Page 154 of Lost Paradise

Dinner winds down, and we linger at the table, unwilling to let the night end. I lean back in my chair, looking up at the star-speckled sky, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace. This is my home, my family, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. The life I left behind pales in comparison to the richness of what I have now.

Here, at this moment, I am truly happy.

I think back to the massive hollow life I left behind—a place where I was surrounded by people yet felt so utterly alone. The stark contrast between then and now is almost surreal. Here, I am not just accepted but cherished. Each person around this table is a testament to the journey we've taken together, the struggles we've overcome, and the bonds we've forged.

One might say I had a home before the plane crash, but it was merely a vast space devoid of love. I don’t miss my parents or the life I left behind in Manhattan.

Neither do the guys with theirs.

Although all of us, except Astro and Foster, informed our parents that we were alive and well, we also made it clear that we were never returning and not to expect us back. Perhaps if our lives had been different, we might have considered it. But we knew there wouldn't be the warm welcome we craved.

We'd be crazy to give up what we have with each other.

Being stranded on the island for five weeks taught us that it’s not always the family you were born with that defines your sense of belonging but rather the connections and bonds you form in the most unexpected and challenging circumstances. These relationships, forged through shared adversity and unwavering support, create a true sense of home and family.

My mind sometimes drifts back to the little native girl who wandered to our side of the island, and I can’t help but question what became of her. I struggle to believe that she was put back where shewas always meant to be. That doubt intensifies when I reflect on my own situation.

Despite all my challenges, I found love with five men. They found love with one woman and a brotherhood with each other. Our relationship might be deemed taboo to some, even barbaric to an extent. But that island forced us to dive deep into who we were—the raw, unfiltered parts of ourselves. We not only shed our clothes but also the chains that bound us.

We never went back to the island, and I think if we searched for it, we might find it. But it’s not something we want.

Forever on that remote sandy beach, on that bizarre unexplored hidden island, there will be the ghosts of those six individuals we left behind, the shells of our former selves.

The princess, the athlete, the basket case, the criminal, the brain, and the teacher. And they’ll likely still be running around in the nude, adorned only with the tribal designs they painted on each other.

The real savages on that island were those who inhabited the blue lagoon.

Chapter 47

The letter left inside the old Soviet bunker.

Dear Dean Carmichael,

We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice the joys of orientation week and be suspended for whatever it was we did wrong. What we didmight have been wrong according to you, but we think you’re mad1 to make us write a 5,000-word essay detailing our experience and how it has impacted our lives.

What do you care?

You perceive us the way you want to see us: in the easiest terms, the most convenient labels. You see us as a Princess, an Athlete, a Basket Case, a Brain, a Criminal, and a Teacher. That’s the way we saw each other on the morning you called us into your office. That’s how you addressed us, but we were brainwashed.

These roles were imposed on us by you, our parents, and society, who cover our eyes and expect us to follow them. We were boxed into these roles, each of us fitting neatly into a societal stereotype. You saw us this way because it's easier to categorize people rather than understand them as complex individuals.

The ordeal of surviving a plane crash and being stranded on an island for five weeks stripped away the superficial layers of our identities. In those harsh andunyielding circumstances, the labels that once defined us began to dissolve. We were forced to confront the raw, unvarnished truths about ourselves and each other.

What we found out was that we’re all crazy, and bad, and beautiful, and spoiled, and strong, and mature, and leaders, and caregivers, and looney tunes, and brilliant. We reject the narrow definitions that were imposed on us and embrace the complexity of our true selves.

We are not just a label. We are multi-dimensional, evolving individuals who deserve to be seen and accepted for all that we are.

We emerged from the island not just as survivors but as people who had seen each other in our truest forms.

Take it or leave it; this is who we are.

Sincerely yours,

The Savages of the BlueLagoon.

The End

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