An excerpt from the fictional tales of Life in Exile
I don’t think I fit well with the culture I was born into. I don’t like driving in cars to get everywhere, air-travel, a highly competitive and unbalanced market economy, industrialized food production, rampant racism with its resultant underclass, gun-carrying law enforcers, violent retribution, fraudulent government, corporate hegemony, militarism, prevalent propaganda, a history of unrepentant atrocities, the extreme weather shifts, and the lack of quaint structures.
Certainly there must be some locations around the globe lacking the depth and scale of these issues. I would much prefer a place that allows for travel by foot, bike, boat, or sometimes train, has a government that at least pretends to care for its people, is filled with old-world construction, has a mild climate, and serves fresh food with simple basic ingredients.
Should I ever have the means, I may hop aboard a transatlantic cruise traveling the northern route. But if I should ever embark on such a journey, I’m of the mind that I’ll not return from whence I came — perhaps remaining as a perpetual tourist. Again, problems exist in all locations, but sometimes a toxic relationship is best severed.
I don’t know if life would be better, but sometimes “different” is best. There’s no sense of home to miss, no place I’d treasure, no livelihood to leave. When my ancestors arrived over two centuries ago, they left their stagnant homelands in the hopes of finding a better life. It would be fitting then, and following in their footsteps, to travel to new lands in search of greener pasture.