Words and film by Jude Wasserman

The words are a wave crashing over me. Riptides pulling us apart until we are two separate islands. In a year we will be almost strangers, and even now it is a struggle to imagine the softness of your lips, or the tug of our fingers entwined. Secrets crumble like fragile flowers pressed between pages of a book long ago discarded. Funny how the tide can sneak up on you, rising until it covers your ankles, your belly button, your throat. Saltwater burns, and eyes cloud until you can no longer recognize the space between particles.

“I’m going to go home tonight and this is it. It’ll be over”. 
This moment is captured crystalline in sickly sweet amber.

In my dreams you are still enchanted with me. I hold you while you shiver with cold sweat and fever. 
We met in a now outside of time, and so much of our love was islands colliding. When you are sick, you miss me, you miss your mother. And i understand how our connection is within and outside of now, and this too will be swept into the circuits and flows of cold seawater.

(Song is “Medicine” from A Stick and A Stone (astickandastone.com/)

Foucault coined the term “carceral archipelago” to describe the expansive reach of state control over many aspects of people’s lives. After reading Ozeki, I’m seeing islands everywhere in my own life. Just like there are many kinds of incarceration, there are also many kinds of islands. Ruth and Nao are both geographically isolated on their individual islands, in many ways displaced from “home” (wherever/whatever that is). The diary acts as a bridge or passage between islands, physical and temporal. Passage as in text, as in rite of passage (Nao and Ruth’s), as in the passage of time, as in passing from one place to the next. The diary is also a passage to the reader, both Ruth and the person reading A Tale For The Time Being.