Life goes on of course. It always does, especially out here where we don’t really have a choice as to whether not we feel like stopping. The ship cannot shut down, the curtain can’t close. We just chug along. At least today I was able to leave my cabin without my hematite, that means that the ship is feeling better as a whole, the grief is starting to become centralized to those who were close friends and family, the rest of us turning our efforts instead as to how we can help. Everyone is being especially gentle with the shop staff.
As I type this, the three outside crisis care counselors sent out by head office are talking in low voices across the library, as much as I try and drown them out, it’s difficult not to pick up on what they’re saying
He was only 23…
Etc etc. When I realized what they were talking about I quietly went up and asked them how they knew so much about it, since we’ve been instructed not to discuss it with guests. Not that the guests would know anything of course, and if they do, they’re respectful enough to stay quiet about it
Muggles? They don’t know nothin’ do they? Don’t listen properly…
They were glad to tell me who they were, and what they were there for – but as I said to them, I’m not a shoppie, there are loads of other people on board who need their services more than myself, but I’m glad they’re here none the less.
Instead I just hide my nose in my book (Susanna Kearsley’s Firebird, highly recommended by the way) and try not to sulk or feel sadness that isn’t mine.
My shore-side boss says that she imagines it will probably be a while before things feel quite the same on board, and I – once again – imagine she’s probably right. But it’s a choice. Choose to grieve in the darkness, or choose to live in the light.
I really do try to choose the light. Like so many others, I’ve had quite enough darkness in my life.
There’s a crew party tonight. It’s been set up for a long time, and though some people feel it’s inappropriate to go on with it, I think quite the opposite. The ship needs the moral boost, and the release. We need a night of not having to fake anything. And that is, after all, what crew parties are all about. Besides, the party has been arranged to celebrate Indonesia Independence Day (even now the upstairs longue behind me is draped in red and white) and it seems unfair to deprive such a large hard-working group of their celebration when they’re so far from home and loved ones.
It’s like ripples in a pond (and despite what some of my relatives say I still think this is a genuinely wise philosophy) – eventually they will go smooth again, but the stone that caused them will always be there, under the lake. The lake may look the same but it’s forever changed.
Things like this? They change you. As does every little choice you make in your life.