Summers to me haven’t only meant freckles and warm breeze and flushed cheeks and a soft ice-cream melting in my hand. To me, summers have always been a season to thrive. Every once a year, when the heat crept into the city and nights got lighter, I got desperately thirsty for change. During the summer, everything was possible. During the summer, I could finally become Her – the person I never even resembled.
She was the main protagonist of my drowsy daydreaming. I could see her reflection in the dusty shop windows, she was on the beach and in the city and she was in the forest, too. It became impossible not to walk in her footprints towards September, where – what a surprise – I found myself back at the beginning. One golden hour after another, she was further and further away from me.
Looking back, I don’t understand why my summer had a shape of a lightweight, sunkissed girl while there were so many other flavours to try.
- The birthday crowd of sunshine girls we saw in Rostock back when I was fourteen and I was marveling at their blonde hair and flower crowns and the way they were dancing down the main street
- The tired pilgrim with a face of a Renaissance Jesus, standing still in the middle of a mad crowd in Santiago de Compostela
- The sky high people raving in a dark, dusty student apartment in Lisabon. It was the most mysterious and exclusive session, hidden only one steep staircase away from a loud street in Bairro Alto. It was ten of us who crushed the party and I still regret not getting the slightest taste of whatever they were high on that night
- The beautiful boy in Mykonos who stepped on the cobblestone wharf from his swaying yacht like an actual Greek god and people around had to shield their eyes when looking at him
- The elderly couple in Grosseto that ordered a bone-shaped pizza Calzone as a surprise for their drooling french bulldog
- The old chubby grocery store owner in Kefalonia that my mono-lingual Czech Grandma used to enthusiastically chat with back in 2000. I remember the sticky taste of a caramel lollipop in my mouth and their bubbly conversation in God knows what language
Every once a year, when the heat creeps into the city and nights get lighter, I want to recall all these summer persons I’ll never be. They slipped through my fingers because I was in haste after my summer Nemesis. But who knows what they were chasing after.
Pictures taken in Portugal. The grapefruit photo is from tumblr.