My Greek Journal

I kept a journal in Greece. I wrote in it daily about the “mundane” things
like Sunday night pizza to the life-changing things like traveling through Israel.

Sometimes I’ll see a picture and my breath will catch. Sometimes I will remember a smell and my chest will ache.
A very real, physical soreness that tightens my heart and delays my breathing.

I pride myself on not being dramatic. But for this, I take full responsibility.
Because I miss HUG in a pathetic, dramatic, I’m-crying-right-now kind of way.
I miss my group. I miss our closeness. I miss Sunday night pizza, tea time, movie nights,
walks to the Aegean, metro rides to Athens. I miss Greek dancing class,
learning how to make Greek coffee, the soup kitchen.

I miss looking up at the Acropolis. I miss standing on Mars Hill.

I miss, miss, miss, MISS it so much.

On January 17th, my group has decided to crack our journals open and
rediscover the journey we began a year ago. It is going to hurt in a sweet, tortuous way.