To dream is good, they say. I have a dream. A dream of having a house on Tinos, facing the Aegean Sea. A house with a nice veranda and a garden. I would sit on the veranda, sipping a freddo cappucino or a gin&tonic, sometimes reading, sometimes writing. Sometimes I’d tend to the garden with my husband. The deep blue Aegean glistening in the sun, my skin parched by the sun, the salt and the wind. Like one of the tomatoes being sun dried in our garden.
To dream is good, they say. They’re supposed to keep you alive, push you forward into achieving them. Yet, whenever I let myself acknowledge my persisting dream, it seems to crush me underneath of it. It overwhelms me. Is it too big? Is there such a thing as a dream too big? It’s too unprobable. Some day, we’ll get out of the city, buy a house in the middle of nowhere. Maybe some day we’ll buy a house somewhere in the coasts of Finland. That’s a more realistic dream and goal. That’s a dream that doesn’t weigh heavily on me.
Finnish countryside is beautiful in its own simplistic (to my eyes) way. Finnish coastal areas and archipelago even more so with the bare rugged bedrock and crooked pine trees. The sea, the Baltic sea, is barely a sea – it’s shallow and gray and low on salt – but still it IS a sea. It’s the sea I grew up by, the sea that saw my tears and heard my cries when I used to haunt the shores as a troubled teen, the semi-salty wind blowing in my face, tousling my hair. I used to love that sea and that wind. It was before I met the Aegean and the meltemi.
My backup dream is to get a nice house with a nice big yard next to the sea somewhere there on the southwest coast of Finland. A place with its own shoreline, a place where I could feel the salty wind and watch the unruly sea from our own veranda. Not a bad way to live, that either. If it wasn’t for the cold. These Finnish winters with barely a hope of any kind of summer are killing me slowly but surely. Four out of five Finnish summers are so cold that I feel betrayed when autumn comes.
I told my husband this morning, when I was feeling the longing to the sun so keenly that it brought tears to my eyes, that the best thing would be to have both, one day. The remote house somewhere there by the Gulf of Finland and a summer house there on Tinos. Tinos is not exactly a warm and fuzzy place in the winter time either, what with the fierce storms and all. But then again, if we would be able to spend half of the year – the better half at that – on Tinos, what does it really matter where we suffer the long cold months of winter? It’s the same snow and ice and cold everywhere around here. No real pleasure in a frozen sea, now is there?
While there are quite pretty (old, I like the old architechture, the 1800’s style best) houses in Finland too, I absolutely love the Mediterranean architechture, and the Cycladean architechture especially. I love the old villages and towns, with narrow passages between white washed houses with cobalt blue window panes and the occasional blue roof. With bougeainvilleas and oleanders blooming. Still, it is the solitary solace of a lone house on a cliff I am looking for. A house overlooking the sea, within walking distance of a beach. Nothing extravagant. Just a simple house with a simple patio.
Maybe one day my dream – a dream I know my husband shares – will come true. Just maybe. I keep on dreaming, though mostly I need to push the dream aside, away from my conciousness, bury it in some dark nook just to survive. Otherwise it overwhlems me to tears, crushes me down in despair, wanting. Wanting so bad that it hurts, but not being able to do anything about it. Not now, anyway. Maybe some day. Maybe.
God, how I miss that place where the wind blows, setting my soul free!