I come from a place so beautiful it made me a stranger to the rest of the world. And far away though you find me, I know; I’m never going to escape it. I’d talk to you about all the ways this beauty finds to torment me but I know I’d lose my mind again. No, I try not to explain this to others. The only thing I can tell you-Christ, I have to tell you that-is what you must have guessed already: yes, the sea surrounds it. 

           And the sea, well, not only does she surround it, she has a special manner around it too. She doesn’t behave that way elsewhere, certainly not here. There you can find yourself swimming and you’ll be left alone, especially if you’re swimming away. The sea doesn't get angry with you at a moment like that, no. She just tiptoes round you, keeping quiet, the way we do around the bereaved; those who know loss and save its secret. What I say is true; if you’re going away from my little island the sea leaves you alone; she holds no grudges against madmen. The only thing she might do, if she's on a good day and feels a bit of compassion, she might just pull a blanket over you. After all she is a mother. Only her blankets are white tipped waves that tuck you in dreamless sleep. I’ve seen how sunlight reflects through them, emerald and golden; stained glass for a last time to see the whole world through; and sigh.

             See, I’m getting lost in her beauty again. Something that usually starts with her name. 

         Listen to the sounds she makes as she touches different shores. El Mar. Das Meer. Thalassa. You know a good name when even ten thousand lost and desperate souls find the time to say it twice. Thalassa, Thalassa. The Sea, The Sea. Always gets me home. And, okay, since I’m talking about home, might as well just say this - I tried to go back again. I tried to find my way - and lost it.

          If you were to ask me what springs to mind first when I think about home, well, of course I would have to say the sea, but I also think about the three castles more and more now. People hardly ever dare talk about them. You see, my home town is protected by three castles, each on a hilltop, the three of them together looking over the sea around my island. And the big mainland is so close to my island you can actually see their little towns at night, their faint lights flickering, like far away stars, only more lonely. Those same nights I'd wonder how my little town would look to them; how proud my castles would seem as they stood in blinding, unblinking light above an empty sea. I know it’s not good for me to think about all this but I can’t stop now. Losing my mind only a thousand times over it hardly seems enough. 

          And you see, I would have been happy if that’s how things were to turn out for me, for me to be nothing more than one of those raving souls, forever lost in anguish after a brush with something beautiful. It seemed a small price to pay for knowing the answers to all the mysteries in the world. Like knowing why sailors were afraid of the Siren’s song. Those who don't know said Sirens would kill sailors just to eat them, but I knew it was mercy killing: no life would be worth living away from their songs' terrible beauty. Odysseus, the man tied to the mast, screaming Release me!, Release me fools, release me: that same man who fought on to return to Ithaca and claimed back his wife and house and future and died, all away from the Sirens’ song; the strangest man I ever heard of. No. Like all people who never left home, I vowed never to understand him.

            But I seen people who have.

          You don't forget the sight of black sails leaving the harbour. Looks like a smudge in the landscape, or inside your eye. And when people saw the black sails, my home town is so small, they all gathered round the railings over the sea to look, the high old railings, green as the day the Venetians put them up, and still as proud. A few brave souls even hung from them, mesmerised by this sad little vessel passing them by in the waters below; they hung from the railings, trying to see how was it a boat could still sail with no-one manning the bow or the wheel. They hung from the railings, desperate to get this little vessel to turn around, send it their prayers, careful not to fall over while trying to silence their own voices saying they wished they would. I don't remember the moment I fell into the water, I only remember looking up and seeing everyone still, frozen, like those ancient columns of ours, broken half-way through and still facing the sky.

           My fight with the waves, I don't remember. Only the black sails disappearing in the horizon in front of me, and then waves carrying me away. Because I tried to go back again. Tried to get there alone; and in desperation I lost my way. And I have tried too many times, and here I am, scarred and beaten up and a stranger to this world, about to give up. 

           This is how I get home one last time. 

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