an ode to a grecian yearn

the acropolis looms in the city center. from the lower streets to the hills you can see it. it’s strange. history just remains. powerful, it sits, staring down at me. lit up at night so as to not lose its reverence. a compass, to tell me where i am, to help me see how lost i’ve become. i wander the streets of athens again. this time with companionship. surreal it feels to be here. with someone new. then again with someone known. in a place where everything seems so familiar. it was like i never left last summer. a piece of me stayed here becoming one with the marble streets. that transformative summer of finding myself. or maybe just opening the door to possibility again. it’s a pilgrimage at this point. to bathe in the waters of the mediterranean. to shed again the sadness and the frustrations and the layers of self that no longer serve me. i am not the same person i was back then. but, maybe i am, or have been, underneath it all. does the city remember me? am i another ghost of its past?

we sit across from one another, glasses of wine sipped throughout our meals. me and him, me and another him. both teetering at the edge of friendship. bookends for the trip. plates and plates of food - tomatoes and grilled meat and french fries and breads. there’s an exuberance in the air. the heat isn’t stifling like it was in the past. i feel present and distant. it could be the jetlag. we catch up. we talk. about our lives and the endless ways we’ve been hurt or disappointed. we talk about the happy things, too. you have to. or else it’ll be too sad. we talk about change. the paths taken. on the one end letting him in for the first time. on the other end talking about what has happened since our fateful encounter last summer. servers come by. a little confused each time. two greek men, surely. they must be. dark hair for them all. they speak to us in english. i slip into a little greek. he slips in a little greek, too, accented however. bewildering. we order too much food. they say it’s okay. but, it does feel disappointing to leave so much behind. they think we hated it. we couldn’t eat it. but we just wanted so much. all of it. for each other. probably another insight for them. will they think about us? the two men they’ve seen sharing laughs between bites, weighted looks across the table.

on the beach i miss my parents. i see them in every face here. i see my grandparents here as well. what they could have been had they lived longer. or were even in our lives at all. it’s not their fault they weren’t. sacrifices had to be made. every decision led to me. it’s unbearable sometimes. to think of how my life is at the expense of another. i think about the butterflies again. i see them on the beach. they appear in the book i’m reading as well. serendipitous. maybe a symbol of something greater, this reoccurring presence. the omniscient narrator speaks. talks about how it takes generations for butterflies to migrate. the actions of the past are in service of those in the future. ingrained in the dna of each successive attempt. how do i make sure everything i do isn’t a waste? i overhear the old greeks next to me. islanders, i think. they speak of death. they speak of the fruits at the market and what’s in season. they speak of laundry and how often their kids visit. they yell at each other. greeks always yell. but the yelling comes from passion and love. you want to be heard and understood, you need your truth to be out there. nobody is hurt because everyone knows life is tough. whenever people tell me about the greeks they meet they can’t stop talking about how generous and kind they are. my mom tells me americans are born in the swamps of lies. i agree with her. they’d rather comfort with lies than ever stare down truth. i stare down those liars every day in small rectangles on my computer screen. i feel so sad for them. just momentarily. i have to get out.

evanggelia calls me. she is her namesake, the bearer of good news. her face lights up when i respond to her in greek. i’m familiar to her as she is to me. we speak greek. i’ll interject with english. i am a blend of both. i do not find myself a purist anymore. certain words fit better. there’s a nuance and breadth to it all, language is the essence of our souls and mine has been so deeply colored by the in-between. the coffee shop worker speaks to me in greek as well. she switches to english though as she sees me pick up a book. that’s fine. she switches back to greek. she looks at me. she apologizes. her mind is frazzled during the shoulder season she says. she’s weathered so many speakers. she doesn’t know anymore who speaks what. i laugh. i tell her it’s fine. it really is. i wonder if she thinks about the conversation she had before me, with the greek man, talking about greek speakers who come here and buy up the land. they don’t give back, she says. they hardly live here. there’s a deep sadness to way she speaks of loss. of the emptiness that inundates the island from those vacationers who come for the spoils and don’t stay for the hardship. i’m not one of those, i want to tell her. but i don’t. i patiently wait for my turn.

i think i’m hallucinating. i sit on the balcony overlooking the harbor, the sun has set earlier falling behind the hillside. there are bells. attached to sheep i think. or goats. i don’t know the difference. farming knowledge lost within a generation. the sound reverberates through my soul. i think my family’s past who lives inside of me hear it too. the sound is real. the sheep goats are real. they’re in the distance, down on the outskirts of the village. i’m sure of it. i’m a little drunk. i feel happy. earlier in the day i realized i was scowling. on the beach, under the sun, soaking every few hours in crystal clear waters, i still felt upset. there was a hardness to me. i couldn’t just enjoy the moment. why? i was on a deserted beach. i should be happy. but i wasn’t. i think too much has happened. too many things have happened to me. i became reclusive. people took advantage of me. i let it happen. i was knocked down over and over. i felt like i disappointed my friends for pulling so far back. i hardly have seen them. i felt guilty. i love deeply but i had felt so listless. i didn’t want to be sad in front of them so i chose vanishing instead. a lot of endings that will bring new beginnings. but i could not see that then. i do now.

in the morning, the same balcony, i see the ferry pull into the harbor. i’ve watched them for days now. rhythmic. every few hours. different sizes. a blip on the horizon until closer they come to shore. black smoke billows. mechanical whales. even the loud horn that blares on their arrival seems like a whale’s call. within a few minutes, you can hear them. the rolling rolling rolling of suitcases up the hillside. groups of them. tourists from all over. pulling enormous luggage together, so certain of where they’re going, but still aimless somehow. i see them again at dinner. i sit along the water, fish swimming in the waters directly below my feet, stray cats congregating hoping i’d give them food. i sit alone. i stare off into the distance. during the sunset, the hills change colors. deep purples and reds cascade along the hillside. i think back to a decade ago, how the sun would set along the hills of kochi. there’s a comfort there. the tourists come in. they ask for tables of four or five. they read the menu. they read the descriptions. that seems good. they look at the pictures. let’s do that. should we do wine or beer? the waiter comes around. they start ordering, butchering each word and pronunciation. but we all know what they mean and what they want. the waiter smiles back. it’s his pleasure. i believe him.

i’m in the back of the taxi. i’m hungover. i did not want to admit it to the hotel staff when i asked if it was too late to order a taxi from them. i told them i was just tired. the taxi driver walked into the lobby of the hotel and looked around for me so confidently. was it so obvious that i was ready to leave? i’m disappointed. a bit ashamed, too. my only task for my mother was to buy her coffee cups and i couldn’t find them. i asked the staff where to go, i asked the waiter at breakfast with him where i should go. no one gave me a clear answer. it was the only thing she wanted. i couldn’t do it for her. we’re stuck in traffic on kolokotroni. the taxi driver tells me it’s only a one kilometer distance but with so many cars it takes ten minutes at least. he’s frustrated. when i first got into the car, he asked me where i was going. i said back to new york. he corrected me and asked where i wanted to go now. oh, the airport, i said. we talk more. he talks about the city and how no one can afford to live here. he says life is hard. it is, i say back to him. we speak in english. his stilted. mine slow and careful thinking about every word he’s likely to know. i don’t speak greek with him. i can’t formulate the thoughts. he talks about wanting to drive fast. he bought this luxury car just to end up a taxi driver. he start stops all day. endlessly he drives people, mostly foreigners, back and forth from hotels and the port to hotels and the airport. he’s the vessel for all of us. we sit in silence. i look at the cascading city in the distance. it spreads far, white among the green. he speeds up. here’s what he’s been looking for. i feel his joy from the back seat. we arrive. i tip him generously. it’s all for you, i say. you deserve to live life, i continue. you’re a good person, i end. he shakes my hand and thanks me. does he feel the familiarity between us too?