Chapter Four: Daruma

By: Marie Pascual

10/4/2024

“The Obstacle is the Way.”

“Bro, how much weed have you smoked?”

“Yo, he’s sober. He’s just like this.”

It’s been a rocky time on the W.W. With waves rolling in and out, the calm never lasts long enough, and the constant shift has left the crew mentally drained.

The news hit us hard: the S.S. Chubby Duck was on a slow collision course with an iceberg. We figured we’d reach our destination soon but didn’t know when—or what the hell would be left by the time we got there. First, they told us we’d make it to the end of summer. Then it was extended to Christmas. Finally, they hit us with the truth: we had about two weeks left.

To make matters worse, we’d already lost half the crew back at our original port. The captain made the call to end the voyage early, and none of us could argue. It didn’t help that there was a siren onboard—one of our own who’d been sowing chaos in the shadows for months. So we huddled together, cigarettes glowing in the dim light, staring out at the sea, wondering where we’d go once the journey was over.

Lately, we’ve been surviving on a steady diet of “arts and crafts”—random projects dressed up as busy work to keep our minds off the iceberg ahead. Crew members are getting sick, the future is a thick fog, and morale is scraping the ocean floor.

“Guys, don’t worry. The obstacle is the way,” Spam muttered.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Spam?”

He looked at us, eyes glazed but dead serious. “Every time there’s been an obstacle, it’s led to growth. My last voyage? I was dying inside. Too comfortable. My crew knew it, and I knew it. I had to leave. Fast-forward, and now I’m here. I do what I want, smoke when I want, clock in whenever. Somewhere along the way, though, I got complacent.”

He leaned forward, flicking ash off his cigarette. “If you don’t change your situation, the universe will force you to change.”

Spam, Kid, and I sat together, silently letting his words sink in. Each of us realized we’d been craving something new, something different.

“I’ve run my own business too long,” Spam said, the weight of it hitting him. “Maybe it’s time to go back to school or finally chase my acting dreams.”

“I’ve been in kitchens my whole life,” Kid chimed in. “It’s all starting to blend together. I need a real challenge.”
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“I’ve been comfortable at home most of my life,” I admitted. “Maybe it’s time I stand on my own and start doing things for myself.”

Kid traced a finger over the daruma tattoo on his arm. He told us how the doll represents a Japanese ritual of setting a goal and working toward it. To make a wish, you start with a daruma without eyes, painting one to mark the beginning of the journey. Once you’ve fulfilled your wish, you paint in the other eye, a reminder that nothing worth having comes easy.
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Back when our voyage first began, we’d planted a scallion in a daruma pot—a quiet reminder to stay the course. The plant sprouted three stems, so we each made a wish, painting one eye on the daruma, hoping we’d someday see both eyes filled. Maybe that’s the real point of all this: that the obstacle isn’t just a dead end but a part of the journey we were meant to take.