LIFE EXPERIENCE
Summer = Freedom
The DEP Summer Contest
Summer equals freedom for me.
Freedom to flirt, in short, flimsy dresses.
Freedom to sit at little wooden tables and eat fresh salads, covered with lashings of olives and their oil, until I’m full.
Freedom to dance to hypnotic beats under palm leaves and stars.
Freedom to feel the temperature change as the cooler night air eventually catches up to meet the darkness.
Freedom to travel with small bags, because summer clothes are so tiny.
Freedom to forget I ever owned a coat.
Freedom to express myself without the restriction of a uniform.
Freedom to hitchhike and sleep outdoors.
Freedom to be homeless, if only for a little while.
Freedom to expose my body, and let the heat undress me.
Freedom to explore scorched ancient ruins on the back of a moped with a dark-haired stranger.
Freedom to eat outside, under vines heavy with grapes, while the dappled sunlight dances on the table.
Freedom to linger over a chilled glass of wine in a cobbled Spanish courtyard, just watching people being happy.
Freedom to laugh when I am caught in the rain — because it feels refreshing and invigorating.
Freedom to sit by a river with a picnic, bikes thrown down beside us.
Freedom to make out in the tall grass, hidden from passers-by.
Freedom to love many hearts at a time, in different places.
Freedom to be naked on a deserted Caribbean beach, and dive for beer tied to a rope on the sea bed.
Freedom to climb trees barefoot, and be a kid again.
Freedom to build a fire and eat freshly grilled fish with our hands.
Freedom to gulp down water, like it’s the most delicious drink on earth.
Freedom to tan naturally, knowing I can cut aloe gel if I feel sore, from the plants growing in abundance all around me.
Freedom to lay on a beach with no towel, and not care about getting covered in sand. The warm water will just wash it all off again, and again.
Freedom to lay back and float in the silky warm ocean, allowing my body to roll with the surf.
Freedom to drink an ice-cold Guinness under a mangrove tree on a Caribbean beach and not worry about the alcohol going to my head. I can just sleep it off in the shade.
Freedom to sweat, and not look any more sweaty than anyone else.
Freedom to wear bright colours, because they look great with a tan.
Freedom to wear a bikini top as ‘clothing’ and feel the breeze on my stomach.
Freedom to have beachy hair, and look cool and hedonistic.
Freedom to be barefoot, wear ankle bracelets and be coquettishly feminine.
Freedom to eat the most amazing grilled corn, bought from the side of a busy street in Limassol. Using the husk as a holder, I suck up every last drop of butter and salt until the cob is dry.
Freedom to buy dodgy rip-off cassette tapes of Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet from Portuguese street markets. I don’t mind finding only three songs on each side — these are my summer tunes. ‘Gold’ anyone?
Freedom to learn enough Portuguese words from our holiday housekeeper, to buy fruit from the local shop, and not care if I sound funny.
Freedom to eat huge beef tomatoes, sweet as apples, and squirt juice everywhere.
Freedom to wear real leather sandals, hand-made by the Cypriot man in the village. Whenever they come loose, I just go back and eat olives with his wife while he fixes them.
Freedom to drink whatever local liquor is offered, made from goodness knows what, whenever I visit someone’s house — because it’s polite.
Freedom to learn to water-ski in a bay off the coast of Cyprus and not mind when I misjudge a wake, and fall. As I float alone in the open ocean waiting for the boat to circle back and pick me up, I feel vulnerable and slightly scared, yet at the same time, wildly exhilarated.
Freedom to believe, if I collect enough of this colourful glass, finely polished by the waves, from my beach here on the French Riviera, I can make beautiful jewellery, sell it and fund my travels.
Freedom to build a hut from hurricane-discarded wood, in the corner of a deserted Caribbean beach, hidden in the trees, and live in it for what feels like forever — even if it is only for ten days.
Freedom to sleep on this bed I made, from dried seaweed covered with a sheet, in my makeshift hut. Every few days, I replenish it with more springy seaweed. It is so comfortable and smells so beachy.
Freedom to make love outside at midnight, our nakedness covered only by the blanket of darkness.
Freedom to bathe naked down in the rock pool by moonlight. The rocks have absorbed the heat of the sun and are still warm as I lay back against them.
Freedom to feel so happy, at peace and connected to the universe, that I could pee, right here in this pool.
Freedom to believe this will be the summer that will go on forever.
Thank you for reading.
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Here are a couple of recommended reads by Suzie Alexander, because I relate to the fellow escapism vibe, and Conni Walkup Hull because this piece is funny as hell.
