Captain’s Log, Stardate… no… that’s not what this is. This is my desert island diary. A brief chronicle of my first five days on an uninhabited island, somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere. An unfiltered account of what it’s like living a second life in Animal Crossing: New Horizons during this time of isolation.
“Live free or die.”
That hideous raccoon is back. I thought I was rid of him after I deleted the Pocket Camp app from my iPhone. But here he is. Tom Nook the everlasting. As smug as ever. He never really listens, you know. Not really. He just prattles on about what a great entrepreneur he is and how this new venture – of shipping people out to uninhabited islands as a way to escape the monotony of everyday life – is the best thing since sliced bread. (I swear to God, I had a boss like him once. Then again, haven’t we all?) I’m pretty sure he stole the idea from that godawful Christina Milian Netflix movie. (New Zealand is practically “deserted” right?)
Anyway. Here I am. On yet another “crossing”, so to speak. Timmy and Tommy have given me a tent to sleep in. It’s this hideous yellow thing. Not at all the luxury escape I was promised. When they said “deserted”, I thought they meant “but for a Four Seasons”.
But beggars can’t be choosers. At least I’m outside. I get to walk around, interact, shop, pick apples from trees. I’m free. My movement is unrestricted. I live by my own rules. Daddio.
Nintendo’s timing (while unintentional) was perfect. This delightful life substitute couldn’t have come at a better moment. What better way to fight the fear of the unknown than to transport yourself into a world where all of your neighbours are adorable anthropomorphisms, where everyone is polite, and friendly, and obliging? Where the only terror are tarantulas. (Or so I’m told.) What could possibly go wrong?
“Good morning starshine, you lead us along, my love and me as we singing, our early morning singing song…”
I’ve barely been here 24 hours and I already owe that fucking raccoon money. Out of nowhere, he suddenly shows up and drops this “moving fee” on me. He tells me that I have to cover the cost of relocation. Something his bratty nephews failed to mention when I signed up.
He says I can take as long as I want to pay him back, but I have a feeling there’ll be consequences. There always are. He knows I have no money and offers me a deferment. But he’s not my friend. He never was. He’s more of an unfortunate co-dependent.
I take too long to pay him back and the next thing you know, a decapitated Reneigh is at the foot of my “Wooden Simple Bed”. I’m not sure I have the tools to clean up all that blood. At least he’s letting me hold on to my passport.
In happier news, it feels great just being able to step out of my tent. You remember what it was like, to just walk out the door and be free to do whatever I want. To live. To love. To run around catching butterflies. To play.
The sun is shining and I’m in a good mood. I’m going to spend my day running errands for people. Maybe someone needs me to pick and apple from a tree.
If I do this right, Umatopia (hey, it’s my fucking island, I can call it what I want) could be a real, honest-to-God paradise. A society in which everyone respects each other. And where every citizen plays his, her, and their part in building a better future for everyone. If I take a little off-the-shelf communism, add a dash of capitalism, bolster that with some sound Keynesian economics, throw in a benevolent dictator (me), and… and… I would have inadvertently invented Singapore.
Fuck.
“Don’t quit your day dream…”
I don’t quite know whose island this is. Is it Tom’s? Or is it mine? I keep having to do all of these inane tasks for him. Who’s in charge here?
But guess what? Umatopia has an airport! (One that’s run by extinct flightless birds no less.) And it couldn’t have come at a better time. God knows the six of us stuck on this island were beginning to show signs of cabin fever. Tammy keeps complaining about some phantom itch. Genji keeps talking about getting pumped. Timmy and Tommy have me running around the island looking for raw materials so they can build a shop. I’m not sure how I feel about Tom’s naive nephews being in charge of the economy of Umatopia, but that’s a worry for another day.
Today, we celebrate being able to travel. We can explore other uninhabited islands. We can visit friends in faraway places. This will no doubt go a long way to developing the world view of my fellow Umatopians and broadening our “horizons”. Get it? Get it?
Our borders are now open, and tomorrow, we’re getting a new resident. An owl called Blathers who’s moving to Umatopia to open a Museum. Because it’s important to get all of that national heritage preservation stuff going right from the start.
“I really love your peaches, wanna shake your tree…”
This isn’t Falling Inn Love. This is Castaway. There is no love to be found here. Daisy Mae doesn’t care about anything other than turnips. “Saharah” just wants to sell me carpets. (Because, you know, that’s just what Middle Easterners do!)
Tammy and Genji just keep repeating the same things to me over and over again. I’m pretty sure they’re being cagey in order to hide their sordid affair. It’s because he works out all the time. While I’m slaving away, building civilisation, that kabuki bunny is getting fit running laps around my island. How else could a jock like him land such a sultry sow?
Anyway I needed to escape Melrose Place, so I flew to my first uninhabited island. Which, let me tell you, is a great release. Running around digging up fossils. Chopping down trees. Catching rare butterflies. God knows, I tried overfishing but there were always more fish. They just kept respawning. I mean, if there aren’t any economic or environmental consequences – except positive ones for me and my people – then I can’t see this as anything other than a win-win.
All of this incredible loot has made me a small fortune. But don’t worry, I’m not keeping all of it. I am still doing my philanthropic duty and supporting the Umatopia Museum with frequent donations. Which is, really rather selfless if you ask me.
I think I might do one more island before the day is over. Just the one.
“Gonna help him put us under, bad guys who like to loot and plunder…”
I am a walking, talking, anthropogenic catastrophe.
I get it now. The glorious appeal of colonialism. The draw of traveling to faraway places, to “uninhabited” islands, and having unfettered access to their lands and natural resources. I understand the urgent need to seek out the raw materials that a burgeoning young society demands.
Listen. I can’t take care of the whole damn world. I can only take care of Umatopia. I have one responsibility and that is to the people (and animals) of my island. And that is a role I am one hundred percent committed to. Is there anything more noble than that?
I can feel you judging me. Don’t. I don’t see you preserving any fossils or donating rare specimens to museums. Think about how all of this would be lost to history. Forever. Think of the children who will never ever see the glorious skeleton of a T-Rex. Or experience the majesty of a Monarch butterfly.
You can thank me later.
All of this hippy-dippy-love-thy-neighbour shit is all well and good when everything is well and good. But I’m trying to build something here. Something great. Something grand. Something with ivory towers and golden pinnacles. And it’s every man, woman, and animal, for themselves.
Also. I need the money okay. That sonofabitch raccoon has me hundreds of thousands in the red and I’m getting desperate.
