老家。
“Old home,” in Chinese. The place you came from.
That sense of nostalgia, sense of rootedness, yearning, longing. Longing for some kind of return, belonging, connection to something larger, ancient, timeless.
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A house is not just a house.
It’s a whole kaleidoscope of ordinary fairy tales. This is where it begins, and continues. Nothing here is static, or lost, or forgotten. The table remembers. The walls remember. The music remembers.
Fin,
da capo.
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Right here,
is exactly where you need to be.
“Little ordinary magic.”
Supposedly.
It’s difficult. After so much work, so much heart, passion, excitement, dedication in the dreaming of the dream, the anticipation of the dream, to then actually live it. To live it in the moment. To even comprehend or feel what is actually happening. Is it worth it. Does it even matter. In this exhausting effort to emote, to create and facilitate something we supposedly believe in, is the magic really there? Or is it in our heads, our wishful thinking. Are we just foolishly blowing the meaning of this dream out of proportion?
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Last but not least, the true vacation where we can relax and not worry about meeting musicians and interviewing locals. But ‘relaxing’ - slow late morning getting groceries to make an epic breakfast with fresh fruits and bread and mocha pot coffee, leisurely stroll through Old Town, long feast lunch at a nostalgic restaurant while siping Sauv Blanc, afternoon nap followed by sunset dip in the crystal clear calm Mediterranean water, all ending with an early cozy night in with take out gyros wraps and beer and endless sunflower seeds accompanied by Netflix. That’s the kind of Greek island vacation.
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