The Prelude

17 days, 6 hours, 59 minutes, 4 seconds, 3, 2, 1... (the countdown to the big, life changing moment). 

As one of the last to leave the UK to embark on this year-long adventure, the goodbyes have been eternal. I have stolen the spotlight from others who left sooner, forged a false sadness which simply didn't feel relevant so far in advance (4 months or even 1). Post cards, letters and pressed flowers which now must be dug up for the occasion which has finally arrived. 

I now watch from afar whilst they settle into their new lives, polished and new, free and busy- detailed commentaries refined in the form of digital scrapbooks, occasional catch-ups as a consequence of time differences. Foreign replicas of Durham posts, a continuation of the story which once existed back here, comments of 'I miss you' and 'I'm so glad it worked out': success stories. 

The prospect of my new life abroad hangs over me, clings to me like the memory of garlic on my fingertips. The unknown which once haunted them haunts me still and my group of familiars can no longer bond with my fear- it is only a distant past for them whilst they move forward and embrace the new. I sit alone in a wide, solitary ocean.

Every gathering now is tainted by an air of sadness and loss- every one of these moments is now one of the final. There are some whose goodbye is a repeat of the usual, the one expressed when leaving university for the holiday, a temporary, trivial goodbye subconsciously followed by an eventual 'hi, I missed you', it comes around soon. For others, whose presence I commit to at least once a week, whose character holds a place in my mind every minute of every day, the concept of goodbye constricts my throat, deters me from leaving at all. 

Greece is not that far from home. A short flight, a bus ride, a long wait, a time change... but it is a trip only those who matter will make time for. From the relationships I have set up, the places I have made my own, the experiences which have defined me, it is a whole world away. A world away from the people whose lives I was once a part of, the lives which now regretfully continue without that missing piece, the lives which fill the gap which eventually cannot be unfilled again. 

What lies across the water is a new life, a life 2 hours ahead. Once I cross over, who is to say I will be able to cross straight back, fit back in with my old life, live 2 hours behind again? Once time moves forward, it cannot move back. This is a story about the tension between lives, belonging, change. Transition.