As I get older (and learn more) I find my own story harder and harder to believe. Nothing more so than the time I spent on the algae island. My memory tells me that it happened, but common sense opposes it. Who says that there is a mass of entangled algae, with trees growing out of it, floating in the Pacific Ocean? As Mr. Okamoto told me so long ago: “Your island is botanically impossible.” It takes a lot to believe such a mad notion, but if I can believe in God I can believe in myself. Who knows if there is an island that eats meat and has a horde of meerkats living on it? I would not have survived without the island to feed me so I feel its presence with me every day. Suspending one’s disbelief is all part of the understanding of a story.
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