pulled up my socks.

If I walk fast enough they won’t be able to catch up.

Boy, was I wrong.

Those girls are like our early ancestors, using their stamina to tire out their prey.

I was the prey.

Keeping a distance but always there.

I want to be left alone.

I escaped to the literal wild island and somehow there are still people.

WHY?!

“THIS IS A HUGE ISLAND—WHY ARE YOU GUYS RIGHT HERE?”

I didn’t look back, just yelled and kept walking.

I told myself, fifty more steps then look back.

If they weren’t there, give yourself a “woohoo.”

If they are there, then just accept it.

They stopped. Disappointed.

They heard me—or just didn’t want to get soaked by the rain.

Or I was thinking too much and they weren’t following me in the first place.

I should do a woohoo.

“…wo…ho?”

Good enough, Daniel. I mean, it is a woohoo, alright?

The sky started raining.

I have an umbrella but I’m not going to use it.

I am in St John’s Island and I shall take in everything that it has to offer.

Yes—even the rain.

This island was marked back in 1607, and became a camp for drug addicts till the late 1900s.

More man-made buildings here, but all from the 70s.

I don’t hate it. It’s pleasant.

I put my bag down, shoved a pie in my mouth, found a stick on the ground.

The trees here are all grey.

Even the sticks are grey and black.

Then I started to calculate the coordinates in the sand.

I found them on a sign, but only the numbers—not in degree, minutes and seconds form.

Now that’s something I don’t like.

I took a sip of the milk I brought.

The sand was hard to write on, but I made it work and got the final coordinates down.

Double-underlined them like someone would find it useful.

A patrol car scooted by behind me. I heard:

“What you doing, boy?”

I didn’t answer. Just admired my work.

The basic grade eight math made me feel like a protagonist.

I wanted to explore more but there really wasn’t much.

Nothing is open—it’s a wild island. What do I expect?

I headed back to the port.

I’ve been walking constantly for three and a half hours.

Even if my legs don’t feel it, my brain is screaming for an end.

“There are two of you?”

Two cats. Just laying around at the port with many fishermen.

I threw my bag down and took out the cat snack. They both approached me.

Meowing for what’s in my hand. I showed the food to the crew—they nodded.

So I fed them.

While they were licking up the tuna mush, I stuck out one of my fingers.

They licked it without noticing.

But it’s enough to get my mind off all the tangled wires.

Just the weird sensation of a cat’s mouth for a few seconds.

I sat down on the floor after that.

The seats were taken by the crew members and fishermen.

No place for a little thing like me.

They didn’t offer.

I didn’t ask.

Just doodling and writing down my feelings.

Still an hour before the return ferry arrives. I took my time.

“Whose boy is that? Is it yours?”

“No, I’m too old to be having kids that age.”

“Where are his parents? Is he with anyone?”

“He came alone, I heard.”

“In uniform?”

I heard the fishermen, captain and crew asking questions.

Maybe I stayed too long and looked lost.

But I wasn’t.

So I won’t be answering.

Plus, they didn’t ask me, anyway.

The cats gravitated toward me—very slowly.

Eventually, one snuck right onto my back, made herself real comfortable.

“Is he lost?”

“The boy?”

“Yeah, could be.”

One woman came up to me.

“Hey, you going back?”

“Yes ma’am, ferry at 4pm.”

“You have a ticket, right?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“The boy is not lost. He has a yellow ticket.”

Then she looks back at me.

“Thank you for feeding the cats. That one is Go Go, and that’s Mei Mei. I think they like you.”

“Haha, no problems.”

She took off into the ferry with many of the others.

Coming down from that ferry were two couples and two dogs.

A black standard poodle and a black and tan long-haired wiener dog.

No offence, but I like dogs way more than cats.

In other words, I don’t even like cats. Just don’t hate them.

But at this moment, I stayed.

Because the cats were hissing like popped balloons leaking air.

Both hiding behind me.

“They are just dogs. Good stuff.”

Nope. Didn’t change their minds.

So I just watched the dogs from a distance.

The poodle’s name is Nino. The wiener dog’s, not quite sure.

They were both very attracted to the male’s bathroom.

The wiener dog made me giggle. Uncomfortably.

It was funny—his hair is so long you can barely see his legs.

Just a stick of dog sliding around.

And he looked so confused the whole time.

His long snout kept turning in different directions like it’s pointing at stuff.

A long dog with a long face.

I don’t know why—I couldn’t keep my chill. I just kept giggling.

The cats are now sleeping. Beside and behind me.

They are so damn fat. Two fat cats.

Blobs of cats.

The dogs left.

And I shall too. My ferry is waiting.

As I stepped into the ferry, I turned back ,took a deep breath.

Not to remember the islands—

But because I needed to take one last breath before trying not to throw up again.

I saw the crew. Two ladies. Waving, saying bye to me.

“The boy is going.”

When I left the ferry, I again jumped off without saying thank you to the crew.

I’m deeply sorry.

But my brain’s only mission was to get to safe ground.

I didn’t find my meanings.

Just a couple of cats and trees.

But maybe that’s enough.

Funny how my name is just “the boy.”

But that’s not a bad name.

Back home, I took a shower while the world kept grooving.

on my bed.

The ocean was still gift-wrapped in my brain.Horrible.

couldn’t sleep, but exhausted.

it kept me away from entering the “scary state” of my mind that usually comes out around this hour.

But the ocean sickness wasn’t any better.

Sleeping felt like a pop-up ad, and my mind kept pressing cancel.

It’s not funny. I was literally going to cry.

Then I finally fainted.

“Can’t believe this island is still here after decades.

You know, Rufus, when I was a scruffy boy, I was here looking for meanings.

It’s sad he didn’t make it."