I was in my early twenties and I wanted to work on the island to get away from people. The city I resided in was overflowing with tourists. The roads couldn’t handle all the traffic and I tasted the exhaustion fumes in the air I breathed. The rents were rising faster than the sea level, causing my friends and acquaintances to move away after our studies were over. I was living in a shared flat and was hyperaware of all the daily rhythms of my roommates and neighbors by following the sounds they produced.
It was easy to dream away about a life on the famously disconnected island for the einzelgangers and writers who were working on their manuscripts, offline and off grid.
I wasn’t working on any manuscript, didn’t have ideas of my own. I wanted to escape from all the voices and input around me, to find out what would occur to me when I was alone.