Iron Walls

3.2.25

I drifted along ever slowly past Rannar. So many years ago, I called this place my home. It was not for long — no place ever was — but it was home all the same. I can never return there. At least, I never would. Though I am certainly curious to know what has become of its capital. It holds a special place in my heart. It’s where I learned what life could be.

I arrived some twelve years back. At the time, the city of Kjar was in its “up and coming” phase. Choosing that time to move made me feel a strong sense of guilt: I was part of the problems being created. But what was I meant to do? What was anyone meant to do? So many people came there simply to earn money. Some sent it back home, others planned to live and save for a while before leaving. In fact, most people had a plan like that. Knowing that I came to live alleviated some of my guilt.

My first two months were spent alone on the eastern edge of the city, overlooking the scar. It was a quiet place. Being there and knowing nothing about the world was a difficult experience, but at least I was in peace. It was there that I gathered myself, building the courage to so much as exist. Then, I moved closer to the center of the city for another two months. At that point, I was burning through my savings, wondering what I was doing.

It took me five months in total to find long-term accommodations. It was a dirty, run-down apartment farther south, shared by six of us in total. Of course, the woman we all rented the place from kept half of it to herself. She treated us like children. Not her children, just children. It was demeaning, but I must admit that I played into her view of us a number of times to keep myself out of trouble. All I ever needed to say was, “Oh, I didn’t know that,” and all was well.

What a place that was. It taught me a lot about people. Mostly bad, unfortunately. I only interacted regularly with one of the tenants who I became very good friends with. The others kept to themselves. I lived there for six months and spoke to one other tenant a total of two times. The girl in the room next to mine was also quite the character. She looked at me with a burning hatred I had never experienced in my life. I said hello to her once, and she returned a glare so bitter as to make me never speak to her again. She cooked in her room despite us having a kitchen. As in, every single day, between four and six in the morning, she would be throwing around pots and pans and running blenders next to the thin wall separating our rooms. She also threw her contacts in every imaginable spot in the bathroom each night. I stepped on many.

By pure chance, I found another place directly in the center of Kjar. My friend moved out with me, and that was truly where my life began. I had been working at a holostation. It was run by some of the filthiest scum on the planet. We workers bonded over the atrocious conditions. I remember when they gave us a step-by-step guide on handling rude customers following one particularly violent situation. It began with, Thank the customer for their patience. We hated the job. We hated the company.

But it takes a certain type of person to withstand the mental tortures of holostation service. Only genuinely good people lasted more than a month or two. So, after many months working there, I found myself surrounded by people with a passion to live. At the time, I had no idea what that meant. All I knew was myself — how I felt and what I wanted… why I came to this forsaken rock in the first place.

I wanted to get away. From what? and why? I never really knew. Looking back, I was merely running from myself. Living among the lowest-class is one of the best experiences of my life because it taught me that: that you cannot escape yourself. I told everyone all my hopes and dreams. We spoke about them often. And what did anyone do with them? Absolutely nothing. It was always a problem for another day. Even for me. Thus, I wanted to run before it caught up to me.

There were ups and downs. So many life-changing experiences I plan to give proper attention to some day. But there was one person who didn’t only listen to me, she heard me. She asked me a question that set the rest of my life in motion: “I want the same thing. Why don’t we just start?” And we did. At least, I did.

She lit a fire in me that day, after living on Rannar for two years. For the first time, I looked around and saw what I had allowed my life to become. Hopes? Dreams? The future itself? The only thing I was doing was begging money from rich people and giving it to my yet richer overlords. We were content with that, in a way, because we had each other. But was that life? Was this to be our futures? “For now,” we would say. And yet two painful years had passed. Two years of my youth.

By further complete, dumb luck, an opportunity landed in my lap at that exact same time. I was offered a better job elsewhere: a career, a new community. It wasn’t what I wanted to do, but it was a company recognized by the entire planet as a wonderful place to be. I quit my job. And I turned down this other offer. I decided that my life was my own. This girl who spoke those words, I decided, was the correct choice. Within one month, I began attending events all across the city. Meeting people. Talking to people. Inviting people. And my friends from the holostation: I asked for their hands, for all our sakes.

This process is a story in itself. In short, nothing went as planned. It worked out in the end, however, if only because I refused to give up when nobody else even wanted to try. I built a marvelous world, found wonderful people to inhabit it, and enjoyed meaning and purpose in achieving my dreams. It took perhaps a year, in all. And it lasted for about one year. After that point, Kjar collected its dues. One by one, the people left. One for school. Another for a job. Another had saved the money they needed and returned home. Another for a relationship. Another for adventure. Until all that was left was me and this girl who had always called this place home.

We had started this adventure together, so I gave her everything and took leave of my own. I couldn’t stay there, not without my people. Though there were countless other people. Our whole mission was to build a community, after all. Nevertheless, they were not my people. They hadn’t lost two years of their lives acting as slaves to the wealthy in a leisure retreat. They never lived in rooms with walls made of paper. They lived in luxury: able to wake up at any time because their kitchens and bathrooms were always free; able to store food in freezers and refrigerators; able to sit in peace and read without disturbance; they looked forward to tomorrow. I liked these people. They were good people. Yet they were not mine.

Leaving Rannar was the most painful experience thus far. Truly, I don’t think it was necessary. There was still one important person I was leaving behind. It didn’t matter to me. My mind was focused on being seen and understood. We were artists. Writers. Poets at heart. Nothing hurt me more than people telling me my work was beautiful. I was searching for the one who would tell me that my work was horrible — because it made them feel what I wanted to make them feel: what I felt so deep inside.

I owned nothing. I took a transport ship to Skief with a large backpack. I had not been off-world in four years. My time on Rannar taught me to value people. It made me who I am, determined the course of my life to date. So, as I drifted by that dusty, barren rock for the first time in so many years, I was overwhelmed by emotion. What became of that small bastion of peace I had created? Was that girl still there, still engaged within? How I longed to know. But I couldn’t bring myself to land. Staring out the window was enough for the time being. It is between these iron walls that I now feel comfort.