Time, move on! There’s nothing here to heal

One year later

Half of my post-you life as I am now calling it coincides with my time in Greece. I wish you could see how dog-friendly Athens has become. I reckon the crisis has shut off romantic relationships, and those lucky enough to have kept their partner cannot afford a baby or don’t find the courage to bring one into this mad world. So, Athenians have turned to adorable, frisky rescue puppies. But it seems that many of these owners cannot respond to the long-term commitment as wherever I go, I come across lonely and skittish homeless dogs. I have developed a hobby, and I am taking Instagram photos of disadvantaged animals because recording their existence is the least I can do or is it that I see something in them that I want to capture and never let go? Dogs, just like human beings, who have been through some tough luck in their lives tend to have a considerate and affectionate personality. I don’t know what Oscar Wilde had in mind when he said that “behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic”, but when I read his words, I think of you Guru — your supreme essence that blossomed in our home the moment it felt safe and loved. Your majesty, balancing on your tragedy, has taught us that every adversity we meet in life is one of the many blocks that along with the blocks of victory build the tower of our life.

But, life without you is the tower with one less block.  

You & me ahead of time

 

A week ago I heard the news of the sudden death of an ALU student, Elone Imanigiraneza Nkindi. In her memorial service, the sister of Elone’s friend, who was injured in the same accident, spoke about how we think that there’s always time to say and do things, procrastinating the creation of new memories and the expression of words of love towards our favourite and most precious people in the world. But time isn’t promised, and it can stop; just like this, leaving you only with the things you did and said. Inspired by this realisation, I want to speak to my sister today, and here’s what I have to tell her.

Since we decided that our lives are happening outside Greece and far away from each other, we grab every given opportunity to be together, and we cherish the moments with laughter, ventures, and revelations. But it never seems to be enough; it does not make up for the time we haven’t spent together — our evolution and creative silences. I miss you when you are not here; and when we are together, I am preparing myself to miss you again, more than before.

I praise you for your fantabulous style and sense of humour — an endless source of hilarity. I admire you for being the best mother I have known, and I respect you for being the unimpeachable daughter to our parents. I love you not because you are my sister but because there’s nothing I could not share with you; if I can think it, you can know it.

So similar but so different, you don’t always agree with my choices, but I appreciate your faith in me; and when you are seriously in doubt, I am even more determined to succeed and make you proud. Sometimes it is uneasy when you don’t see why I choose a particular path, and I am so selfish to believe that it’s obvious and that if I feel it the whole world should feel it too. I apologise for all the times Ι haven’t taken the moments to make you understand and mikry mou know that you can ask me anything.

Thank you for all your generosity; for openly saying how much you love me and how happy you would be to spend every single day of your life with me. I couldn’t be luckier I know, but I am too much of a maverick and a lone wolf maybe to let myself enjoy all the affection. But remember that wherever my mind and soul may be roaming, you are my reference; my Alpha and my Omega.

How much life can fit in one year?

To Guru, who carried with him the wisdom and the maturity of a gentleman — a discreet but sturdy love.

Guru, the calendar says it’s been a month since that morning when you didn’t wake up — one month and a few hours. I wonder how time is measured where you are, but regardless, I hope most of it you spend being brushed. This is just a quick note to let you know how things have been from that day; definitely not the same.  

We are now in between stage four (depression) and five (acceptance) of grief, which is said by experts to be normal, so there’s nothing to worry about; it’s a matter of a few more weeks for us to stop referring to two dogs when there’s only one left, and keeping your leashes on the keyholder. We donated your food, but someone as generous as you can only be pleased with this.

In her robust way, Mars is naturally living up to your exemplar of tactful, respectable, gracious, charming, civilised, and sensitive dog. You taught her all that we human beings wouldn’t have been able to. She misses you a lot; her soft companion. But I believe you two are more in touch, and you don’t need me to say more.

Everyday life is filled with memories of you, which pop up unexpectedly here and there. My favourite one is of you enjoying the car rides on the coastal road; the wind is blowing your ears and snout, and you cannot get enough of this pleasure. But you weren’t seeking the pleasures in life; devotion was the greatest of values for you. Following me to the bathroom while brushing my teeth and sitting with me by the toilet; slipping but not complaining when I soaked your paws in coconut butter; lying on the floor with one paw gently on my foot while watching movies that aren’t your thing; trying new flavours because I find them to be good combinations; patiently waiting for the party to finish so you can get some quiet sleep.

Guru, you came to our lives as suddenly as you left. But the meaning you gave to our short time together multiplied each day by 100. In a way, you knew and we knew, but we didn’t care; you made us a family and taught us parenting. 

Due to a quirk of fate

 

Moment captioned by Francisco Escalante

The white colour embraces my figure and the duchess satin kisses my turns—when again in my life I’ll dare to wear white satin fabric without the concern of looking ridiculously luscious? I hold nature in my two hands—stephanotis, gardenia and roses with splashes of green blooms—and the weight of a-300-old family history on my ring finger. I am the best image of myself I will ever see (just a bit defocused, shaky and blurry).

I am so far away from the teenage room with the magazine cuts, blue tacked on the wardrobe—asana postures, T. S. Eliot words: Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go and fashion items I wish to own. The room used to fit the whole world and now the whole world cannot fit me—the more I travel, love, admire … the less I understand the naïveté of my life before Toff—my husband. But husband is such an outdated word—the master of the house, the man who has land and stock—coming from the Old Norse word hūsbōndi. Toff is none of these. He is my partner, my teammate.

There are two or three versions of how and when we first met going back and forth, and an epos freed in the universe about why we met. And then there’s everyday life—from the icy English Channel to the coldish South Sea to the tropical Indian Ocean. Life in one room, in two rooms and life in three floors. Days among friends, hours with people (just people), years without family. But there’s no drama, no masks—only open-ended questions with no pressure to be answered here and now. Life itself will answer them for us—someday—when the matter has been long forgotten.

As I said, we are a team. We ginger each other up when we become lethargic. Sometimes we pick holes in each other’s imperfections, but only because we want to be better—individually and together. We pressure one another to do one good turn per day, and we learn how to be resilient. At times we bite more than we can chew, but we don’t skate around our problems and mistakes. We have always had itchy feet and we have high jinks finding our gist of life. But you shouldn’t take for granted everything I say because sometimes I tend to romance a bit—especially when I am celebrating my first wedding anniversary and 30^th birthday.

 

P.S. You make me happy

Choices of colors, tastes, locations, behaviors and identities. Decisions: bright not dark, sweet instead of sour, here but not there, kind not rude, and always strong. And dilemmas when the outcome of a decision is not visible until later on; until you make another decision, which will affect the previous and the one to come after. Finally, fate; the obscure beginning and ending of a life.

Life; not shopping, or holiday booking. It is not the same as choosing to eat in rather than follow a friend out for dinner. And just because it is not as simple, life has invented fate. To take the weight off your shoulders now; because you have already done a lot of hard work. You have taken a decision after been through a dilemma. Technically, you have made a mistake.

The time when you realized that life is something more than what you see around, you started doing things. Well, every dilemma is the result of one or more actions. Every moment of discomfort will be rewarded with a step closer to knowledge. But don’t get me wrong; it is not the knowledge of yourself because the more you learn about the world, the smaller you become until you disappear in agony.

The long way to equality

When I asked my father for one reason, which would justify the false hopes he and my mother had turned into certainty for the last month, my father replied: “How could I explain to my daughter who comes from an advanced and civil society that her dog is the victim of the terror this country purposely conserves?”

Roby lived a beautiful life because eight years ago, when we drove him home with half of his body outside the driver’s window, we were not looking into getting a dog, but we wanted a fifth family member. In the late night of the 21^st of February, when he was poisoned from unknown hands who had left toxic pasta Bolognese few meters away from his doorstep, he didn’t need to go out; he already have had the usual two and a half-hour walk for the day. But why not take him out to stretch his legs and get some fresh air before bedtime? This is the love he received; maybe still a small amount in comparison to the love that he was giving.

An apple was Roby’s biggest pleasure but he would only sit next to the fruit ball and wait to be offered an apple: respect. He would put his snout on your legs, under your armpit or would push your hands with his nose, and if you said: “Roby leave me alone”, he would lay on his side of the couch with his back turned on you, and would only react to your “I am sorry” with the edge of his tail, showing he has heard of you but hasn’t forgiven you yet: personality. When my Christmas card was put among others by the fireplace, he would go every morning and bring it down with his nose: memory.

There is no question that he could reason and talk; just not in the same way we can. And he could suffer too; he suffered more because of his limited understanding of why a mouthwatering pasta dish was causing him spasms, lack of breath, salivation and coma.

Impressed by Peter Singer’s philosophy, I will agree that speciesists like racists give weight to the interests of their own species when there is a clash between their interests and the interests of those of other species. Did speciesists murder my dog, and if not then who? They can be the people you say hello in the afternoon and you share the car parking with, or the people whose kid sang the Christmas carols on your door. And this is how a society of hatred is cultivated and it never ends; especially in a town of 33,000 people where since February 10 to 15 dogs have died in the same way.

Living with a dog has taught me to believe in heroes and to value emotions, simplicity and happiness. Roby is the story within my story, and in his eyes uncoils the philosophy of our ethics. If we elevated the status of animals and the status of our environment without fearing that this will lower our status, I would only then admit superiority of human beings.

The King of many worlds

My belongings

Detail from Iotoff’s work

From all the things that are happening now in my life, I only want to talk about how much I hanker after the paintings on the walls. I had never before thought of the walls as anything more than the exterior of a house; until I moved away from home, where I discovered that walls are also interior and are dirty, dim and blue-tacked. Bright white or misty, deep blue or light green walls are ugly.

Today, I only have one painting in my living room, and I am very loyal to it. At home I would stare at a different painting depending on what I was looking for: hope, truth, sarcasm or maturity. Every time we gave a farewell to one painting, another was hanged within few hours but the feelings never faded away. Now, I am trying to find all the answers into this one painting, which is the defender of my whole universe. Between and around us the white prevails and I can hear the echo of my thoughts.

On the empty walls, the spider makes its statement, the fly is disturbing your concentration and the daylight has nothing toilluminate. Whereas the empty walls reflect an energy, walls with paintings create energy: an energy we all need in our everyday life for a stable physical health, a more creative mind and for stronger relationships.

Let’s make peace

There is something about the United States that changes my attitude from a candid traveler  to a bystander who slants its stories against the country. That is, the illusion of the invincible and the blind trust in an industrial image making. In ancient Greek comedy we come across the character of the Alazôn; the impostor who thinks of himself as greater than he actually is. In the real world we come across America. So, that is why I don’t like America. Because it is the pop hero we all want to look like. And for one more reason: Because ten years ago my sister moved to America and I needed someone to blame for the distance between us.

During my last visit in the USA, maybe because I was merely focused on the love towards and from my niece, a realization enveloped me much to my surprise: America’s society is based on trust; a long ago lost value among the Europeans. Why does the postman leave the parcel outside an American’s door? Because even when he or she returns back from a holiday a week later, they will still find it there. Why is it alright to call the super market and let them know that you have just binned a spoiled yogurt and an unfrozen ice cream? Because the next time you will go shopping, they will give you your money back. And why you take the iPad that you smashed against the bathroom floor back to the store? Because they will give you a new one! I took a bunch of 60 broken Christmas lights back to Argos, and they wouldn’t replace them until the technician investigated the case.

Among themselves Americans are really honest and open, and they know how to maintain their integrity and work as a team. “Fifty states, one nation”, right? A project that wouldn’t have come true, if it wasn’t for trust and a common belief in their greatness. I like to believe that this trust is for real; that it is not another Big Mac or Britney Spears story. Believing in America’s trust comforts my thoughts of my niece growing into an American.

Now that I have seen the same things in such a different light, I will agree with a wise friend’s opinion: “You can become American but you cannot become British” (because the latter wouldn’t trust you to become one).

Stardust

Dear Past,

On Friday, the 3rd of May, you washed up in front of me like a message in a bottle to tell me that not all feelings and memories are illusions; “stardusted yes” you said “but not spurious”. After 18 years, I immediately took the chance to open my heart to whatever is the unknown reason you appeared, and rediscover myself through a time that was innocent; before all the questions parasited my mind.

However, I still have to soften my heart, as it keeps asking: “Do you really need to live into the future by reviving the past?” “Yes, when the Past comes to you pure and nice; guiding you like a sign on a crossword towards a second chance in completion” I answer.

Past, the communication between me and you never ceased to exist. It has always been there through our thoughts and desire to hold onto something similar to each other that made us feel that we can actually belong to this world as well. The distant memory of myself makes me happy today, and gives me hope. Because by talking with you Past,  I am rebuilding myself. With the knowledge of today, I am building the person I wanted to become.

Past, I fear that I will do or say something, and I will lose you again. But can you at least teach me why people appear and disappear?

The whispers of witches and the words of God

Portrait of me by Iotoff

“Don’t feel bad about anything. YOU ARE AN AMAZING WRITER! Always remember that! I believe that and so do your other friends. You were also one of the few people I opened up to, which is one of the most difficult things for me. The fact that you have this incredible ability to put people at ease is what makes you a journalist with a promising future. Don’t give a tinker’s damn about anything else!” replied a long distance friend to my Facebook message, which was informing where I am currently, and how I had to urgently leave Africa couple of weeks ago due to heath issues.

Few days ago while still in Ghana, I was grumbling over the vulgar Ghanaian men, the dangerous driving and the reckless ants whose bites were as stingy as my despondent housemate. Life in Ghana was tough for me who had arrived there alone, without the support of an organisation or a company, and with what I discovered on the spot to be “poor savings”.

But I was satisfied with myself for not carrying the symptom of our sickened era, which cultivates fears of failure, pseudo-security and fears of being abnormal to those who dare to aim at creation over survival. I grew up in Greece; a society, which has been structured on individuality. During the Ottoman Empire, Greeks were not only scared of the state, which was an actual enemy but they also experienced the threat of extinction of their cultural and ethnic identity. In order to defend their language, traditions and religion, they organised themselves in close domestic groups: children, parents and grandparents. Since then, the family has been Greeks’ mere concern and the only institution they could trust. Everything outside it is alien and hostile.

“You wanted to play the hero and save Ghana. But Ghana doesn’t give a shit about you” said a friend of my parents, pointing on my skinny self, the day I came out of the Athenian hospital with the diagnosis, who was totally against me traveling to Africa at first place. I didn’t try to explain to him that I was only serving an idea, and I couldn’t see barriers; I could only see means to reach my goal. Within two months in Ghana, and being the manager of myself, I got an internship with the country’s oldest and most respective newspaper; I got an offer for a job at the media office of an international NGO, and I had started the research for one of my big-to-be stories. No one had promised me it was going to be easy: I was insanely missing my other half; I was noticing the side effects of the doxycycline long before they reached their last stage, I was feeling lonely, I was scared of dying in a car accident, and I was poor. But I was walking the path of journalism.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. And more importantly, try and stay positive. You have the skills, the passion and the ambition. That has not changed. You made Ghana happen, and you will make other opportunities happen. I have the fullest faith in you” were the words of someone who knows me better than I do know myself.

Ghana is a past, and what begun three months ago as a dream coming true, is already a memory that has thrown me into mourning; a grief for the stories that won’t be written – not by me, the places I didn’t see, the dresses I didn’t make, the Malta I didn’t drink, the people I had to say goodbye to – and those whom I didn’t have a last dance with; a grief for the future I could have shaped ifmy body hadn’t betray me. 2013 betrayed me from its beginning. When Nietzsche was talking about liberation, he was referring to the recognition and acceptance of your misfortune. But how do you accept the fact that what you saw it was just an oasis on the desert? Desert again, and you are not even thirsty anymore.

“If I got at least a smirk out of you… I am happy… sometimes we forget that life is too good, to be taken so serious…” wrote a loyal friend in response to my dark thoughts.