On a Sinking Ship

2 Jul

sinking ship

Thirty years ago, Mom told us we had to go, and that gnarly scary looking uncle in red was actually our biological father. We were shocked. We didn’t want to go. No child would want to leave their mother. But at the end, we reluctantly got on Uncle’s boat, and sailed away from Mother’s distant embrace.

Uncle, now turned Father, patted our heads and smiled, “don’t worry, little man, I know you aren’t used to sailing with so many people, so I got you a little boat so you can have some space. Do whatever you will on there. We will just be in front of you, towing you along. Welcome back to the family.”

It was great, we got our own boat. We even get to choose our own captain. Sweet! I guess leaving Mother wasn’t so bad after all.

That was seventeen years ago.

Today, the once shiny and glorious ship is reduced to a rusty bucket of bolts. We are patching the ship up daily just to get it sailing, and all the sailors that Father sent over aren’t helping either. They are either drinking wine with the captain or snoozing on the lower decks, waking only to the sound of dinner. I wondered why Father even bothered in the first place.

Everyday, from the decks, we look up to the bridge tower, made of ivory, gold and beautiful gems. Everyone wants to go there because that’s the only place that’s not brown and rusty. What does it matter anyways? The ship is slowing sinking. Too many holes, too many sailors, and not enough wood. The captain doesn’t care, he can’t see a thing down here from his ivory tower. All he can see is the shiny big boat that Father is sailing in.

I see the shiny big boat too, and I only see a bigger version of our boat. Blood and sweat on the bottom, ivory tower on top. The captain talks to the big hats on Father’s boat everyday. With every call, our boat sinks deeper, the food is more scarce, the language around me is more foreign.

We tried to speak up, but our voices aren’t heard. I guess he can’t hear anything over Father’s voice. All we get is “everything will be alright.” Yeah, alright. The holes on the hull are getting bigger and the patches aren’t holding up, and everything is alright.

If you are reading this, and if you are on the same boat, then we can fix this boat together. Before it sinks, before this boat becomes forgotten in the pages of history, before we are only mentioned in myths in the distant future.

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