By janezy. Send Feedback to janezy@yahoo.com
Rated: G
Written: February 12, 2002
VOY -- C, J/C angst
Poor lonely Chakotay. Let's all sit around and pity him, okay?
First Officer's Personal Log
I've been having problems meditating. A vision quest is out of the question. If I can't find a calm enough center to sit still for five minutes, how can I expect to be able to contact the spirits? A useless endeavor.
I wonder where my peace has gone. Nothing has changed. We've been stuck out here almost seven years and things are pretty much the same as they've always been, at least for me. Others seem to have gotten on with their lives. They've found success in life among the trials and sorrows of the Delta Quadrant.
I thought I had that once, but it was an illusion. A hollow victory.
I think it's the tattoo that's the worst part. It should be filled in by now. When the tribal leader marked me, he told me that one day I would start a family and pass my traditions on to another. Then, I could fill in the eagle's wing. It would be a sign of aging. A sign of accomplishment.
Now, it's just a sign of my failure, as a dweller of Trebus and as a man. And I have to be reminded of if every time I look in the mirror.
The crew can't know this. Most of them aren't aware of my traditions at all, and those that have an inkling couldn't know this. It would have been a pleasant surprise for them to discover this custom. As part of a bonding ceremony with the woman of my choice, she would color between the lines of the tattoo to symbolize my completeness.
Woman of my choice. I could no more have the woman of my choice than I could choose another woman. Gods, why am I so enthralled with her? Why is it her, or no one? I don't know why I'm so stubborn. Why I cling to the hope of her. I know that's all it will ever be -- a hope. She'll never complete me. She'll never help me fulfill my ultimate objective as a dweller of Trebus. She'll never grow large with my child and help me raise him or her to honor the spirits.
So I am forced to live with my failure. Every time I shave, I see my inadequacy. Every time I wash my face, or brush my teeth, or comb my hair, it's there. I make myself handsome for no one, while the mark of my people mocks me with its hollowness.
I'm sure that was the tribe's intention. Whoever received the mark would have a constant visual reminder of his next duty on life's task list. People probably got married early just to be rid of the feeling.
I wonder if the crew would notice if I had it removed.
End Log
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