💾 Archived View for orbital9.earth › anderson › log › 2024 › 2024-0001.gmi captured on 2024-09-28 at 23:52:06. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
⬅️ Previous capture (2024-05-10)
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Another cycle completed. The usual: air scrubbers humming, hydroponics thriving (praise be to Dr. Sato's green thumb), and a successful external hull inspection by EVA team Beta. The rust may be creeping in, but this old girl still holds her breath.
Gazing out at the bruised canvas of our home below, a familiar pang of loss washes over me. The swirling storms and ravaged coastlines are a stark reminder of why we're cooped up in this metal can. A necessary evil, some would say. A chance to rebuild, others claim. But rebuilding what? The world we knew is a ghost in the atmosphere, a memory preserved only in the flickering archives.
I think of them sometimes, the crews on Titanus and Sevastopol. Sharing our orbit, but a world apart. We communicate, of course, share data and the occasional sardonic joke. But theirs is a different loneliness. Lunar silence, punctuated only by the hum of their own station. Do they ever feel the pull of Earth, a yearning for the soil beneath their boots, the untamed wind whipping their hair?
Perhaps not. Perhaps the starkness of the moon has forged a different kind of resilience, a detachment born of necessity. And maybe that's what we need more of here. Less nostalgia, more focus on the future we're trying to hold onto.
But tonight, I allow myself this small indulgence. A captain's right, some might say. A moment to remember the world we left behind, and the one we're fighting for. Signing off.