The Island of Longing

You must know by now that I am not a typical travel writer. When I visit somewhere new, I do not document the top ten sights to see or, despite my adoration for food, the best places to eat there. I rarely depart from my travels feeling relaxed or refreshed. Instead, I return to my home with newfound lessons. What I questioned during my recent trip to Rhodes: Is longing vital to living a good life, or does it only make you depressed?

My sister and I found ourselves back in Greece after visiting Crete seven months prior. Our trip to Heraklion was full of unplanned late nights of espressos by the ocean and dancing with strangers. During that one week, I felt freer than I had felt since I was a child. Returning from the trip, I experienced a low that took me months to rise from. I needed to go back. However, my sister did not want to return to the same resort and the budget was smaller, so I found us a great hotel in Rhodes - quieter and cheaper. So long as I were in Greece, I would be okay.

While I prepared my sister for the reality of a much quieter and humble holiday, her longing for a good time with free alcohol and attractive men grew. I did not object to this as I was still thinking about the woman I was in Heraklion. My sister's expectations excited me to believe I may see her again. I even packed the little white dress I wore that wild night.

You know, I think about her often. Wondering what she and the moon get up to while I am unconscious. Probably, she is shaking her ass in a little white dress with the biggest smile on her face. I hope I get to see her again.

- Katerina Petrou, Innocence Lost and Truth Found, 2024

Changing out of our bikinis and into our dresses, it soon came to my sister and I's realisation that we were not going to be staying up past midnight to dance. The strip was a ghost town, empty bars and isolated boutiques - with an English woman standing in the street, frustratedly screaming into a phone, 'It is so fucking quiet here!' It was meant to be a relaxing holiday. So why, whilst sitting at a rooftop bar overlooking the desolated street, were we retrieving quotes for flights to Hersonissos?

All of my longing, my lack of relaxation, my feelings of failure, all of it evaporated the moment I stepped into the sea. Wearing a baby pink bikini and a blue flower in my hair, I embraced the cold water like a baptism. Suddenly, without caution, I fell to my knees. My toes planted in the sand, the waves rocking me back and forth. I have a difficult relationship with God. Though, I felt more holy in that moment than I have ever before. I had found it, I had found peace.

Washing the sand off my feet, I made my way back to the pool where my sister was reading a book in the shade. Part of my mind, maybe my heart, was still at the beach. Though, my sister was here, beside me. It was a devastatingly perfect metaphor for the dilemma I face daily. I do not feel as though I belong in London, in England. Truthfully, I do not feel as though I belong anywhere. Though, whenever I am immersed in the sea with the mountains around me, I feel at home. I think to myself, this is where I am meant to be. But, it could never be as simple as packing my life in a suitcase and relocating it to a Greek island. My family mean too much to me. They are my home.

The holiday to Crete in September was an existential experience that I have never truly felt the same since. I was attempting to find all of the things I found there, in Rhodes. But, the streets were not as busy, the music not as loud, the men not as beautiful, the moon not as talkative. I still had my sister, and I was grateful for that. Though, as she read beside me, I could not help but long to live that night again. I listened to music that reminded me of him. How he made me feel when he watched me dance. The power I felt the next morning, walking down the strip with the sun and my lollipop. The certainty of my place in the world. Almost everything made sense in that moment. After all, my sister was with me that night, too. When I put on my little white dress for our final evening, my longing was so strong, my dress looked black.

Since returning from Rhodes, I have tasked myself with an experiment: Do not long for anything. Feel everything that this moment has to offer you, for this is where you are right now. Do not long to be back on that strip. Do not long to be back in his arms. Do not long to be anywhere that you are not right now. For, how can anybody be truly present if their soul is somewhere else?

This task has not proven easy, I think about an attractive man at work and question if this is acceptable or if it will tarnish my results. So, instead of dwelling on whether his feelings are reciprocated, I send him a message. I was missing the sea, so I figured I would get the morning train to Brighton. Taking a breath and a step back, I told my manager that I would work today instead. I knew, deep down, that I would be looking for Greece in every cold and dirty British sea. Much like I was looking for that bad man in the eyes of the man at the bar asking to kiss me. I cannot replace the things that once brought me joy with cheaper versions.

I fear, what kind of poet will I be if I stop my longing? Will my romanticisation of life diminish and my words read less beautiful? Will I write more about the things that mean most to me, like feminism and grief? Will I stop pretending to be in love with men who should be insignificant in my life? Despite it not being in my intensely sensitive nature, I am attempting to view life simply. I want to live on the Greek Islands, where my best friends will be the sun and the moon and the mountains. But, I need to live near my family. You cannot get everything you desire in life, so you must consider what is most important to you. Spending my days longing for a life that is too far from reach is only making me depressed. I must make a life where my feet have been planted. I will try my best to.