A Series of Observations

“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

My dearest Observers,

I am writing to you today not to share a story of loss or love or even fantasy, but one of truth and adventure.

Three years ago, a young woman had completed her studies and emerged into a world that had been broken by a virus that took far too many lives. Though she was finally done with the books and exams, none had helped her to determine her direction or place in the world that was steadily growing around her.

Instead of internships or entry-level jobs, she decided she would see the world that she had been shut away from for so long. Belief led her to think that home might be elsewhere, for most of her life she believed it certainly would be.

She bought a one way ticket to Europe, packed a bag, and left for a trip of a lifetime.

For three months she discovered new cultures, music, food, and relationships, but eventually knew that all things must come to an end. It was time to go back to the home she left, for she had not found another home in her time away.

She returned heartbroken but relieved, for there was one thing she had found with certainty in her time away, and that was the hope that came from dreaming.

Having not taken the same path as her classmates, the young woman was without means. She took a job as a receptionist in a place she had grown up loving and told herself it would be temporary, that another opportunity would come to her eventually.

She hardly knew just how long it would take for the opportunity to come.

Perhaps for the first year she wasn’t ready for it. She enjoyed the freedom the job supplied and the rest she was able to receive as she recovered from burnout and heartbreak. It was exactly what she needed at the time.

By the second year, her sights returned outward again. Anxious to rejoin the world, she travelled more and again did not find the home she was longing for, so she stayed.

Then came the third year. She made every desperate attempt to try to open the right door of opportunity, to find many locked or lacking vacancy. The woman grew tired and her hope died, little by little she recognized less and less of herself. Her displeasure with life was remedied only by her ability to share stories and worlds that did not exist but for only in her mind.

And one very small part of her urged her to continue, a voice that came to her in her dreams of what could be, so continue she did.

There will be no fourth year, as the opportunity finally came. The young woman found a new challenge, a new opportunity, which will take her to a new city.

Philadelphia.

The woman could think only of her disbelief and terror at first, a terror and disbelief that is sure to sit with her for some time as she learns to stand on her own.

Her dreams returned with a vibrancy, it was now a true illustration of all that would be.

Slowly excitement and anticipation bloomed, replacing her apprehension and distrust. For who else could she believe in greater than herself?

One step forward turned to two, and despite her fear she wasted no time in charging towards such a possibility.

Soon, she would pack her belongings and step into a different world. A world where she was finally the author of her own story. A world that glimmered in a way only she could see, a world that was full of color and endless possibilities.

Though it would be temporary, but a chapter in the binding of her life, she would cherish every minute, every moment in a place she could call entirely her own, every new soul that would cross her path. Every newness would be so new that she would have no choice but to devour it so that not a single morsel be wasted.

Hope had returned anew, and it sat comfortably next to her discomfort. A gentle companion to an overwhelming friend.

By December 1st, she will not be the Observer you once knew, for she has been preparing for many years for this transformation.

She is ready, she is waiting, and she will return soon.

Signed with promises that I have no plans to break, yours faithfully,

Stamatia