A behemoth of brown rusted metal sits stranded on the coast of a tropical island. It is the remnants of a once promising project to build a dock and a road for a small village. The long neck of the crane-like dredging machine lies on the ground next to the pile of gears and bars. Nobody knows exactly when it met its demise, somewhere between 10 and 30 years ago, but the general consensus is that a part of the motor broke and nobody knew how to fix it. So it fell into line with the rest of the large machinery in this tiny Pacific state and began its slow decline into obscurity. The salt water caked its metallic skin and the relentless sun baked it to a crisp.
The mound of rotting steel is in stark contrast to its beautiful surroundings. Two coconut palms lean lazily over its head and a broad-leafed tree is wrapping around its bulky body. Verdant green grass topped with half exploded firework bulbs crawl along its base. A small beach with cracked seashells and driftwood welcomes the soft lapping of warm waters. Spiraling shades of blues and green dance in the clear ocean as schools of fish splash in unison across its glimmering surface.
The silhouette of the rusted crane is a blackened blob against a backdrop of green volcanic islands that spread across the remote lagoon. The convergence of images of ugliness and beauty on the dock in my village is a perfect microcosm of Chuuk as a whole. It serves as an analogy to show the incongruous nature of these tropical islands. Pristine purity against uncontrolled pollution, abundant resources against lack of possessions, carefree relaxation against frustrating inefficiency, peaceful happiness against desperate isolation, scorching sun against pounding rain.
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