Beginning of the End

Today we had our last Literature class, with my favorite teacher, Sigrid (Siggy). While sitting on the rooftop of our school building, we discussed the last book we read in class. Zorba and the Greek. It's a tale of the Greek culture and what it means to truly live. Appropriate, huh?

As Siggy was reading an excerpt from the book, I looked around at the world that had so quickly become my home. The endless white buildings cascading through out the mountains. The scattered blue domes of churches, here and there. The calm Aegean sea, surrounding the Port of Paros. My classmates listening intently, yearning for every last bit of knowledge from this wonderful teacher.

Surprisingly, I got choked up. I realized that this beautiful way of learning had become normal to me. And that soon...it would be gone.

When class came to an end, there was a long, comfortable silence. It was like an understanding. An understanding that we had learned all that we could from this place and that it was time to move on. Siggy stood up, abruptly ending the silence. "Don't let it end here, gang. Keep it going, alright?"

And with that, the class was over.

It was the first of many goodbyes. More hugs and silent understandings to come. Silent acknowledgement of what went on here. Of the gratitude we each have for each others' presences in our lives.

Since, for the time being, we're silently explaining our time here...I'll let Zorba do the talking.

“I was happy, I knew that. While experiencing happiness, we have difficulty in being conscious of it. Only when the happiness is past and we look back on it do we suddenly realize—sometimes with astonishment—how happy we had been. But on this Cretan coast I was experiencing happiness and knew I was happy.” - Zorba the Greek

Community

Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. You know, that day we sit around the table, eating too much food, and conjure up some words of gratitude? Then, we fall asleep with our pants unbuttoned, dirty dishes in the sink, and ponder where to put the Christmas tree.

But, for that one moment, that day of communal thanks…we’re reminded of all the great things in our lives.

Last weekend, I had a friend visit me from the states. He got to see the life I’ve been living here, on Paros. Now, I don’t know if it’s just me who does this, but when someone close to me is out of their comfort zone and experiencing something about my life, I tend to put myself in their place. I begin to hear words as they might. See surroundings through their eyes. In doing so, I’m able to get a glimpse at something that I might have been overlooking.

For example, my visiting friend, Russell, and I were walking down the same street that I walk everyday to class. He stopped and turned down a pathway that I’d never really seen before. I followed him up the steps, and there was this beautiful marble castle. I guess I’d noticed it while walking before, but I’d never really stopped to take it in. It was remarkable. The same thing happened later on, when we spent some quality time with my new friends.

The group up at the Temple of Apollo

Everyone roaming the grounds of Artemis and Apollo

Listening to Cameron talk about Apollo and Artemis

The group went up to see the Temple of Apollo and have lunch at this beautifully secluded house in the hills. The 360 view of the island was mouth-dropping. Adorned with quirky fixtures and collections from all over the world, this obscure building felt like a home. We sat around the fireplace, ate delicious food, napped, told stories, sang, laughed. It was perfect.

Talking around the patio table, after lunch

Gorging on the delicious home-made food

There was a moment when I sat and took it all in, trying to see what Russell might be seeing. I watched Lynne do impressions, making everyone laugh hysterically. I listened in as Marcus gushed over the delicious food we were eating. I smelled the wood-burning fireplace, crackling next to the sleeping Catherine. The room was filled with friends. Happy, joy-filled friends. People, who were complete strangers less than 3 months ago, were now joined as if they’d been mates for life. The amount of gratitude and love in that warm, little room was immaculate.

I realized something, then.

There is such a need for fellowship and community. A need for relationship. Conversation. People who, though aren’t always like-minded, will make you think. Believe in yourself. Laugh about struggles. Dream about passions. All of these quintessential ideas are surrounded by the people who ignite them.

Whether it’s on a Greek island with totally new friends…or at home, in your dining room, with the family you’ve always known. This community of loved ones is the most necessary thing for us, as humans. I’m not sure if I’d have realized the community I have here, had I not taken a step back to evaluate things from the new perspective of my friend.

Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. What do you have to be thankful for?

Nostalgic in Naxos

Just got back from Naxos, another island in the Kikladhes.

It was beautiful. So many mountains, and it felt a lot more Greek. In the sense that there were a lot more residential areas that we got to explore through. In doing so, we met lots of locals and went into more "Ma & Pop" cafes and stores.

Here are some pictures from our trip:

Our yummy lunch on Naxos

How many HISAs can you fit it one bed?

Me with the squids (AKA: Ariel with Ursula)

Looking at the stars with Lynne, Michelle, and Nia at the Gate of Apollo

Last time riding on the ferry; Port of Paros

Napping on Naxos

Nia and Lynne in the cafe we stopped to got cappuccinos at

Getting lost on Naxos

This was the last off-island hoorah for the HISA group.

We're all starting to realize that we're nearing the end. Discussions about what our next steps will be. What we'll miss most. The amazing relationships we've had here. The unexplainable experience and changes we've made.

The common denominator of all of these conversations has been this: something profound happened in all of us, here. We're not sure how we're going to explain it to our friends and family back home. We're not sure how we'll feel about leaving. And we're not sure what we're going to do without this island, or each other, to encourage, inspire, and grow us.

But we know that we'll be alright. And that we're going to enjoy   e v e r y   l a s t   s e c o n d   here. Because that's all we can do.

Forever Paroikia

I have never been happier.

I know people say that. I know I've said that. But this time is different.

I don't have all the money in the world. I'm not with the ones I love. I don't have a lot of worldly possessions in my reach. I'm not, at all, sure of my future.

But I have the realest peace of mind. The truest joy. I am the most calm and content Arielle I've ever seen.

It took having the most heated confrontation with the One I love the most, to get here. But that anger and frustration is what fueled this fire. This fire of humility and joy and gratefulness.

I am so grateful.

Nothing matters, other than each day I'm given. I'm not anxious for the future. I don't dwell on the past. I don't hold myself to impossible standards that only lead to guilt and self-deprication.

All I see is the day in front of me. Everything else...is smoke.

And I could not be happier.

These months. This island. This experience. These people. They've changed me. My relationship with this place has been loving and hating. Pushing and pulling. Giving and taking. I am forever changed. For the better.

There will always be a place in my heart for Paroikia. For this school that taught me how to learn and how to live; more than any class I've ever taken in America. For the view of the shorefront and Market street when I'm walking to class everyday. For the local shopowners who will sit and have three-hour conversations with me. For the heart to hearts I have with the friends, who were only strangers a short while ago. For the hurricane-like winds that blow everything to shreds but sing me to sleep every night. For the tears cried and the words yelled. The falling in love while being 5,200 miles apart. The fear of not being sure of myself. The challenge to write what I know; all that I know. The white buildings that are blinding in the sunlight. The sound of the ferry's horn at the port. The way of life in Paros.

For the brief moments of divinity.

I'm different.
I didn't think it would happen.