I was in my early twenties and I wanted to work on the island to get away from other people. The village I grew up in doesn’t exist anymore and 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.

 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.

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