Tropical Memories

When I was 21 I experienced a familiar disaster. My mother passed away after 6 months of suffering, leaving me emotionally and psychologically devastated. To overcome this period and escape, the same year, 4 days after of my BSc graduation, I’ve been thrown in French Polynesia to live 3 months in the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen: the island of Bora Bora.
I packed some stuff in two old and worn suitcases, together with my few inseparable belongings: my MacBook, my iPod, my newborn Nikon, my old Nokia and my pillow. A true feather pillow. They say that a Taurus is possessive and jealous, and I truly am: they were the only things my poor dried soul could rely on. 30 hours flying, 16 hours on a cargo boat, and the real experience started: “see you 12 hours ago” was the last thing I wrote on my FB profile.
2 months working as a biologist later, I waved a goodbye to my colleagues and I spent the most relaxing but exciting month of my life, alone. Not properly alone, just all by myself. While planning the trip, I said to my father my crazy decision to stay longer than the others, and he couldn’t help but smile at me. He knew, before I knew.
My kind neighbor invited me to his house with his family for Christmas: they showed me every single corner of the island and of the lagoon, allowing me to take tons of pictures.
I saw stunning sunsets and sunrises, I swam the clearest waters, I spotted sharks, rays and clown fishes, I studied the behavior of some local mantis shrimps, I stared constellations at night, I lost myself in a heart-shaped atoll nearby looking for a thought-extinct plant.
I met interesting people, talked to locals, learned their stories and some Tahitian words. I visited a marae, a traditional sacred site.
I ate mangos and papayas directly from the trees. I learned how to open a coconut and drink the water. I ate tasteful fishes and even learned some local recipes.
I smelled colorful flowers, enjoying one of their best traditions: wearing them. They taught me the rule of wear a blossom upon the ear, turning it depending on the sentimental status. But the best way to me of wearing a flower was tattooing it permanently on my skin. From that moment, a 7-petal tiarè flower, the emblem of French Polynesia, remembers me that incredible travel. That's not a case that my new old friend gave me a Tahitian name that means "flowers necklace": Heitiare.
I grew up.
And I built some of the best memories ever, alone, 16477 km away from home.