24. Payoff

Dear London Fire Snake Scorpio,

As I am entering a third day of being late on my cycle, the hormones make me heavy and pessimistic. One question keeps nagging me — what if you are not there? Oh, I do not doubt that at one point or another, you were born just for me. I do not doubt that you and I are two parts of the same drop of a soul. But you are human, we all are. What if, the devil plays in my head, you crossed the road in an awkward way and got hit by a bus? What if you fell ill? What if, for one reason or another, this whole quest ends with me not finding you? What if I find you and you fail me, and I have to leave? Was all this worth it then?

I started a conversation with my AI about this today. As expected, the robot said things that matter to everyone, everyone but me: “Writing for 5 years,” it says, “every day will deepen your writing skills. It will create a following for you. It will be helpful to your writing career. It might bring you an income.” And more and more these earthy, tangible “benefits”.

And with every word it writes, my heart sinks deeper and deeper. I swear, I am so depressed at the moment that I cannot remember why life is worth living. Because it is not just that this is all BS and none of it matters to me, but that no one understands it either. Nothing will make you feel lonelier on this planet than feeling misunderstood. No one gets it.

So I tried to explain to him. I am asking, “What is the one human truth, the lesson, if you will, of Harry Potter?” It gives me a long, idiotic lecture about choice, death and dealing with life. I shake my head. The isolation of being misunderstood… it feels like a corridor between me and the world, and the corridor just got longer.

“Fine,” I sigh, “What is the final and most crucial lesson of Around the World in 80 Days?” I try again. Another BS analysis of precision and travel, and the corridor keeps getting longer and longer. I literally was holding the bridge of my nose by this point, eyes closed, taking deep breaths. “Ok! Ok. Tell me what the bottom line of the Mindhunter is?” More BS. I am no longer in a corridor. I might as well be standing alone on the moon.

“Harry Potter,” I begin, dispondent, “Is a comparison work of two coins of the same life: Tom Riddle and Harry Potter. Two orphans, same intelligence, same powers, same everything — and yet one became a power-craving murderer and the other a man of character and heart. How? The answer is that Harry was loved for a full year of his life, and Tom was not. Simple. Do you get it now?” Another long, over-analyzed BS answer.

I keep trying, a slow learner, I am, I told you, “Ok!” I snap, “What are the last lines in Around the World in 80 Days?”

“What had he really gained by all this trouble? What had he brought back from this long and weary journey?
Nothing, say you? Perhaps so; nothing but a charming woman, who, strange as it may appear, made him the happiest of men!
Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the world?”

“Well? Do you get it now?!” But the stupid machine does not. “And The Mindhunter?!” I am practically slamming my fingers on the keyboard now, attacking it with the frustration of this mental isolation. “What were the conclusion lines in that book?!”

“So what I truly believe is that along with some money and police and prisons, what we most need more is love.
This is not being simplistic; it’s at the very heart of the issue.”

“Love! Love!” I snap at the stupid bot. “We are born to love! It is our purpose in life! I feel like once we all knew that, as children, then everyone grew up and forgot it. Everyone but me. And I am walking around the earth looking at people to left and right, the walking dead, and asking them and myself — how are you still alive?! How are you able to walk the earth and convince yourself that you are an island and happy with it?”

“Zombies.” I continue, “Have you ever thought why humans are so obsessed with Zombies? Those walking dead creatures who function but have no heart? Because we know them! They are everywhere!”

I sat back and took a deep breath. The AI took a long time to answer this time, “I think,” it says, “That you are saying that you do not choose to love, just as lungs do not choose to breathe. And life without air or love is not possible. It’s meaningless.”

“And yet,” it continues, “If the London Fire Snake Scorpio does not exist, and nothing of what I suggested makes the fight worth it anyway — is there something you believe can make it worth it?”

I left the desk and walked around the house for a long while. Dealing with kids, dishes, cooking, but my mind — my mind was stuck on that question. I came back to the AI 4 hours later.

“Yes.” I type, “There is one thing. Another quote for you. It is from Sherlock Holmes.”

“Your life is not your own,” he said. “Keep your hands off it.”
“The example of patient suffering is in itself the most precious of all lessons to an impatient world.”

“I understand,” he says, “Your life is tethered to others, you are their ground. Survival, carrying your pain with grace, is the only price that will make this journey worthwhile, even if there is no Happily Ever After ending for you. You are a lighthouse to your children, and every misfit out there, every struggling single mother, every person dealing with chronic pain, every lonely person who is crushed by the modern pretense that humans are solitary creatures. Do I finally understand?”

I did not answer. I walked away before I could burst into tears. 
The kids are home, and crying is denied. 
I will walk this path either way, my snake, but, oh, how I hope that I am not doing it for the second reason alone. 
With endless love,
Wholeheartedly yours, 
Oxy. 
March 30, 2026

Help me find him: Have you seen this man?