Are we the poison?

The other night, over performative cocktails and far too much cosmic debate, my Airbnb guests and I got onto the topic of space travel. And it made me wonder: why the hell are we so obsessed with colonising other planets when we haven't even figured out our own? We’re light years away from mastering self-care, let alone Earth-care, and yet, we’re already packing our bags. Are we just looking for a new world to screw up, or are we the glitch in the system?

I had to ask: "If there’s a version of you in Andromeda living a perfect, problem-free life... wouldn’t you want to go there?"

One guest didn't hesitate. She said no. Apparently, her "baggage" was what made her strong. It made her her. Me? I was already halfway through the wormhole, ready to meet this 'Happy Maria.' When they pointed out there’d be two of us, I joked that I’d just have to take the other one out. A little cosmic identity theft, but would that one "nefarious" act ruin a perfect world before I’d even unpacked?

It made me think... are we destined to be the rotten apple in every garden? Can we ever just be the breath of fresh air? Or do we crave chaos the second things get too quiet?

Maybe we just aren’t built for "perfect." Maybe if we deeply embraced our own messiness, we could turn it into something beautiful. So, if you ever do meet your Other Self in a parallel universe, you can tell them: "I’m not here to destroy you, and I’m definitely not bringing perfection. I’m a little rough around the edges, but I’m here to show you that back home, we find our own kind of perfection... right in the middle of the mess.