Fifteen words. I know fifteen words of the Greek language. Yet, when I sat my feet on the country's soil, I was greeted with the overwhelming feeling of belonging. My blood is only a mere 25% Greek, and I hadn't remembered the last time I had visited the country, but the air felt welcoming. So even though I couldn't carry any conversation, read most menus, or pronounce any street names, I felt a sense of belonging, as if my Greek roots had finally grown into my ancestors' ground.
Growing up, my heritage only ever felt relevant when I was either cooking with my dad or seeing how cheap my family can be, two classic characteristics of originating from the Mediterranean country. My family is from the small village of Leonidio, where everyone knows each other and they all become family. The town is tucked into a valley descending into the Mediterranean sea, and all the buildings are topped with the same burnt red, clay roofs. When I arrived, people kissed my cheeks and complimented my curly hair and appearance that seemed to match all the locals around me. I spent my days doing what Greeks do best: eating, napping, lounging in the sun, and talking at what kindergarten teachers would call, "outside voices" at all times. The cicadas would chirp during the day and fall silent at night. The sun beat down at temperatures only bearable because of the sea awaiting to cool my sweat-coated skin. I felt not only comfortable, but home. The streets weren't my high school hallways, where I constantly worry if my nose is shaped too much like a 30, 60, 90 triangle. Because frankly, everyone in Greece has the stereotypical large nose. Of course everyone enjoys home cooked meals and leftovers to enjoy the next day, but there is a deep instinct to always push food and make sure no visitors leave your dinner table without something to savor later, a familiar instinct for me. Greece was not simply a trip, another destination to place a push pin in on a map. Greece was an open hand, a warm home, and a drug all in one. I have never enjoyed my days on earth so much as I enjoyed those days on rocky beaches, and embarrassing myself to my distant relatives as they tried to teach me their language during dinner conversation. The country is addictive. I crave to see my hand wrinkled in the salty water and explore the ancient ruins once again. Greece is my new obsession, and also my new greatest point of pride. My roots will forever be embedded in the ground with the dry shrubs and rocky soil. My heart will always ache to meet the kindest and most giving people I encountered in my own village. And my mind will always be stuck on the greatest gift I simply cannot put a price on: grilled octopus.