sol.ace_r

Hello. Thank you for reading my story.

It feels almost unreal that you’re reading this letter…
yet somehow, it also feels like the most natural thing in the world.
That my story—my tale of that remote, lonely island—has reached someone out there.

When I first arrived on the island, it felt as though every color and temperature in the world had vanished.
All sound turned muffled, and the points that anchored me to myself shattered like fragile glass.
Inside that enormous wave of despair, I was nothing more than a drifting splinter of wood with nowhere to cling to.
The island… yes, perhaps it was the embodied shape of my deepest darkness, despair, and loneliness.
Cold, damp, uncanny—wherever I turned, there was nothing but myself.
Only the broken remnants of my ship remained, constantly reminding me of everything I’d lost, and of my failures.
It felt like I would be trapped forever in that darkness, in that cold prison.
Even breathing felt unbearable.

But… just as you have read my story, small miracles also came to me.
The tiny, fragile flower that somehow bloomed between the cold rocks.
The nameless little life I encountered in the dark forest.
The dead end inside the cave, where I finally faced the deepest fear and pain within myself, with nowhere left to run.
And in that suffocating agony, when I realized that those terrors were none other than the walls I myself had built—
even in despair, a faint but precious memory flickered.
All those moments whispered to me.
With a trembling voice, yet certain: survive. keep going. you are not alone.
And they helped me realize the most important truth:
the island wasn’t simply a place I had been thrown into.
It was a place I needed to face, understand, embrace, and heal.
A place where I had to hold the wounds that had become part of me, and move forward.

So I began to build a small world of my own on the island.
At first it was merely an empty stretch of land, but I planted seeds in the dry soil,
poured water with careful hands, pulled out weeds, cleared sharp stones—
and soon, small and delicate sprouts began to grow beneath my touch,
so visibly and miraculously it felt like magic.
As I cut down dead trees, it felt as though I was clearing away the dead parts within myself too—
all the pains and regrets that could no longer grow.
And from the space created by that grief and destruction,
a new life took root—a young trunk rising with astonishing resilience.

As I tended to the island, the island ceased to frighten or weigh me down.
It became a quiet companion to my pain and growth.
Whenever my hands touched the earth, the island shifted,
and the barren landscape inside me slowly began to bloom with green life as well.
The island had once been a prison,
but with time, it became my refuge—
a place so deeply intertwined with me that it felt like another part of myself.

And then one day, in the midst of peaceful daily life,
I happened to look beyond the horizon.
A tiny fleck. A faint dot rising.
A shadow of a small boat.
It wasn’t salvation from the outside, nor a hand reaching out to rescue me.
I knew instantly.
That boat wasn’t here to take me away.
It was a sign of the boat I had to build—
the vessel I would need when I was ready to move toward the world again.
All my time on the island had been preparing me for this moment.
I couldn’t stay forever in this gentle solitude I had created.
Just as no one can remain trapped inside their heart forever,
I too could not remain endlessly in this sanctuary shaped by my own soul.
It was time. It was my moment to go forward.

In my heart, I carried the understanding I gained in the dead-end cave,
the strength born from tending, organizing, and healing the island,
and the unwavering peace I had cultivated within myself.
With all of this as my foundation, I knew it was time to begin building my boat.
Not merely a physical task—
it was the final vow,
the declaration of stepping into the next chapter of my existence.

I walked across the island to gather materials.
Trunks of sturdy trees that had grown strong.
Fragments fallen from sharp rocks.
Even the hardened remains of forms that had long lost their life.
Everything on the island became part of the boat.
The island itself would be carved into the very vessel that would carry me forward.
The design already lived in my heart.

As I collected the materials,
I felt a heavy mixture of gratitude and farewell.
This was the place that once had thrown me into despair—
yet ultimately, it was the place that healed me,
helped me grow,
and allowed me to rediscover who I truly was.
I touched the soil to offer silent thanks,
and whispered my goodbye to the wind.
The courage to face pain,
the wisdom to care for myself,
the strength to cultivate life,
and the peace I had learned to hold—
I promised to carry all of these with me into the world.
The island had welcomed me, held me,
and now it was preparing to send me off.

With all the gathered materials, I walked to the shore.
The waves brushed the sand gently.
This place had been my beginning.
And it would become the beginning of my next chapter.
With my own hands,
I shaped the boat from everything the island had given,
everything born of my pain and my growth.
I carved wood, tied the pieces, wove ropes together.
My hands were clumsy, but with each piece fitted into place,
my resolve for a new beginning grew stronger.
It wasn’t just a wish for a new journey—
it was the will to create my own path,
my own future,
with my strength and my choices.

When the boat was complete, I left it on the shore
and turned back to look at the island—
my garden, my forest, my cave, my sea,
the place carved with every trace of my existence.
My sanctuary, and also my creation.
Here I had fallen apart,
and here I had risen again,
healed myself,
and become whole.

Then I turned toward the horizon,
toward the endless sea stretched beyond.
There, an unknown world was waiting—
full of infinite possibilities.

My journey on this island had ended,
but life would continue.
I didn’t know what awaited out in the world—
what new pains or joys I might encounter.
But I was no longer afraid.
The strength I gained here,
the peace within me,
and the boat I built with my own hands
would hold me up.

My story may have found completion on this island,
but now it would continue—
on new waters,
in new worlds,
in my own voice,
with my own rhythm.

Thank you, once again, for reading my story.
I hope this tale of a remote island—
a journey of facing and tending to one’s own heart—
left even a small resonance within you.

Somewhere in the world,
you may be stranded on your own island,
feeling lost in the dark,
standing before a dead-end with despair tightening around you.
And just as I did,
I hope you too will move forward—
at your own pace,
without giving up.
Follow the small spark of hope inside you.
Build your own boat.
Prepare yourself for the world beyond.
You may stumble, you may be hurt,
but every step will make you stronger
and shape your story.

And the most important thing:
you are not alone.
We are all living on our own islands,
building our own boats,
each in our own way.
Who knows—
when your boat finally sails out into the world,
perhaps we’ll meet somewhere on that vast ocean.
Perhaps our stories will recognize each other
in that wide, blue world.

Until that day—goodbye.
May my story, and your story,
not end here,
but unfold further—
more beautifully, more fiercely,
more richly,
and with unexpected possibilities.

Somewhere in the world,
in the futures our islands and boats will create—
I’ll be hoping for the day we meet again.

Goodbye, for now.

From. Sᴿᵒⁿ