To be, or not to be

written by emma l.
graphics by silas s.
creative by katheryn h.

It’s the year 3333 on the exoplanet known as Spe.

I often wonder if I am truly capable of love. Not just platonic or familial, but true gut-wrenching, die-for-you, romantic love.

It’s ironic that my home planet is known colloquially as “where there is hope” because I lost all hope years ago.

There hasn’t been a time where I haven’t felt like an outsider here. My family’s region of Spe is specifically known for love that lasts a lifetime. High school sweethearts in every house on the block.

You’d assume the same could be said about my parents, and to an extent you’d be right. Except they are experts in putting on an adoring doting facade. It’s led me to be practically inept in the world of affection.

It’s the year 3333 on the exoplanet known as Arion.

The notion of love has always deeply fascinated me. Reproduction on Arion is entirely asexual. I am my parents, and my parents are me. This sounds more poetic than the reality of this statement.

Being labeled as an extraterrestrial by the beings on Earth is actually quite fitting. Viewed as an alien by outsiders, and viewed the same way by my fellow Arionians.

I lack any sort of poetic or musical inclination, unlike every other being here. I’ve begged the stars above to show me my true purpose for decades, and yet, I’m stuck in a constant cycle of never being enough.

My own interest in worlds beyond this one has always been something I’ve kept only to myself. I know I’m supposed to be content with what I have, but it’s impossible not to wonder what might belong to me outside of all I’ve ever known.

Planet Spe – Andromeda’s Perspective:

Twenty-year-old Andromeda, almost one thousand in Earth years, is unaware of the planets outside of her own. Planet Spe is all she has ever known due to strict guidelines to keep Spe’s citizens oblivious to anything greater. Spe’s astronomical location is 14 Andromedae b, 249 million lightyears away from Earth. The collectivist nature of Andromeda’s society has led her to feel entirely isolated from any of her peers. She’s unable to develop the close interpersonal relationships expected of her due to her independent nature. Andromeda’s inability to assimilate has left her to develop her own interests that directly compete with the overriding opinions of the rest of the population. She has an all-consuming interest in the sky above. The unyielding curfew placed upon all Spe citizens has never stopped Andromeda from sneaking to the highest peak on the planet. Here she lies wondering what the twinkling lights above signify; deep in her bones, she longs to explore.

Planet Arion – Orion’s Perspective:

Orion’s age is something incalculable in human terms, but know that they are similar in maturity to someone in their early 20s. In stark contrast to that of Spe, Arion is known for its limitless freedom. There is no governing power. Each individual is left to fend for themselves. You must find your particular niche, which is something Orion has yet to discover. Their overcoming desire to go beyond the atmosphere of Arion is comparable to that of a human trapped without oxygen. Orion believes that anywhere outside of Arion is where they can finally find love. The hunger to be understood can only be satisfied by escaping the suffocating individualism. In order to cope with this ache, Arion peers through the lens of a telescope hoping someday to stumble upon some other world where love radiates from its core.

Andromeda:

I have left home for probably the last time. I can no longer endure the suffocating eyes of my parents and so-called “friends”. I am tired of being mocked for my inability to remain in a loveless lifeless relationship.

None of these childhood friends turned lovers truly cherish each other, they have simply chosen to put up with another to appease the higher power. To feed into the falsified belief system that ensures an eternal afterlife.

I’ve chosen to take only my most precious belongings, the practicality of some may be reasonable but I am unable to fully detach from my past. I hold so many versions of myself, so many small details I am not ready to relinquish.

I head to the only place I deem even somewhat recluse, Mount Amesvern. Here I know I can peacefully ruminate on my permanent decision. I have always found such comfort at this peak, it’s almost as if the twinkling stars above can really see me. I can almost hear them calling out

Orion:

I’m not sure how long I’ve been away. I stopped keeping track hours ago. It hardly matters anyway, there is no one patiently waiting on my inevitable return.

I find so much joy sitting in this desolate field with my makeshift humanoid telescope. The non-conformist culture of Arion has forced me to devise my own ways to explore worlds outside my own.

I’ve spent much of tonight fixated on a planet I am unable to classify (yet). All I know is that my entire being gravitates towards this planet. It’s as if I am some lost moon separated from its orbital routine.

The ribbon knotted around my wrists is tugged upon by this unknown planet. Its glowing red wispy appearance draws me in like the fluorescent light of twenty-four-hour convenience stores. I am unable to take my eyes off the lens of my telescope.

Andromeda:

I’ve tried to convince myself that being alone isn’t comparable to the seven levels of Hell; it’s obviously not working. The juxtaposition between my hatred of Spe’s falsified love and my dying wish to be wanted is eating away at my tender heart.

The barren peak in which I’ve chosen to rest can only offer me comfort by providing warming light from the sky above. My father, exiled before my birth, begged my mother to allow him to leave me a locked storage unit. Only to be opened on the date of my eighteenth birthday.

In my manic packing spree, I chose to bring along my father’s most prized possession, and subsequently mine as well. My father was banished due to his insistent curiosity in the galaxies and worlds beyond. In keeping my (nonexistent) memory of him alive, I shoved the Orion SkyQuest XT10 into my trunk.

I have no idea what purpose my father’s outlawed telescope may serve me, but I feel some undeniable connection to it. My fingers shake as I take the astronomical tool out of its packaging and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears as I begin to peer through the dusted lens.

Orion:

I’ve reached a point of no return with my infatuation in Planet Spe. Understandably, I’ve done some research since our last check-in. I scoured the markets found on the outskirts of downtown in hopes of finding any sort of book on the Andromeda galaxy.

To my own dismay, I came across an old friend, who I knew shared the same interest in galaxies beyond our own. In hushed voices, I described to him my newfound interest in a particular planet that I only assumed had belonged within the Andromeda constellation.

Growing up he and I used to peer into the same telescope I use now, without him, it’s unlikely I ever would have been able to build anything even remotely useable. I thank him for his years of feeding my curiosity, and I head back to the arid fields.

I stare up at Spe, wondering what kind of beings must live there, on a planet aptly named after the hope that emanates from its mild glow. Although I know my telescope is not comparable to a microscope, I swear I can see, or at least feel, someone staring right through me.

Andromeda:

All along I’ve possessed my father’s innate curiosity in astronomy, how could he have known this about his unborn child? How could my mother have let me suffer all these years while I begged her to show me my purpose on Spe?

For the past several days I have done nothing more than sleep, nourish my body, and appease the impulse to find the planet where I truly belong.

It’s impossible for me to uncover any concrete knowledge related to the alluring sky above. I am desperate to gather any information on the beaming blue extrasolar planet that resides in the Delphinus constellation.

Due to my inability to learn more, I’ve nicknamed this ocean-like orb after my father’s telescope, Orion. Consumed by this heavenly body, I swear I can make out a being in the same position as me.

Year 3333 is coming to a close on Planet Arion:

Do you ever wish you could speak to your past self? To ease their fears and anxieties about the future, to remind them that they have always possessed love, and to hold their hand in times of need.

I’ve spent the last six months somehow communicating with a being from Planet Spe. Being is a lackluster word when I have convinced myself she is the reason I was created. Andromeda, born on the planet “where there is hope”. Andromeda, the girl who showed me ambition has always resided in me.

It’s futile to even attempt to explain our relations or our clairvoyant conversations. Deep within both Andromeda and I there exists a piece that belongs to the other. This is my only way of understanding our profound connection.

I’ve pleaded with her to somehow escape the clenching grasp of Spe’s government, but this is an entirely hopeless request.

Year 3333 is coming to a close on Planet Spe:

Why must love only be accessible to me 238 light years away? Am I truly this undeserving of love? Is my only experience through the eyes of my own?

Orion has given me, what is likely, my only chance at love. In the months since we’ve “met”, they have taught me anything and everything related to the interstellar. Including the correct terminology for their home planet, Arion.

Our connection is undeniable. Our communication is unexplainable. Our love precedes and succeeds our creation. I am unsure how I can continue living, more pessimistically, surviving on Spe without Orion’s physical presence.

I have yet to discuss this with Orion, and it’s unlikely I will, but I have assured myself this is the only answer to sustaining our devotion. I must appeal to the governing power of Spe, I must trust in the idea of an eternal afterlife.

Year 3403 on Planet Arion:

It has been seventy years since I last spoke with Andromeda. Each day that has past, 25550 to be exact, I have thought nothing other than her ethereal existence.

There is no real death on Planet Arion, just a return to the soil of the world that first created me. I used to fear the end, a boundless black hole of nothingness. My only source of comfort is the memory of Spe’s view on the afterlife.

According to my short-lived lover, beings of Spe believe that after death you return to your happiest state. Mine is unequivocally my time with Andromeda, and my only hope is that hers is her time with me.

As my dreary eyes droop close one more time, I am transported to my first interaction with the pulsating warmth of Spe. I can once again feel her eyes piercing through my own. The ribbon once left untied is now connected to both of our wrists.