Take me back!!

Writing like my life depends on it – Part 3

“At some point in their stay in orbit there comes for each of them a powerful desire that sets in – a desire never to leave. A sudden ambushing of happiness. They find it everywhere, springing forth from the blandest of places…” Samantha Harvey, Orbital

I read these words as we crossed the Southern Ocean, through tumultuous seas, my insides rolling around with the contents of the ship. These words did not yet ring true. They were abstract – as I am sure they are for most readers.

Now, rereading these words, a knowing smile crosses my face, and I can’t help but giggle. This is it- I know this!

At some point in the journey, I stopped aching to go home. I stopped thinking of what was happening back on land, I stopped wishing for it all to be over. The retirement of my seasickness definitely helped, but so did a lot of time alone, just staring at the massive wall of ice ahead, or watching the sun glitter on the watery horizon.

From some point, I can almost recount the exact time– all I could think about was how I never wanted this to end. With all of my being, I wanted to stay.

This moment is difficult to describe, but it was kind of like I went blind for a second- overcome by a wave of eyes-rolling-back, a momentary mix of nausea and exhilaration. An inhale, and I am back in my body. But, something is different. There is a warmth in my chest, and I have to keep my mouth shut from crying out in joy.

All my cells screamed in unison: I want to stay! Let’s never leave!

I felt this cell-choir whenever I bounded my way up the metal staircases, craning my neck to get a view of a potential pod of whales, or a new bird species circling the ship. I felt it when I woke up, and tiptoed, sleepy-eyed, to the closest exit to get a first glance at what the never-ending day would look like for the next while. I felt this in the in-between moments, looking up from the book I was reading or as I scribbled in my journal. Each day was so new, and I just wanted more - to see more, to know more, to feel more. But the beauty of it, I suppose, was that we did leave.

On day 51 of living on a ship in Antarctica, we departed the ice shelf, the beloved bay known as the Penguin Bukhta. As with every movement of the ship, this was unannounced. It just happened. We simply just left, as if it meant nothing.

But of course, it meant something. How could it not?

At the top of the ship, in the curiously named Monkey Island, a few souls sat in silence, saying a solemn goodbye. Losing sight of the shelf brought hot tears streaming down my face, freezing before they could collect on my chin. Stifling sobs, the pain too much to bear- like being ripped away from a family member. We sat in the quiet hum of the ship’s engine, key witnesses to this epic departure.

As with our arrival, I will never be the same after this moment. I feel the sudden, at this point relentless, ambushing of emotion –a kind of grief. Antarctica reached into my chest, and left an icy grip on my heart: Remember me, remember this.

Now, in the land of senseless haste and constant announcements, of heat, urgency and craze- I yearn for that grip to pull me back.

I want to scream it to the heavens, I want my voice to echo across mountains and seas, to reach the edge of the world, I want to send a demand to take me back. TAKE ME BACK!

Instead, all I can do is send whispers on the wind, saying how sorry I am that I left.

I reckon this apology is more for me than anyone else.

To be continued…

a final goodbye selfie with the bestie