A Man Apart

[Halajiin Rabeak]

A long time ago, in a solar system far, far away, I was a very different man. Or, perhaps I was the same man, and everything else was different, that might be a better way of putting it. In any case, nothing is as it was for both the galaxy and myself, and no amount of wishful thinking could ever put back what has gone wrong.

When I first came to the Jedi Order, it was clear I felt lonesome and missed my home. In an effort to help me deal with that loneliness, and to put it into perspective, I was encouraged to keep a journal of my thoughts and experiences. It did, in fact, help, and I continued to keep it long after I felt no continued need for it. Sadly, it appears that none of my journals have survived to this date, so I cannot go back and look upon how I felt back then and compare it to now. Still, because it helped then, I feel the urge to continue the practice, and so I begin writing again, today.

It has been four months since I found myself in this time, and yet I still do not feel a part of it, nor does my journey to this point seem to make any sense at all. Frozen for over a century, only to be thawed out and find that the one thing in my life I could truly be proud of was gone? I put on a brave face, but I could not fight the pain in my heart. The Jedi had been reduced from a noble force for good throughout the galaxy, to a handful of fugitives on the run, on a run-down old starship. At least I was fortunate enough to have been thawed out in what is now Alliance space, so there’s that to be thankful for.

But, even though I was reunited with what remained of the Jedi, I quickly learned that my approach, and my place among the order, were no longer what seemed useful. I’d grown too comfortable being the outsider among a large group, my skill set put to specialty use. I was a fine-line pen among a group which suddenly painted in terribly broad strokes, and to say I did not get on well with the new ideals and expectations would be an understatement. Despite my attempts to fit in, I might as well have been a rancor in a tea house, to them.

My place as the outsider was firmly cemented when I foolishly thought I could show them my value by returning to my old ways. In my Order, it had become expected for me to work outside the lines, and often without direct authorization – that was what I seemed to do best, and my results were typically enough to balance out my methods. How quickly I forgot that these new Jedi did not know me, and would not understand. What was meant to be a great victory was instead branded as treason, and for my role as ringleader, having deceived several others, I was tossed in the brig for over two months.

To be fair, it was hardly the first time I’d found myself in a cell, even at the hands of fellow Jedi, but this time I knew it was different. I wasn’t part of something so large that it could weather the negative backlash I had been accustomed to factoring in, and I had betrayed the trust of people who, quite frankly, had taken me in based solely on my word and my possession of a lightsaber.

I was a damn fool, and I risked my life, and the lives of some of the few remaining Jedi. Yes, we were fully successful, and our actions brought a spark of hope back to the Jedi, as we hit Ilum hard, and recovered a crapload of saber crystals, but it was an unnecessary risk. I knew it, too, which was the stupidest thing, and I did it, anyway. And so, I wound up in the brig. I could have left anytime I wanted, the door mechanism was simple enough, but this time was different. If I let myself out, they would never be able to trust me, and I’d truly be on my own. So I remained confined, as much out of my own volition as theirs, and I thought.

During my wait, the ship I was aboard made it to Ossus, the cultural home of the Jedi. I’ve been here, before, but it was long, long ago, and it looked much different, back then. Still I remained in the brig for several weeks before I was finally let out. All around me, a new settlement was taking shape, and the Jedi were truly forming a new home. Despite my best efforts, I could not feel a part of it. I tried to help, I tried to pitch in, but every one of my efforts was suspect, due to my actions regarding Ilum. When it became clear I was not wanted, I took a perma-tent and found a place in the forest, far enough from the settlement site to remove myself from it, and I set up a new home.

It’s not a fancy home, nor a big one, but with some borrowed furniture, a power source, and some basic necessities, it’s become acceptable, and I am able to start again. It will likely be some time before I am accepted by the Jedi again, and likely even longer before I can change my ways to become part of what they need to be, now. This isn’t my Order, and I need to accept that it never will be the Order that I knew. But it’s the Jedi Order, nonetheless, and despite having lost everything else in my life, I have not lost myself.

I am a Jedi. This is to be the Jedi Order. It’ll just take time before it, and I, can find a common ground. That is time I’m willing to take, though, this time in a prison of my own design.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

It's lonely, here, and I've never felt more alone.

I thought this was the right decision. I thought that by up and moving away, and being on my own, I would be able to focus, to reflect upon myself, let heads cool, and that I would recover quickly. That's how it was supposed to work, but I've been here a month, now, and things feel no closer to better. All I have to show for my time is a bit more furniture, and a better knowledge of the surrounding area.

Who would have thought that I would have grown to like nature walks? Not me, but there's no decent holovision signal, here, and it sure beats laying in bed all day. Well, at least when I'm alone in that bed. Had some company, but not much, and not often. Even it doesn't feel the same, knowing when it's all over, they'll go and I'm still here. And I'm still here. I look at my four walls, a pale green surface which had been soft as fabric when I put it up, but is now hard as fibreglass. Still feels like a tent, though, and that family camping adventure is one I wish I wouldn't pull up memories of every time I look at these walls. Yet I do remember, and those memories yank to the surface the feelings I thought I had buried long ago.

In my own time, my family was always there. Not literally right there, but they were home, and if I ever needed, I could return to them; a safety net from the tightrope walk that was my life as a Jedi. Oh, sure, there were holocalls, and letters and the occasional care package, but even then I knew that it was only a matter of distance that separated me from them. Now, no matter of distance could ever take me home. How long had it taken before they realized I hadn't called? For how long did my mother continue to bake me cookies and send them, knowing it was hideously expensive, and that they would be stale well before they arrived, but knowing I would eat them anyway, each bite reminding me of home? I'd argued with one of my brothers a week before it all happened; did he think my lack of communication was because I was mad at him? Had the Jedi even bothered to contact my family after I disappeared, or were they left to never know what became of me? A Jedi is supposed to control their emotion, but such thoughts make me weep, and I am unashamed to admit it. Yes, I miss my old life, I miss the Republic I knew, and I miss the splendor of Coruscant, but I would trade all of that in a heartbeat to have just one more day, or even hour with my family.

Dad, I was such a bad son. You tried to guide me, to show me responsibility, and how to be a respectable man, but I was so self-absorbed and lazy I could not see it, and I did not honor you the way I wish I had. Mom, I love you so much. When things were bad, even when they were my fault, you comforted me, and supported me. You showed me the importance of love, and the power of forgiveness, and so many other lessons I can never thank you for. To my brothers, I am sorry I was such a tag-along. I'm sorry you were forced to include me in your games, even at the detriment to your enjoyment of them. You put up with me in a way no one else did, and I looked up to the both of you more than you can ever know. You're the men I wanted to be, and what I tried so hard to imitate, in my own limited understanding. I hope you both had families of your own, and were wonderful fathers, because if you could handle helping to raise me, surely you could deal with anything.

But you're all gone, now. Just like one day, one hundred and seven years ago, I was gone to you. I don't know if you worried, I don't know if you were angry or if you cried, or if you simply moved on with your lives, having accepted that I would never truly return home, again. I don't know how you felt, but I know how I feel. More than everything I have lost in my frozen sleep, it is the thought that I will never again see your faces, or hear your voices, that causes a tear so deep in my heart that I do not think I will ever recover. The others here do not know that sorrow in me. I cannot show them, they could not appreciate such grief. So I keep you to myself, as it's the only way I know of to hold on to you in some way. There are nights I sob into my pillow, like a frightened child, so strong is the pain of your loss. We weren't the best family, no, but you were my family. My parents, my brothers, and I was yours. And now I am no one's, and no one is mine. Only myself, and that is never enough.

It is not good to be alone. I know this. I have tried to go back to the others, but with each step a lead weight forms in my footpaws, growing heavier and heavier until I cannot move, paralyzed with fear. What if they don't want me? What if no one wants me? What if I am truly alone in the entire universe, with no way to get back anything which could bring peace to my heart? That fear is the lead weight. I know that if I were only to push through it, to conquer my fear as a Jedi is supposed to, I would know my answer, one way or the other. But the fear is too great. I cannot know this answer, not yet.

I do not know what life would hold for me, if I were to lose them, too.