Chapter 1
Dear Mr. Blue,
This is the first time I’ve done anything like this, but I’ve always wanted to. Finding an outlet is hard when you’re alone or feel alone. People don’t get that, that you can have all the family and friends and still be alone—or, rather, lonely. It’s a feeling, ya know? I’ve felt this feeling for as long as I can remember.
I remember being torn when I was little, not knowing how I was supposed to grow up. In Roam, you’re taught that it’s bad to act soft, bad to act “feminine.” They drill that breadwinner dream — a house, a steady wage, the Roaman Dream — is the finish line. Even though that dream feels long dead now, I hate to admit that a part of me still wants it. To live comfortably instead of meaningfully. That thought disturbs me.
Most of my peers in Roam seem so optimistic, chasing dreams like they’re guaranteed. But me? I feel this quiet negativity under the surface — a weight no one around me even sees. My family can’t cope with this new age. They’re getting more rigid, more visceral, more aggressive. They’ve always been like that, I guess, but now it’s like they doubled down. They instruct from scars instead of questioning if the scars even taught them the right lesson.
The men in my family? They stay in business, making decent coins, but always at a distance. Distant from their own homes, distant from their own kin. Their voices carry light like lanterns you can see but never feel warm by. Maybe that’s needed in Roam. But it’s nothing like their parents before them. And none of us are like them either. Generations unalike, and yet they demand that we do better, even while leading by poor example.
I don’t even like being around them anymore. Somewhere between being kids and growing into teens, we split apart. Everyone went their own way, and I think some of them prefer it that way. That alarms me. I think about it often, especially when I see how my uncles don’t mean anything to my life now. I worry we’ll turn out worse than the ones who came before.
I tore myself away from society’s acceptance long ago. I see the good in norms, sure, but my craving is different — I crave talking to strangers, stepping into the unknown. And yet, in conversation, I freeze. Around certain people, my mind blanks. It feels tied to expectation. People expect something, and that pressure chokes me.
I know Roamans — are judgmental creatures. But the wise aren’t critical without reason. Maybe I need to put myself in those vulnerable spots. To sharpen my will, to turn the discomfort into a blade instead of a chain.
I don’t know. What do you think?
