Birthday at Home

A week ago I compiled the list of guests… not one, not two, but fifteen people, whose existence I was not aware of a year ago, when I was pilling up my misery in faceless London. Fifteen wonderful people that make Southampton into a home for me. I know it is not for long, but does it matter?

The nomad is a person that makes a home in every land, in every city.
"Where you live, there is your homeland" says the Greek wisdom, taken from refugees and immigrants of my family.

When I arrived in Southampton I was convinced my new home would be like putting up a tent. Safe enough to spend the night, but you know you will be leaving soon. The emotional credit crunch I was going through indicated I would not go seek for friendships. The ones I had were powerful enough to keep me going, despite the distance. However, without looking, I found.

Almost half-way of my stay in this harbour I know that leaving for my next stop will be painful. All these farewells, you know…

My 28th was sober. It had a certain air of adulthood and awareness, and for those reasons it was full of enjoyment and confidence. Okay… and cake!

And for the first time I did not make a wish before blowing those candles.

Borrowed Excitement

As a Greek I am brought up to mistrust all things American, to believe that nothing good can ever come out US involvement in world affairs. All these “God bless America” and “In God we trust” were for my Greek ear, trained to cynicism, just words used to put an ideological cover to all the world’s exploitation to ensure US interests.

The average Greek pities the average American for their naivity. The American believes these big words about democracy, respect to institutions, founding fathers, while the US government is full of lies, corruption and exploitation. “They are easy people to govern!” This “easy” is a derogatory term, sheep following evil shepherds. Unlike the crafty Greek, who can find one problem for every solution proposed by their government. Cynicism is not just reserved for attitudes towards USA, but for political life as a whole. Greek politics is stripped of all ideals these days. It is stripped of any expectation of hope.

Yet Obama, like a new JFK, has inspired hope not only to his own nation. He has managed to touch the cynical Greek soul. Suddenly USA is not only the evil superpower manipulating the world without inhibitions, but a benign force working towards a greater good for the whole world. And that only through the spark of one politician. Of course, the Greek, deeply distrusting America, believes that Obama will not live long enough to put his words into action. “They will send him to see the daisies up-side-down. Let’s see if he is around until August”. See, he is too good to be American. He is probably Greek… I am telling you.

To me, Obama has not restored America’s reputation. At least not yet. He has given me a reason to believe that politics is not (or should not be) just the pursue of power, but an idealistic pursue for a better world. An attempt to make the place you call homeland a better place than what it was when you first came. All the things he represents, and all that he is, make me believe that this world actually is slowly becoming a better place. All the things he advocates, his political positions, inspire me to work for this better world.

Obama’s inauguration is yet another component of this not quite palpable idea of American national identity, not based on blood ties, religion, ancient history or any other “traditional” bond. This “dream come true” gave America a new symbol that made the two million people gathered in DC that cold day, cheer and cry and feel part of one big family.

It felt almost like a wedding. The relatives occupying the high table, a few tears of happiness, crowds cheering, lots of festivities. Touching the Lincoln bible he said his “I do”, millions of wedding guests (Americans and not so Americans) applauded…

And now he can kiss the bride…

And so the real marriage starts. Let’s see…

Bus science

I never liked the location of my dentist’s practice. He is a relative though, checks my teeth for free you see, that gives me enough incentive to bare the bumpy bus ride once every six months. Lost in my happy thoughts that I avoided yet another filling I slowly regained contact to my bus environment, only to overhear a lady’s sociological comments.

Oh how happy she was to meet that old man next to her by coincidence. Like good old friends they caught up with each other’s lives, and so did I as a matter of fact. His son was a student at the University in a city near by. Her son, all grown up now and oh so independent had a good job and his own apartment. “He is independent now, he does not want to live with us”. Fair enough I think. Greek men finally emancipated themselves…

The conversation moves on to more trivial topics… “Where are you heading now?” “Oh yes, I am on my way to my son’s flat, I need to cook for him. I normally do it at home and bring him the fresh food every day, but today I also need to do some ironing”. Wooooaaahh! Hang on a minute! The dream of male emancipation disappears like a bubble, with a loud plafffff! I can almost picture him, talking to his mum in this deep bored voice “What.. lentil soup again? You are going to kill me woman…”.

Ah… this boy is definitely a catch… sad I never met him.

I thought I would stay shocked for the rest of my twenty minute ride. But then comedy started. The woman moved on to sociological analysis of the bad habits of Greek youth.

“This new generation does not appreciate anything. The expect everything to be brought to them, they do not say thank you, they are lazy, they want to be spoon fed” And the man was the second violin: “Yes you are right, where is this country going.”

Okay… I just could not hold it back. I tried hard to disguise my laughter into a very bad cough. I do not know if I convinced them, but luckily I had arrived to my destination. Walking home I was thinking…

what is the reason for the lack of independence of Greek offspring, even after they reach the age of 30?
Overwhelming maternal love maybe?

And what is the reason of that then?
Lack of social activities for people above 50?

And what is the reason for that??

Oh, how I love blaming everything to the government! They should have produced a sort of “five a day” rule to distract the parents and stop child (emotional) suffocation and subsequent (household chores) disability.

Kennedy on the wall

She opened the door. Her size was half of what I remembered. Optical illusion I thought, possibly caused by her back making a perfect 90 degrees angle. She walked towards her couch in an unstable way reminding me of the first steps of a toddler. I was sad seeing her like that, and remembered the old days when I was running around in her living room playing. I always was impressed by the picture hanging on her wall and with my five years of age was amazed that the flag I recognized from my favourite show the “night rider” was in the middle of the picture frame. I never asked who these men were but I was sure that she was a cool aunt having that cool flag in her living room.

This time it was not the flag that amazed me but the images of the men. JFK and Bobby Kennedy separated by the statue of liberty. I listened to her story about the Greek civil war in her village involving a priest and a shepherd taking opposite sides in the war because of a woman. She was a practical person, toughened by the wars, never educated. She actually managed to go up to third grade before having to take care of the orphaned household and tend to the animals.

I had to look elsewhere to understand the origins of the picture on the wall. The two dead brothers seemed out of place in a Greek household in late 2008. Her late husband was not interested in politics either. Bringing up three children with only his two hands to work with did not leave him much time to ponder. Aparently the story of the Kennedies penetrated his shell of hard work and minding his own business… he was deeply moved by the assassination of someone different, who supported a more liberal society.

One day in a street market he found a Palestinian man selling hand made tapestries with the assassinated brothers. The Palestinian spoke of his country, and of the love his country had for JFK. The women of his family made these tapestries so he could make some money for them. Georgios found some hope in the existence of such politicians and as a true Greek was inspired by assassinated leaders.

Forty years later I was sitting opposite this tapestry wondering what its future would be. Grand children inheriting it most likely would not appreciate it for its aesthetic value, as it has none. As for its emotional value… it will be lost with its owners. Dead leaders of the 1960s have no place in a modern home.

Maybe that should be part of my inheritance. Next time I will ask for it.