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.

Nero burning Rome

I spent the last two days greedily feeding on information from the homeland. I wonder if the self-exiled émigré has the right to comment on what is going on back home, or is he just the passive receiver of pictures of extreme violence with only permission to despair.

Thousand miles away, in a country that draws its national identity from the pride of being the place where democracy was born, these last two days democracy died a thousand deaths. A police officer was fed up with being called names and attacked with stones all the time by random youths. A mere boy was shot dead, just because he was in the wrong place at the wrong moment. A country was in shock.

School children attacked local police stations with stones and oranges to protest for the killer state. “Come out and kill us we are only 15 years old!” People went on the street to demonstrate armed with their pride. But so did anarchists, armed with clubs, fire bombs, knives and anger. And the riot police attacked the wrong group.

The émigré is too far away to feel the real flow of events. The anger and despair remains the same. Friends from across Europe exchange their views: - I am proud people still protest in my country, at least we are still citizens – You know that shop I got your Christmas present last year... it’s burned – Did your father park the car in a safe place? – Someone should catch these anarchists there is nothing left standing… - the government is useless, the police is useless… How can we save this country? – Do you think we should go back and do our best or just stay here and be happy we are saved?

Questions scaring the hearts of émigrés. No conscience is clear, of those who stay or those who have left the sinking ship.

These anarchists, burning and robbing in the name of democracy found asylum in the grounds of universities. Greek universities are symbols of democracy and freedom of speech, a refuge to all those who want to express opposition. This freedom will no longer be abused as the universities for the first time since restoration of democracy allowed the police to go in. Democracy died one more time in a fake attempt to be saved.

And university buildings are burned; the statues of the muses are headless.

It is the right and duty of citizens to protest when an authority sworn to protect the people abuses its power. We all cry for the boy. But we also cry for the abuse of the protest itself. Police targeting peaceful crowd and letting groups spreading terror to keep on destroying people’s property and what is more, peoples faith in this state.

As if they were not hopeless enough. Abandoned in a difficult life with no hope of improvement.

Political parties keep playing their blame tennis, hoping that one of them will miss a shot.

Émigrés, just like everyone, are trying to make sense of all this. Are trying to find where the blame lies, and how if possible, to make this lost country a better place.

Do you have to burn Rome to the ground to build it again?

Dr. Health, the Greek

Two old friends in central London….

Englishman One: Oh hello! How are you?

Englishman Two: Not too bad, yourself?

Englishman One: I am all right. Thanks.

…

[Uncomfortable silence]

…

Englishman One: Bad weather today…

Englishman Two: [good! Something to talk about!]

Yes indeed! The rain did not stop all day!

[10 minute rant about the weather]

Two old friends in central Athens…

Greek One: Oh hello! How are you?

Greek Two: I am fine thanks. Just this stomach ache is killing me!

Greek One: Oh really? Is it something you ate, or maybe stress?

Greek Two: Well, it started three days ago, I had eaten at my sisters, and you know how she cooks…

Greek One: Yes I remember last month I had dinner at hers… very spicy food. My stomach was hurting. Lots of acid and burping.

Greek Two: Yes me too. But you know now the acid stopped and I have this weird muscle pain every time I have a cigarette.

Greek One: Maybe it is ulcer?

Greek Two: You think?

Greek One: Or… now that I am thinking about it, your grandfather had cancer didn’t he? If I were you I would go have an endoscopy just to be sure you know…

Greek Two: Oh God, don’t say that! I am going to the doctor right away! Good to see you again!

Greek One: Yes you too, and let me know!

You now know why the Greek health system works unlike the NHS. Greeks are natural born doctors. Asking a simple “how are you” can lead the average Greek to providing a full medical history of himself and his immediate family. Discussing symptoms of illness is as common as “please” and “thank you” in the English everyday language. Trained for an early age to use medical jargon, combine symptoms, give a diagnosis and provide remedies for cure, Greeks find NHS inflexibility unbearable.

The whole nation has opinions about all kinds of ailments, a simple cold to cervical cancer. This combined with our natural mistrust to any type of authority (yes blame it to the Turks) does not allow a moments rest if you have to rely on the diagnosis of a single doctor. How can you trust the opinion of just one doctor, when you need at least three to create a simple majority? And if their opinions clash, the better!

The average Greek is very aware of the type of doctor needed, so he wants to go see the specialist right away. What’s with this go to your GP first and then get referred to whoever…. Nononono!

Being a doctor in Greece is almost like being a politician. You have to convince the electorate, hmmm yes sorry the patient, that your diagnosis is actually the right one, and yes please come again. And just like politicians, doctors have their constituency, their special friends and their supporters. Oh yes, and their secret funding… do not forget the secret funding (commonly known as the “little envelope”). So if you want to live happily ever after in Holy Greece, consult at least three doctors (state pays for that) and have your own doctor-friend to operate you. He wont ask for money, but if there is no “little envelope” be sure to have a grave-slot with nice view.

I hear you say that’s harsh, I hear you say its unfair. Well no. Having friends always pays off, being inquisitive always pays off, and having money… well that ALWAYS pays off. After all NHS is for free, but somehow you always end up buying your own medicine suggested by the Indian at the Boots counter.

Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. What about boys?

J’s latest obsession is diamonds. The bigger the better. She dreams of the day her boyfriend will pop the question and offer her the precious stone, man made, as she does not want the smell of human exploitation on her ring. Her, being a practical person despite all the princess dreams, keeps buying him rugby shirts and nice food. It works for them both.

M. seems to have a serious problem. Her boyfriend has it all, and what he does not have he does not want either. She never knows what to buy him. So she just does what he can’t do. Organize.

E. likes feeding her boyfriends little obsessions. So, presents come in the form of computer games, books, bottles of wine and so on.

F. likes travelling. The best present for her is to share the excitement of exploration with her beloved. So he offers a trip to Rome as a present, while she boosts his vanity and natural beauty with excellent pieces of clothing.

There is a certain balance in these relationships.

Myself, I never care about the actual present. I am more touched by the fact that someone made the effort to think of something that I might want. Time and energy spend to buy the present are nothing comparing to the small glimpse I get of the persons perception of me, his affection, and his values.

I always blush. The perfect unworthy…

But I also blush when I know I made a good choice of present.

The best present I ever made to a special someone is a phone call. There is no material memory of it. Maybe he does not even remember after all those years. But I know at the time it made him happy and excited. After all the feelings of the moment are the most precious, as life is now and this now changes constantly.

K. was stuck in Italy. Myself being in Greece went to the concert of his favourite singer. He was all envious and unhappy. After the show I went backstage and after 2 hours of queuing I had my chance to get an autograph signed. But… I did not ask for that. To the singers surprise I just asked her to use my phone and call K. in Italy so he can have a 2 minute phone call with his favourite voice of all times.

The singer was impressed. K. was deliriously happy. And I was blushing.