Isabelle's Point of View

It was a lovely day to start thinking of the future for the rest of my life.

But then again, whenever such a thought ever crossed my mind, I often found that I contradicted myself. What classified as one's future? Was it even still the future when it was sooner to be the present? The future was not the present moment that required immediacy and well-paced strategy to advance through life's challenges, and so what reason did I have to care?

After all, the future was only determined by the present. Nothing in this universe happened by accident. Everything I was today was because of the choices I made five, six, even seven years ago. With an unshakable belief in myself and the right intention, I came back from everything that had tested my strength over the years.

I had once almost gone weak at the knees at the thought of failure or of a future where I would never make it in the world, never putting out my own name enough times to be genuinely remembered, and I came back. I once advanced through life with no known purpose and hardly any financial value to my name, and I came back. I once had my life twisted under the control of others who claimed to have nothing more than my best interest at heart, and I came back. And so that was why I cared.

But why did it mean so much to me now? Why was the uncertainty of the future that still lay before me the first thought to tumble into my head as I tore myself from sleep in the fragile hours of the early morning? No longer than five months ago, I had turned the intimidating age of twenty-five and had so much life ahead of me but no idea how to fulfill it. I'd made immense progress in my lifetime to be where I was today, that much was clear, but life went on. Life didn't have endings like some kind of storybook and there was still progress to be made. But how?

This question, in the countless times I had asked myself, was one of the most unpredictable and thrilling thoughts that ever crossed my mind. Something about this question set off a whirring like a coiling ball of fire in my chest with the gripping urge to provoke some kind of change in my life. Something about this question slipping into my head in the first moments of the new day launched me up and out of bed at the rhythmic chime of my alarm clock at seven o'clock sharp in order to prepare for work, seeming to latch a tireless motor to my heels as I dressed. I buttoned up a salmon-colored Nook Inc. branded t-shirt, yanked up a pale skirt that fell a couple inches higher than my knees, and slipped on a pair of brown flats that clicked my way across the hard floors of my house to get some breakfast.

The soft light of morning danced through the spacious rooms by the time I emerged from my bedroom. The steady rhythm of confidence clung to my steps as I crossed the main room on my way to the kitchen, heels tapping against the marble flooring with the usual twinkle of light catching on the chandelier hanging several feet above me. The day had begun like any other, wrapped in the very image of elegance that sunk into me and flooded my senses, but I hardly blinked at it now. One would predict that a spacious house like this would become lonesome with a single resident, but lonely was a word I couldn't truthfully describe myself with. With the journey that lay trampled behind me, I rose gracefully to the title and filled the space with my presence alone. I wouldn't change a thing.

Fragile sunlight pooled over the floor of the kitchen as the crackling of cooking eggs broke through the silence. I pursued several tasks at once, checking back on the progress of the eggs finding shape in the pan and carving a sandwich I had prepared for my lunch into the image of a wide heart. An identical routine leading my mornings perfected the stroke of my knife over time. I neatly packed the sandwich into a bento box with a sliced apple and a small brownie for dessert and tossed it into a red striped lunch bag before the eggs were cooked at last.

With a clear day like today, I'd enjoy my breakfast in the living room this time, where I could fully embrace the opening morning. I carried my plate of eggs out from the kitchen not half an hour since I'd pulled myself out of bed—Time management was a skill I'd mastered through the repetitive practice of the morning's schedule. To the left past tall-standing plants in the entryway where light slipped down the leaves like honey, the room unfolded down a set of open stairs lined with a spotless white couch over a layer of soft white carpet decorated by a long strip of sunlight from the massive window peering into the room from the right wall. The rhythm never left my feet as I descended the stars, engulfed in the unbroken sunlight, and advanced over the carpet.

The atmosphere rang with simplicity, an air that was especially easy to breathe. I enjoyed my breakfast from the couch, accompanied by the sights of the infinity of blue in the sky above through the window, at ease by the thought that I had plenty of time before I needed to get moving. If this wasn't the pure image of peace, I wasn't sure what was. Floating on a foundation of everything I had ascended from to get here today, I was truly living my best life, and I luxuriated in it each and every day.

After my breakfast was eaten, the fast-paced rhythm of my progressing day went on. I discarded my plate in the kitchen sink and packed up my belongings in a gray knit bag held together by a single large black button. Sunlight seeped into the room as I stood at the counter at the wall beside the front door, tucking the button of the bag into its ring. It was eight o'clock, otherwise known as the time to leave. I ducked into the strap of my bag, poured a splash of water into my tall potted plants at the door to allow them to have a pleasant drink, and ventured out into the light of morning.

My bag bounced lightly off of my hip with every step I took towards the Resident Services building thirty minutes from my house. After rising hours before, the sun was already well into the sky, piercing through a sea of blue with wisps of clouds stretching above like careful strokes of paint. With the openness of the clear air, the sweeps of lukewarm breezes, and the bright sky, it was easy for the mind to run wild contemplating what the day could hold. I was no stranger to this, following the stone path with a swift stride on my way to work and toying with the idea of the endless possibilities in front of me. It was going to be another great day.

As per usual, it was no later than eight-thirty when I claimed my presence in the office. The main doors were left unlocked, as I was the last to arrive for the morning, and I thrust my way into the room to begin the day. The room was hardly as wide as the main entrance of my house and not nearly as tall but after a full year of sticking to my memory for thirteen hours a day, it was purely a second home to me. An elongated wooden counter designed for island help for the residents separated the doors from a set of pale desks—One, which belonged to me, propped up to face a second desk where my boss, Mr. Tom Nook, would sit at his black laptop. My shoes clicked over the orange tile and the bells in my ponytail rattled with each step as I crossed the room, offering a brief wave of greeting to the brown tanuki sitting at his desk on my way past the counter, and unwound the strap of my bag from my shoulder to chuck it down next to my tan-colored office chair.

Tom Nook might have been the most kindhearted animal I'd ever known. I had been working as his assistant for six years, ever since I was barely nineteen, and it had been my very first job after searching for two entire years beforehand. When I had first come to him for work years ago, he had nothing but a small shop to his name that I had helped him manage, but he had held firm to his motive to help those around him and grew to an influence that I couldn't wrap my head around even today. Nowadays, we had broken through the threshold between coworkers and friends and had since fallen into the comfortable atmosphere of best friendship. He was my most loyal companion, my absolute everything, and I was deeply and almost breathtakingly in love with him.

Now, if I was to be telling our story aloud, this would have been the place where I would have soundly clarified that there was absolutely nothing romantic between us. Not a spark or a tingling thought of what if, what if. Love wasn't always something romantic. Love was a clinging to the feeling someone's presence brought and the stirring drive in one's chest to be close to them. Love was the awe lifted about by the fact that someone simply existed, flooding one's chest with warmth and contentment. Whether it be between friends or lovers, it was love all the same.

The first half-hour of my day after arriving at the office building at eight-thirty sharp was always the same. The repetitive simplicity was never too little appreciated. I began with pouring myself a small glass of iced tea, watching the orange drink splash down over the ice, and anticipated the burst of sweet lemon on my tongue that would thrust me back into my puppyhood. The hand on the clock crept around as the workday opened up, finding me at my desk and Tom at his. The gentle tap-tap-tapping from his laptop filled the quietness of the room as I jotted down a few topics to mention during daily announcements. That was what came next in my schedule—At nine o'clock on the dot, I'd record a video delivering daily island announcements before said video would be blasted out across the land. I was responsible for the news reception here.

By the time that the hour turned, the workday had already begun. The words on the notebook page sprawled in front of me beckoned me for review as I assembled the camera propped up between the desks to begin recording. My paws were skilled and knowing with the recurring task, barely sparing a glance at the buttons as I arranged the reboot and the setting of the recording before I settled down in my seat once more. In just a few moments, all eyes would be on me, depended on my words to provide them with information. The sense of watching, waiting gazes swelled deeper with every passing second.

I sent a hasty paw over my shirt, briefly brushing it down to appear more presentable and adjusting the open notebook on the desk in front of me to sit at just the right angle. I allowed myself a long sip of the iced tea positioned to the left of my book, drew in a deep breath, and smiled into the deep darkness of the camera's lens. A tiny dot of red light peered back at me from the surface of the camera, a reminder that as soon as I was finished, the world was watching.

"Good morning, everyone!" I said brightly. "Right now, it's nine o'clock on Tuesday, May eighteenth, 2021."

. . .

Some might have assumed that taking thirteen hours out of a day dedicated to working might have been exhausting at the least, if not restraining. Some might say that one doesn't truly live. Others might worry that one lacks the chance to find what home means to them, given more than half their day is drained away by life's responsibilities being thrust in their face. This was not a problem I called my own, not in the slightest.

My work was my home, a home away from the house. It hardly even felt like a responsibility with the way I flowed with it so easily. I lived the life where I almost didn't want to sleep at night because the simple thought of the day ahead flooded me with tingles of eager anticipation like my stomach was a field of butterflies. I'd brought myself here and I would only continue to rise. I couldn't wait to see what else I could do.

The day crept by as I sat at my desk. My paw was flying as I scribbled in my notebook, lifting myself up on a foundation of the growing work I was completing. For the hours that sunlight danced throughout the cozy space, I could almost sense the hard work and the progress between Tom and me tearing through the atmosphere. With a step at a time, we were moving forward into the future. Productivity and the chilled tea swimming with sweetened flavor—And also the occasional nap on my arms on the desk whenever I decided a break was fit—carried me smoothly through the rest of the morning. I managed my time with a set schedule tailored precisely to my working needs, but still the tap-tap-tap went on no matter what I did. Tom never stopped working, devoted to proving himself and his dedication to the island.

It was like I was reliving the same day again and again and again. The sun rose and fell with the same rotations that picked me up and took me on the journey that was each day. For the most part, that was a good thing through my eyes. A disturbance in the peace that the monotony that every day brought was not something I needed to anticipate on my agenda. Every day, I knew just what to expect, and that was how things were. But I would have been lying if I stated that I didn't consider the changes of the future from time to time. Such similarity from my routine stirred me to restlessness. What if a change really was waiting for me? Did I even want one?

The sun fell below the horizon as the clock inched towards eight o'clock and filled the office with a dimness with the darkening sky. The day was coming to a close. I packed up my belongings into my knit bag at nine-thirty, clearing off my workspace and setting off back home. I exchanged brief words of goodbye to Tom, who still sat at his desk with the glow of his computer screen vaguely illuminating the curve of his face, and went off for home absorbed in thoughts of my future.

After everything that had put me here today, this year, right now, contemplating the future as the open ground for change seemed to almost border on the line of selfishness. Six years of endless persistence had earned me this place in life and I still wondered what more there was. Sure, I could have said that I had everything from riches to influence to health, but could someone truly have everything in life if they couldn't find themselves completely satisfied? I thrived in the constellations that lit up my sky, but what could have been left beyond the galaxy?

I was winding down for bed from the minute I stepped through my doorway. I stroked a paw along my plants at the door to greet them, walked on with purpose to prepare to go to sleep, and let the moonlight sinking onto the hard floors swallow me whole. I slipped into my nightgown and climbed into bed, but as the darkness sitting in the room cradled me for sleep, my thoughts had already begun to stray.

What kind of day was waiting for me tomorrow?