Author: Cecilia Kae

I woke early yesterday to catch the last glimpse of the island. It took twenty minutes getting to the pier. I wanted to be there before it got crowded but it already was. Most were there because it was the first time Mantasia, our neighbouring country, could be seen up close. From where we were, we saw Mantasians standing along their shores, waving wildly.
At dawn’s light, the wording on the islanders’ banners grew clear. “Apart but never away from our heart!” The fishermen and their families waved and blew kisses. I waved back wildly. It was hard to tell who was saying goodbye to whom. I wonder what will become of them. Not much news has mentioned them.
It was a strange feeling—saying goodbye but also being in awe of this new reality. I tried to capture one last image to recall this view that would never exist again. For as long as I could remember, the island is situated at the leftmost of the pier.
I spent my sixteenth birthday there with a tent, six bottles of beer, and a pack of cigarettes that Ryan and the boys smoked secretly while Jessica and I sat beside my Bose portable speakers connected to my iPhone. It played my favourite soundtrack of all time all night—non-stop—even when the boys complained. Jessica and I just laughed. I dozed off every now and then, my head on my jacket on the granite bench, lying on my side. No matter how many times I closed my eyes and reopened them, the island was always there, in the same spot to the left of the pier.
Now it is completely out of sight, and there are only waters where it used to be.
Most of the people in my class are thrilled. I mean, who wouldn’t be? Geography is redundant now—nothing is where it used to be. We’re not the only ones floating, and we’re certainly not the first to come up with this idea. I don’t want to sound smart-alecky, but this should have been done long ago, shouldn’t it? All the time spent debating and arguing, all those summits and demonstrations on TV—no one can fight nature. The world is changing, so we should too. Even the lands we call home. They have to shift.
There is a lot to reorient and recalibrate. Mantasia, our new neighbouring country, will drift out of close proximity in weeks. There has been an agreement that they will float southward while we will float eastward, though we will still be each other’s closest neighbours. That would mean we will be further away from the equator, and I wonder how much cooler it will feel.
Grandma and Grandpa are worried. I know because they grip each other’s hands tightly whenever analysts on TV make predictions about next year’s temperature ranges. They don’t know, but I have been knitting furiously to make them sweaters and scarves. I’m excited to see the weather change. Call me young or stupid—I don’t care. I’m tired of perspiring. Change is awesome.
There will be new allies and new tensions. Tsunami warnings, flood alerts, and earthquake tremors may become less of a threat—who knows? But one thing we all know: doing nothing would lead to one very abysmal outcome.
I woke early today to catch a glimpse of our country’s new shoreline. Jessica, Ryan, and I took pictures and posted them online. I think I will wake early every day from now on.
This new reality is worth waking up for.