Roland was no celebrity but the next day, he was airlifted from the island along with his new half-bald, red-haired girlfriend with the gammy leg and curious emotional issues. It turned out that he wasn't all that far from civilisation after all; what he thought was the narrative was actually just a load of random fantasies bearing no relation to anyone's reality. It was all a set-up, a series of tricks, traps set by a television crew for entertainment. Once he had realised what was going on, that his fears of living the life of an undiscovered hermit were just barren, emotional shells, he felt more abandoned than he had done before.
If you believe something is real, is it reality? Or is believing reality itself? Every man is an island. No matter who is watching.