I was

You know, I was in Greece once. Twice actually - but the first time still is a treasured memory.

It was in 1999 - I was 8 years old. With my little hands I reached out for the warm palms bowing in the wind, on which snails were sitting to be warmed up by the sun - snails as big as the palms of my hands, their houses colorful like a pile of rotten autumn leaves.
I remember my surprise seeing that the palms weren't as triangle-shaped as I'd imagined them to be.
The asphalt was boiling under my bare feet. The soft skirt I had wrapped around my hips gently caressed my knees and shins, kissing the soft spots protected by the harsh and yet loving sun.
We lived in a blue tent by the ocean, just 7 meters away from sand and fish and corals and wet stones glimmering under the sun. There were other children there - they were so sweet. Anja and Sofia - I still remember them. At night we fell asleep to the sound of insects singing to the choir of frogs, when the night blanket had fallen upon the camp of blue tents.

We were playing hairdressers one day. They wanted their hair colored blue and green. I wanted mine colored black.
As she was pouring the 'dye' on my head Sofia suddenly said: "That's so unfair! Your hair actually goes black!!"


I'm not sure it does that anymore.