Bound in Paradise


Dear Diary,

It has been two years now that I’ve been here in the tropics. Still no one has found out that I am an Aleutian Islander. I don’t see any reason why they ever will, as I have learned to wear the floral print, and to say ‘mon.’

one month later

Dear Diary,

Today they found out Mattimar is from Saskatchewan. I was part of the group that went door-to-door to tell everyone, although we pretended we were being nice and said instead that we had caught him stealing. Someone produced some receipts he had forged, and there was talk of burning his hut.  Of course his massage therapy license was revoked.

It was also Nancy’s birthday.

We all forge receipts. There is no other way to do business, here.

one month later

Dear Diary,

It is November. I saw myself in a mirror today and didn’t recognize the man saw. I think my face might be shrinking. Somehow it occupies less real estate on my skull.

There’s an ex-pat bar on the other side of the island. I heard a group of four from Ontario was there last night. How I miss news from home. Or Ontario. But of course I dare not visit.

one week later

Dear Diary,

I have a plan. I  have collected all of the forged receipts and burned them. I told Nancy I was roasting a pig.

one day later

Dear Diary,

I found Mattimar; he seems ok. Tomorrow we’re going to the magistrate. My status as a native and the absence of evidence should be enough to have his license reinstated.


Perhaps a year from now I’ll be growing my hair out again.


…because how are you going to stop a whole bunch of people by yourself…



There are a lot of clothes in my closet I can’t wear in public, for the sake of people who know me well. I keep them though. Now and then I give a piece away, to a stranger, hoping to start a trend. One of these days.



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