“The answer is not a hut in the woods“ says a wise, charismatic but pretentious internet man. He convinced me. Somehow I now think that my isolation from the outside world is not only impossible but also undesired. Companionship is what I crave for, and I want to quit the game when my expectations fail. The glass window between my thoughts and another’s perception dissolved, that’s what I want. I wish to receive the same care and love from another like a reflection from a mirror.

Who are we to claim freedom from others when none can isolate themselves from cries of friends and laughters of foes? Is there a single man in history who did not feel claws scratching the inner face of his stomach at the sight of a friend upset? Has anyone heard the tale of a hero who was not filled with rage instantly with every laughing breath of their nemesis? I have never been resistant to such influence from meaningful external factors, and I find it unlikely that I will ever be even though that is what I have been training for for a few years. It sounds powerful to live in complete solitude, very enticing. But every time, when there is the slightest possibility that I will make a positive difference in a friend’s mind, I stay with them. I have to. Otherwise the pain of not knowing will consume me bite by bite in my agony-filled cave of loneliness. And that cave, it’s an interesting place.

Magic always seems to be under the rainbow or above the fluffy white clouds, but all mighty wizards secretly reside in my cave. They cast their spells so unpredictibly that none can expect what is to happen in my cave next second. Though I call it my cave, I am indeed but a vessel and the cave is the captain, the mad captain with chaotic voices in his head coming from another world. The only thing stationary in the cave is the relationship between it and me. I have to adapt quite quickly to its state at all times. Such a hassle.

Coming back to the answer, if it is not a hut in the woods, may it be a hug in the woods then? Why wouldn’t it be? A friend wraps you in their arms and takes you in. Is that not a sign of acceptance? Is that not a comforting act? Is that not how I am bound, and keep myself bonded?

Unfortunately, no. A hug is never perfect. It is too long when it’s bad, and too short when it’s good. It is too tight when bad, and too loose when good. It smells disgusting when bad, inviting when good. A hug, when good, becomes an addiction buried in mind. It haunts the mind with vivid dreams of more hugs, more comfort, more safety, love… Love that is too far way now, and it hurts. When bad, it becomes a regret. A regret is a deep wound never to leave the soul even if it forgives the body. Something so small as a hug can carve such a deep wound whose hurtful qualities no hug is then safe from.

O’ how I wish that a hug was the answer. In the woods, alone, connected as if the stone-cold walls are crushed to dust. The word “one” gains a new meaning never to lose it again, for now is a whole eternity and we are now a whole. But no, a hug in the woods is not the answer either.