Little Bird
I have missed the sea - standing before it, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face, the cool, salty scent from the waves whispering through my dark curly hair. As if time does not hold me to feel it. I sink deeper into my thoughts with the horizon view from the airplane window while traveling to Cyprus. The orange sunset blends with the sky-blue bridge, the footpaths of memories that slowly began to appear in what time could not say.
My thoughts drift back to six years ago when I announced to Rosa that I have accepted a job offer in Amsterdam. Her reaction, full with enthusiasm, disregarded the distance, 'That's perfect! Don't worry, it's just a plane ride away, not a big deal, sis.' The joy of planning our potential meetings from afar puts us, as she says, 'in the same boat'.
The journey by air has become a routine process for Rosa, a frequent visitor to me in the Netherlands. For me, however, I made the journey to my homeland just once a year. Through the passing of time, I caught myself between two worlds: the rainy, grey days of Amsterdam and the idea of homeland. I have constantly been in an illusion mode: returning to a state of mind between the presence of one place and the desire of another place.
Amsterdam’s cobblestone streets, lively markets and the serene flow of the canals - as picturesque as they are, the days often blur into a monotonous routine. Despite the beauty of the city and the lovely friendships, I never quite felt belonging. Each visit from Rosa was a bright spot, her laughter and stories bringing a piece of home with her. We’d talk about the food, the latest gossip, the vibrant markets, and the gold-ish countryside that makes you wonder how green truly looks like. Both places have shaped me, adding to my journey. Each conversation is a thread, weaving the distance of another place.
--
Landing late at night, the air feels so dry, like a sweating hug. Reaching Solea Valley, the region of our village, without a thought, I extend my hand out the car window, playing with the sensation of the cool air on my fingertips. The cicadas' song grows louder as we drive closer to the village. I laugh at Rosa’s complaints, 'There you go again, I can’t even keep the bedroom window fully open next to the orchard. It’s madness!'.
As we turn onto the narrow, winding road leading to our village, memories flood back. The car’s headlights cut through the darkness, casting fleeting shadows of carob and olive trees and the stone walls lining the path. Rosa sighs at my antics, 'You always find a way to make the simplest things an adventure,' she says. The cicadas’ chorus is almost deafening now, a constant hum that’s both nostalgic and soothing. We pass the old church, its bell tower standing tall against the starry sky, and the old inn with its broken wooden door admitting its age, now quiet and deserted.
Pulling up to our home, the familiar creak of the old gate welcomes us. But I couldn’t wait to welcome and see the most desired one.
Such familiar relief. Walking into my bedroom with no lights on, I murmur over the wooden window, 'There you are, my beauty, welcoming me'. The jasmine plant, still proudly standing since my grandparents planted it, fills my room with its sweet scent. Lying on bed and glancing out the window, the cicada sounds and jasmine smell trigger childhood memories, each one a footpath leading back to moments long gone but not forgotten.
--
The next few days, time passed calmly with gatherings and rest. This afternoon, we gather on the beach with friends to chill out until late at night. While we are lounging on the sand, Rosa pulls her phone down and gives a shout full of excitement: 'I have been accepted for the position abroad!'. The grains of sand between my toes start pulling me foreground and background. Rosa’s plans, as wild and spontaneous as they were, had always been a bond, linking her to this place. I sway a little, unsure if it is the heat or if I am cold. Was I back in time, a child under the comfort of a big sister or an adult with my own state of mind?
Rosa senses that I am lost for a moment. She waits, an unspoken understanding passing between us. The physical distance between the two places mirrors the emotional distance I often felt, caught in the emotional space between longing and belonging.
On the way back home, Rosa dives into one of her plans in which I have no say. 'There's no way you won't like it. Tomorrow, we'll drive and hike until we reach the spot where we'll camp for the night in the forest. We'll be surrounded by impressive high trees, and I believe we'll hear the sylvia, the Cyprus jay…'
'But, why would I want to listen to those birds? Can’t we just drive to the camping site?', I say.
'It's not about the birds but a way to escape. The upcoming days will be full of gatherings and packing', she admits.
After packing for tomorrow’s hike, I lie in the hammock to rest. The idea of being in the Netherlands fades away as a vivid flashback appears. The day I announced my decision to move abroad, the air was thick. My parents, smiling hopefully for my future, I could see the fear of the unknown in their eyes, mingling with their unwavering support. The imposing presence of my grandparents, casting long shadows outside the house, stands vividly in my memory - it was my last time seeing them.
The hammock sways gently, bringing me back to the present as Rosa's voice softly awakens me, 'There you are, lost in thoughts,' she said.
'I was just thinking about everyone’s reaction to the news today about moving abroad', I said softly.
Rosa nods, understanding in her eyes. 'It’s the process of moving forward, never backwards'.
--
We set out early the next morning, the car packed with camping gear and supplies. The drive took us through winding roads, past fields of wildflowers and pine trees. We managed to reach the starting point of our hike before midday. As we walked, Rosa shared stories and plans for her new life chapter. I caught myself getting swept up in her excitement. We paused occasionally to catch our breath and admire the views, the landscape unfolding fields of hills, rocks and trees.
At last, the sight of a clearing nestled deep within the forest. I stand near a rock, watching her try to point out the birds following the sound deeper into the forest. What a moment, everything in balance and calmness. A familiar calmness, which I anticipate in the days before each departure to the homeland. The images, smells, sounds, and sensations I’ve longed for. Most intensely, though, the sweet touch of dusk with the uninvited caress of the mist. An embrace full of shiver, effortless and fearless.
'Look over there!'
She has a unique ability to awaken me just when I least expect it. This time, among the scents of pines and the unfolding of collective memories. Approaching her, I could now clearly see the birds she had been talking about all the way. The sylvia’s soft, simple melodic song, contrasting with the noisy, rhythmic call of the Cyprus jay, whose bright blue wings flashed among the branches. Their songs and presence fit so perfectly into the surroundings, as if they are meant to be only in this place, destined to echo only among these trees.
Looking up through the shadows of the foliage and the sun's rays, stumbling over pebbles, eager reaching the campsite, hoping for a gentle embrace at night.
'The jay surely is deafening!, I say.
Rosa's laughter spread across the depths of the mountain like an unpredictable drumbeat. So be it.
--
Silence.
I looked from the tent right into the depths of the forest. I stepped out slowly, hoping to catch the last disappearing light. An entire place unfolds in the falling darkness. Dusk tunes the entire mountain with its changing light and mist. Unexpectedly the mist tickles my body while my attention was focused on the quick movements of the light and sound dynamics.
Shiver.
Lying on the ground, refusing to enter the tent fully, my body half inside, half outside. The sky above me ignites with stars. The mist has surrounded me as it weaves through the trees. I embrace the shivers that run through me, listening to the mountain and forest as I sink deeper and deeper, slowly and steadily, into the night.
I lie still, breathing slowly and deeply. The fear of the unknown came out easily. The shadows grow bolder, overlapping and intertwining. The soft movement of the mist, the murmur of the forest, the occasional rustle of leaves, and the distant hoot of an owl taking over the wild.
The ritual of shadows and sounds pulls me more into the earth, feeling my heartbeat on the ground. The ground beneath me feels alive, its steady vibration grounding me. It’s as if nature itself is including me as part of it, a reminder that the night, the place and its species are irremovable. I have come here, becoming part of it in this moment.
I glance at Rosa's tent, hearing her soft breathing. Above, a small little bird flits back and forth. I smile at its fluttering. How cute and brave. The soothing sounds of the night fade out to darkness as I cast the present and future weaves. The images of grey days have long gone, the chords of past shadows and unsteady belonging and longing disappear. The forest seems to understand, its whisper comforting, it echoes my thoughts, a gentle reminder of the path that I should flit.
Like the bird that takes me to gazes at sunsets, moving from place to place, bringing me back to my homeland for one last time.