This was my final paper for one of my classes in Australia. I wrote it as a short story. It's pretty self-explanatory and is as good of a summary of my semester as I can give at this time.
“Fiction reveals truth that reality obscures.”
–Ralph Waldo Emerson
“There was reality and there was reality;
and some things were more real than others.”
-Neil Gaiman
Toast and Cereal: Seeking A New World
Stepping off into the new, he knew that the old would never be seen in the same eyes again. By the time he'd return, the old world would be gone. What's more, his vision would be different. This wasn't necessarily bad. It could be quite good. It was to be different, exactly how much he could not know. He simply knew the old house that he walked away from would not look quite the same upon his return. And if that little child in his heart were to sneak up again, he'd suddenly not be so little. The young don't stay so for long. But it was time to go. So he did.
Behind him, he left little. Behind were memories, those things in constant flow, hard to hold onto. They move out of sight before long. As do friends. Before the new, Rose left pursuing her career and a man. Traces of Jewel were few. She was naught but a fond collection of images, a smile here, a shrug there. Her disappearing act, whether by her own devising or not, was an unprecedented success. She was gone and nobody knew where.
And, in the midst of sadness, the man left too. He paused all his work. In a sense, the paint was still wet when he could no longer take it. He packed little. And he left. The few times others stopped him to ask him why he was going, he shrugged. For adventure, he'd say. To get out. It just seems like the thing to do. To see something different. These were all valid reasons. And they were all true. But there was more. The truth was that he was unhappy and he left hoping to find peace.
Peace, however, was not to be found. In the new environment, he certainly found many new friends. He found people he would grow to call family. He found incredible perspectives that differed from his own, though that is not to say they were somehow lesser than his. They were just as valid, just as important as his own. He found himself a struggling believer in the midst of several strong believers. He found himself challenged and uncomfortable. He found himself being sucked into conversations and thoughts in which he never expected to be interested. Such an environment does not create peace. Instead, it upsets and stirs up a person. It pushes and prods. Despite his hope to find peace, he found the warfare of a new social environment all about him. And he smiled.
The days in the new began earlier than he was used to in the old. He rose shortly after the sun. After a quick bite of toast and cereal, he would pack his bags and go out the door. Shortly after the new began, the early mornings became routine. Yet the new continued to shine even as routine fit in. Due to the use of public transportation, new faces met his eyes every day. He would smile and nod, occasionally saying hello to the people of the city. The people of the city were, in his eyes, the people of the country. They were men and women different from him simply because they were used to the new. They were the people whose routines had been occurring for years. They were the people who knew about the history and the society of the new long before he was to learn of it. During his first few interactions with these people, he believed that they were all already experts of the kind of life he was in the process of discovering. They were those who called the new old. It was among them, he believed, that he would discover the happiness that he so fervently sought. He, however, was soon to find out that the people of the city, the people of the country, the people of the new, they were nothing more than people. They were the same as him, no more, no less, just different. It was interest in such people that led him into conversations with them.
“Myths are those conceptions we have about the people around us and the history of those who came before us. They are not necessarily false conceptions, but they are not necessarily true conceptions either. It is important to be aware of the myths that can be found within modern culture, specifically those speaking of the past.” The room was busy, full of comers and goers. Dim lighting, loud music, and constant conversations took place everywhere that people weren’t either dancing or buying drinks. That is to say, the conversation was taking place in the sort of locale many good conversations take place: a late night pub.
He’d wandered into this pub by recommendation of the man who owned the house in which he was staying—a man nearly three times his age who lived far differently than anyone he had ever encountered before. In time, he would grow to love his newfound friend and mentor, but the conversation in the pub took place in the early days before that relationship had truly grown. It was simply to be polite that he had even followed the older man’s recommendation—loud pubs full of dancing crowds were not the kinds of places he typically enjoyed; he much preferred the quiet kind of pubs, the ones where the customers sat with their drinks contemplating. But, in his politeness, he found his way into this loud pub, unsure of what he was going to do once he got there—after all, going to a pub by oneself is not typically an action of those who are not looking for comfort in drink. The man he was talking to now was one he had just stumbled upon unintentionally. He had simply chosen a random empty seat, the next one over from the man.
“Nic Cage,” the man said when asked his name.
“Really?” Obviously the man was lying, but why bother about it? His real name was unimportant. “That’s interesting. So, what were you saying about myths?”
“They’re everywhere, mate. You see, for instance, the majority of these people in this pub would say their ancestors were convicts but only small ones, ones who hadn’t really committed any big crimes; they would say their ancestors were unjustly brought to this country. That’s what the majority of the people around here would say. But then, most people want to be viewed as better than they are.[i]”
“That makes sense. I certainly want to be seen that way.”
“Exactly, mate. Now, the other big myth of these parts has long been proven wrong. People used to say this land was one of terra nullius. You know what that means?”
“No, I can’t say I’m familiar with the term.” He took a drink of his lemon, lime, and bitters—a drink of the new, one he had never had back in the old.
“It’s the idea that a land’s null of inhabitants, free for the taking, open, nobody here. Well, when people said that this land was one of those, they were lying. We had people here all right. Just as you had people in your land. We took over, invaded, called them lesser beings and went about our merry way[ii].”
“So, what you’re saying is that a bunch of criminals were brought here while the people who lived here were forced out?” This was disturbing to him. Where was the peace he was seeking? How could peace and happiness be found in a society that was created by unjust people for the housing of even more unjust people? It was not something he wanted to dwell on, because he wanted to believe he had escaped the land of the unrighteous. But people are people, he found.
He was fascinated with the man calling himself Nic Cage. When he had first sat down, he thought the man drunk and had had no intention of speaking to him. But Cage, like many locals, had an incredible drinking constitution. He was, in fact, simply a friendly man out in a pub for an evening. He had begun the conversation all of a sudden, without any introduction.
“Why do you get up in the morning?[iii]” Cage had asked.
“Pardon?” he replied, unsure the man had intended to speak to him.
“Why do you get up in the morning?” Cage repeated. “It’s a simple question. What’s the purpose of getting up and going about your business? Is there some kind of greater good that you work for in your daily life?“
“I’m not quite sure what you mean.”
“These are simple questions. Do you believe you have a purpose?”
“I don’t know. I want to have a purpose, but I guess I can’t know that I do for sure.” His original intention had been to humor this crazy man briefly and then politely excuse himself.
However, Cage had no intention of losing his newfound conversation partner. He simply cascaded away into a conversation about the problems of modern society. He began a railing against consumerism, one that struck a chord in the young man’s heart. “We all play into the game of the advertisers, you know? It’s the corporations and marketers who control so much of our world day in and day out. They tell us buy this, buy that. And we do so. They certainly wake up and believe they have a purpose. They see their purpose as seeking out the most efficient ways to earn money—money that only has meaning because we allow it to—and they are the wealthy who ride us lower men. But, mate, don’t let my words fool you into thinking we’re the ones truly hurting from their games. No, you and I have the status and place in society that allows us to come to this pub and purchase drinks. We are not even remotely close to being in the low classes. By society’s standards, you and I are in a good place. And yet you and I are not content, are we? We want more, more, more. But what is it we want? I asked you why you get up in the morning, but you had no answer. We don’t even know what we want. To what end are we going? We can rant and rail against society’s standards as much as we want, but we still play into them as long as we do not have a better goal than the one they present us. So what shall our goal be? What shall we seek if we’re not going to seek wealth as they would have us do?[iv]”
After a brief pause, he muttered, “Love?”
“Precisely,” Cage said with a smile. “Now, let me tell you about the land you’re in. You know about the concept of myth?”
Thus the conversation had turned into the brief discussion of a nation’s myth and the lack of love found within this particular country’s history. It was that lack of love, both he and Cage decided, that had caused most of the problems in the history of the land. Crime happened because of a lack of love and a lack of community—men are not likely to commit crimes towards those they truly love. The treatment of the original inhabitants was cruel and fueled by fear and distrust rather than openness and friendship. At least, these were the versions of the story with the depictions that Cage gave that evening.
“Before we continue,” Cage said as the conversation began to get moving, “what brings you here? Are you running from something? Got your own problems back home you’re trying to pretend don’t exist?”
He did, in fact, have several stories he could tell about the troubles he was trying to leave behind. He could have talked about how he felt that had never really accomplished much of anything. He could have talked about the broken friendships he had suffered through. He considered talking about being a hopeless romantic who never could find romance. He very nearly spoke up about how he had wanted to get away from everyone he’d ever known. After all, he was searching for solitude, for a place to clear his mind. He could have talked about how, in this search, he simply found himself feel quite alone and miserable because of it. He could have talked about growing up in the church but running into large questions and doubts as he got older, having to try and sort out what he believed while everyone around him always seemed so certain. He could have talked about any number of things. Instead, he lied. “Nope. Life’s pretty good, really. I just wanted to see some new things and hear some new tales.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Cage said. What Cage didn’t know was that he was right. Despite the attempt to find solitude, the man was to find himself thrown into a community. He was thrown into a place full of new that reflected the old in ways he had never expected. “Let me tell you about the land itself.”
Cage described the land as a place where only fools would try to live, but it was through perseverance and love that the great vastness of suddenly began to be beautiful. Harsh conditions were aplenty in this place and a great many mistakes had been made throughout the history of settlement across it. However, those who chose to continue living on it and continue working on it, despite the difficulty to do so, could see the mystery and beauty within the land. He described it as a place where only those who chose to love it could stand to live in it for long. In other words, the place was a place of beauty to those who chose to see it as such[v].
After this, the conversation died down. The man calling himself Nic Cage got up and walked away without saying goodbye. He simply left the man in his own thoughts. These thoughts rode the bus with him all the way to the house in which he was staying. Entering the old, creaking building late at night, he tried to be quiet, but he found the owner was awake and moving regardless. “Welcome home, son,” the owner said to him. “Have a good night?”
He told the owner about the conversation in the pub. “So, what do you think your purpose is?” the owner asked.
“I still don’t know,” he replied.
“It sounds like you’re supposed to love,” the owner said with a smile. “And you know, love is a four letter word for God, just as God is a three letter word for love.”
“What?”
“They are one in the same. Seek one and you’ll find the other.”
He just smiled and nodded, not knowing that this was just the first of many conversations about love and God he would have with the kind man who opened the house to him. He had no way of knowing that, throughout the course of a few months, he would discover that he was, in fact, happy despite all the struggles and problems he faced back home. Certainly, his time in the new was not totally without troubles. Despite the fascinating land and people, the world was still the same dark place at times. But, leaving the old was an act that would open his eyes to see much of the beauty he had been blind to before. As he adventured and sought out freedom from the old, he discovered that his desire to escape had transformed into a desire to return to the old bearing the fruits he had found in the new. He was to find a new flame burning within him, because he had discovered a purpose. He was to seek love wherever it may be found, in society, in the stories of history, in the land itself. Thus, with a smile on his face, he stepped into the old, knowing that he brought with him the new, knowing that his eyes had been opened just a bit wider.
[i] Hughes, Robert. “Who were the Convicts?” in The Fatal Shore (London: Vintage, 2003), 159-202.
[ii] Macintyre, Stuart. A Concise History of Australia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).
[iii] Garber, Steven. “The Problem & Its Parameters” in The Fabric of Faithfulness: Weaving Together Belief and Behavior. (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2007), 40-61.
[iv] Hamilton, Clive and Richard Denniss. Affluenza: When Too Much Is Never Enough. (Crows Nest, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 2005).
[v] Millikan, David. “The Australian Outlook” in The Sunburnt Soul. (Alexandria, NSW: Anzea, 1981), 15-34.
