The big 3.

Every year, just before or after my birthday, I write a post reflecting on the past, being mostly negative about the future and generally expressing my fear of time.

This year is no exception, especially since this is an important year; It's the year I turn 30.

-So what? someone may ask.

Well, the big 3 means I'm not only changing decade, but I'm entering the adult world.
Being in my 20s isn't going to be an excuse good enough to justify not getting my shit together. I'm not a teenager anymore, nor am I in my post teen years.
30 signifies the death of my inner child, and even though that sounds grim, I find it to be true.  The inner child needs protection, is codependent, and knows that they have a 'security blanket' at all times. The inner child is innocent, playful and carefree. And even though I could try to hold on to whatever innocence I have left, none of the rest can be part of adult me, if I want to survive.

And that is scary as fuck.
It's like bungee jumping, but not knowing if the rope will hold your weight or break. So, even though 'growing up' is something I know and recognise I have to do, I'm terrified.

That fear had been so intense it had paralysed me. Thankfully, I've done a lot of work on myself in the past two years, so I'm somewhat coping, but still, the fear is there.

The fact that me turning 30 coincides with returning to England, re-starting my life once again (with my partner this time), and getting a full time job irrelevant to any of my studies or interests, shows the next chapter has arrived.

Hopefully, as the pages turn, fear will dissolve and maybe a more positive emotion -followed by a more positive outcome- will come after it.

Wish me luck y'all, I'll definitely need it.

XoXo,
Lara  

Ένα 'πρεζάκι' που το λέγανε Αντώνη

Σήμερα είχα πάει στο κέντρο να πάρω κάτι δώρα από το Μοναστηράκι.
Όπως κατέβαινα την Ηφαίστου είδα αίματα.
Ξεκινούσαν από την αρχή της και έφταναν μέχρι και το τέλος της.
Ρωτάω μία κοπέλα έξω από ένα μαγαζί που έριχνε νερά και χλωρίνη τι έγινε.
-Ένα πρεζάκι πέρασε και του τρέχανε αίματα, μου είπε με αηδία.
Συνέχισα να περπατάω και μπήκα σε ένα μαγαζί να ψωνίσω κάτι. Ρώτησα την κοπέλα του μαγαζιού αν ήξερε κάτι για το 'πρεζάκι.'
-Όχι, δεν το είδα καν. Τώρα είδα τα αίματα που μου το είπες εσύ. Ξέρεις τι βλέπουμε εδώ πέρα κάθε μέρα; Είναι πολύ επικίνδυνα.

Καμία ανησυχία για το άτομο από το οποίο προήλθε το αίμα.

Συνεχίζω το περπάτημα και βλέπω έναν τύπο να κάθεται στα σκαλιά έξω από το σταθμό Μοναστηρακίου και ένα παιδί χωρίς μπλούζα που είχε δέσει την μπλούζα του στο πόδι του.
Ολόγυρά τους λίμνες αίματος.
Είδα και 2-3 αστυνομικούς να κάθονται λίγο πιο κει και να κοιτάνε.

-Είναι καλά; Θέλετε βοήθεια; τους είπα.
-Τον μαχαίρωσαν στο πόδι, μου λέει το παιδί που είχε τυλίξει την μπλούζα του γύρω από την πληγή και την πάταγε για να μη χαθεί άλλο αίμα.

Ήταν περίπου 1.30μμ.

-Έχετε καλέσει ασθενοφόρο; ρωτάω έναν αστυνομικό.
-Ναι, έρχεται, μου λέει ανέκφραστος.

Στην επόμενη μιάμιση ώρα, γιατί τόσο έκανε να έρθει το ασθενοφόρο, είχαμε πιάσει την κουβέντα με το 'πρεζάκι,' τον Αντώνη, και το παιδί που τον βοήθησε, που έτυχε να είναι νοσηλευτής στο ΚΑΤ, το Σίφη.

Ο Αντώνης Οικονομάκος είναι 37 χρονών, τοξικομανής. Τον μαχαίρωσε μία συμμορία Μαροκινών από ό,τι μας είπε όταν είχε πάει να πάρει τη δόση του. Πότε ακριβώς έγιναν όλα αυτά ή αν έγιναν έτσι όπως μας τα είπε δε γνωρίζουμε. Τη μία έλεγε ότι τον μαχαίρωσαν πριν πέντε μέρες, την άλλη πριν τρεις. Δεν ήθελε να μας πει περιοχή και λεπτομέρειες "γιατί ακούνε οι μπάτσοι."
Του πήρα ένα μπουκαλάκι νερό. Οι αστυνομικοί ούτε που τον είχαν ρωτήσει αν χρειάζεται κάτι.
-Πεινάω, πεινάω! φώναζε.

Κανείς.

Ο Σίφης συνέχιζε να πατάει την μπλούζα του στην πληγή.
-Πονάω! φώναζε ο Αντώνης.

Σε κάποια φάση μας είπε ότι έχει HIV.
-Ευτυχώς φόρεσα γάντια, είπε ο Σίφης.
Αλλά δε σταμάτησε ούτε δευτερόλεπτο να πατάει την πληγή.
Οι αστυνομικοί όταν το άκουσαν πήγαν κάποια βήματα πιο πέρα.
Του είπα ότι δεν έγινε και κάτι, πολύς κόσμος ζει με HIV.
Μάς είπε ότι υποφέρει πολύ που ζει με αυτήν την αρρώστια, ότι γενικά έχει περάσει πολύ δύσκολα, και δεν είναι η πρώτη φορά που του επιτίθενται. Μας έδειξε και τις ουλές στα πόδια του, όλες από μαχαιριές.

Τον ρώτησα αν έχει κάποιο συγγενή ή φίλο που μπορούμε να ειδοποιήσουμε, μου είπε πως είναι μόνος του και δεν έχει κανένα.

Παρότι ήταν ακόμη 'φτιαγμένος,' βρώμικος, και πονούσε, τα πράσινα μάτια του σου μιλούσαν. Σου έλεγαν ότι δε θέλει την εξαθλίωση. Ότι θέλει να ζήσει με αξιοπρέπεια.
Μέσα στον πόνο του έκανε και χιούμορ, και γενικά φαινόταν ότι είναι άνθρωπος με αντίληψη και σπιρτάδα, ασχέτως της εξάρτησής του.
Γιατί ο Αντώνης, εκτός από 'πρεζάκι' είναι και άνθρωπος. Άνθρωπος με προσωπικότητα και με μια ιστορία.

-Γιατί με κοιτάνε; είπε κάποιες φορές θυμωμένος.
-Άστους να κοιτάνε, του είπαμε με το Σίφη, και μετά αστειευτήκαμε για άλλες φορές που έχουν κοιτάξει εμάς.
Του είπα ότι τον κοιτούσαν επειδή έχει ωραία μάτια και μου λέει:
-Ξέρεις πόσο ωραίος είμαι άμα δεν έχω τα μούσια και τα μαλλιά και πλυθώ; Είμαι πολύ βρώμικος.
-Ε, ευκαιρία να κάνεις και τζαμπέ μπανάκι, του λέω.
Και πάλι γελούσαμε.

Οι περαστικοί τον έβλεπαν σα θέαμα. Κάποιοι κοιτούσαν με αποστροφή, κάποιοι με περιέργεια, αλλά κανείς δε ρώτησε ούτε μία φορά "Είναι καλά;"

-Πεινάω! ξαναείπε.
Τον ρώτησα τι τρώει και είπε μια ζαμπονοτυρόπιτα. Του πήρα μία και του την έφερα.
Δεν το πίστευε.
-Σ'ευχαριστώ πολύ! μου είπε πέφτωντας με τα μούτρα.
-Πόσες μέρες έχεις να φας;
-Πέντε; μέτρησε με τα δάχτυλά του.
Μπορεί να μην ήταν πέντε, μπορεί να ήταν δύο ή τρεις. Αλλά και μία μέρα να περάσει που ένας άνθρωπος δε βρίσκει να φάει, είναι απαράδεκτο.
Κάθε τόσο του θυμίζαμε να πείνει λίγο νερό.

Οι αστυνομικοί είχαν ανησυχήσει γιατί τα αίματα ήταν πολλά και μέσα στη μέση και φοβόντουσαν μην τα πιάσει κανένα παιδάκι. Η καθαρίστρια του ηλεκτρικού σιχαινόταν ή φοβόταν να τα καθαρίσει. Όταν ήρθε τελικά μετά από 40 λεπτά με μια σφουγγαρίστρα την κρατούσε όσο πιο μακρυά της μπορούσε.

Μετά από λίγο ο Αντώνης έκανε λίγο εμετό. Τον ρώτησα αν τον πείραξε η ζαμπονοτυρόπιτα και μου είπε ότι ήταν μάλλον από την πρέζα.
Η καθαρίστρια μου έκανε νόημα ότι δεν μπορεί να καθαρίσει και τον εμετό. Τελικά με προτροπή των αστυνομικών και με κάποιες εφημερίδες που πέταξε πάνω στον εμετό, μια σκούπα κι ένα μεγάλο φαράσι τον καθάρισε κάπως.

Εντωμεταξύ ήρθε κι ένας νοσηλευτής σε μηχανή όσο περιμέναμε το ασθενοφόρο. Έβγαλε το ματωμένο παπούτσι του Αντώνη και προσπάθησε να καταλάβει τι είχε συμβεί. Του μιλούσε με οικειότητα και εξέτασε την πληγή.
-Καταλαβαίνεις ότι αυτό δεν είναι ούτε μιας μέρας ούτε πέντε; Πρέπει να πάμε στο νοσοκομείο, του είπε.
-Δε θέλω! έλεγε και ξαναέλεγε ο Αντώνης.
-Για να στο πώ ωμά, αν δεν στο φτιάξουμε θα σου κόψουν το πόδι!
Εκεί ο Αντώνης τρόμαξε λίγο. Ο νοσηλευτής το κατάλαβε και του είπε πιο μαλακά:
-Ρε Αντώνη, αφού ξέρεις ότι το αίμα σου έχει πρόβλημα, τι σου φταίνε οι άλλοι; Πάμε στο νοσοκομείο.
Ο Αντώνης ψέλλισε κάτι και φάνηκε ότι ένιωσε άσχημα.

Μετά μας εξηγούσε ότι ήθελε να πάει στο Αττικό γιατί εκεί τον ξέρει ο διευθυντής και τον βοηθάνε. Όταν του είπαν ότι θα τον πάνε στο ΚΑΤ αντέδρασε, γιατί δεν ήξερε πώς θα γυρίσει στο παγκάκι που κοιμάται συνήθως. Έλεγε και ξαναέλεγε ότι θα πάει στο Αττικό αύριο.
-Είναι χασάπηδες στο ΚΑΤ! μας έλεγε.
Ο Σίφης τον διαβεβαίωσε πως θα είναι μια χαρά κι ότι τους ξέρει επειδή δουλεύει εκει. Μετά του έκανε πλάκα ότι έχει και ωραίες γυναίκες εκεί και γελούσαν.

Ο Αντώνης μας έλεγε ότι δε θέλει να πετάξουμε το παπούτσι του γιατί δεν έχει άλλο. Όσο του το έβγαζε ο νοσηλευτής ούρλιαζε από τον πόνο. Ένας από τους αστυνομικούς τον άφησε να σφίγγει το χέρι του όσο πονούσε. Ένας άλλος του έλεγε να κάνει λίγο υπομονή κι ότι καταλαβαίνουν ότι πονάει.Ήταν και οι μόνοι που έδειξαν μία κάποια ευαισθησία απέναντί του από τους αστυνομικούς. Ο νοσηλευτής έβαλε το παπούτσι σε μία σακούλα και του το έδωσε.

Στις 3μμ περίπου εδέησε να εμφανιστεί το ασθενοφόρο. Οι τραυματιοφορείς ήταν πολύ ευγενικοί και με κατανόηση. Τον έβαλαν πάνω σε ένα φορείο μαζί με τα πράγματά του και μας ρώτησαν αν θα πάμε μαζί.

-Είναι απλοί περαστικοί, είπε ο νοσηλευτής.
Κοιταχτήκαμε με το Σίφη. Ένιωσα ένα σφίξιμο.

Ο Αντώνης μας ευχαρίστησε και τον χαιρετούσαμε όπως απομακρυνόταν πάνω στο φορείο.

Περιμέναμε να φύγει το ασθενοφόρο. Χαιρετήσαμε και το νοσηλευτή ο οποίος έφυγε με το μηχανάκι του.

Μιλήσαμε για 4-5 λεπτά για τον Αντώνη, την εμπειρία που ζήσαμε μαζί του, και πόση λύπη νιώσαμε γι'αυτήν την ψυχή και το αβέβαιο μέλλον της. Μετά χαιρετηθήκαμε και ο κάθε ένας πήρε το δρόμο του.

Το σημείο στο οποίο καθόταν ο Αντώνης δεν είχε σχεδόν κανένα απομεινάρι της ιστορίας του.
Οι περαστικοί πατούσαν πάνω του χωρίς να ξέρουν ότι πριν λίγα λεπτά εκεί υπέφερε ένας άνθρωπος.

... Και η ζωή συνεχίστηκε ...

Older Men

I am 29 years old.

During this time I have more than often observed (or been the recipient of) older men either discretiding, disrespecting or feeling entitled over -mostly younger- women.

Older men many times feel the urge to instruct women on how to do things they already know how to do, or feel entitled to explain things about women issues to us, as if they -who have never been women- know better. There is actually a term describing this behaviour: mansplaining.

Other times, older men feel that they deserve more space, physically and verbally. They feel that they matter more and they make a point of showing it to us through their behaviour.
I cannot tell you how many times older men have ignored me in conversations, how many times they have tried to erase my presence or how many times they have shown discomfort, or even anger, for the fact that I might take more physical space than them.
I cannot tell you how many times they have demanded I remain silent, and have gotten infuriated when I didn't; especially when I voiced a different opinion to theirs. And those times when my argument was stronger, they lost their shit. They tried to crush me similarly to how you try to squish a mosquito who just bit you. Like an annoying (yet not dangerously serious) threat. However, when they saw I was more persistent and withstanding than a mosquito, they expressed rage.

I'd dare say it's as if they believe the world belongs to them, and we should all obey their biddings and agree with their opinions (even when they're extremely hurtful and harmful towards us).

I -unfortunately- cannot tell you how many times I had been catcalled by middle aged men as a teenager. I do not think I can describe the horror and disgust I felt when men my dad's age -and older- made it clear that they lusted after me, a child. But they felt entitled to it. They somehow, for some unthinkable reason, decided it was OK to show sexual attraction towards an underage girl who could have been their own daughter. As if I was theirs to take; as if I wasn't my own person.
Weirdly enough, the older I got, the less harassment I received from men over 40. I guess I turned too old -or too independent- for them.

In the past few years I became even more outspoken, and I completely dispelled the 'older man myth.' In other words, the notion that I should succumb to the logic that older men are on the top of the human pyramid. Because even if they are -and sadly they have placed themselves there- I will not accept that and, I will not bow down to anyone. I am an independent entity who supports equality. Screw pyramids, we need more circles.

Interestingly enough, the more apparent my 'I won't respect you if you disrespect me merely due to you being an older man' behaviour became, the more vicious and aggressive older men were towards me.

And you know what? I don't give a fuck.
I am not afraid to be myself, I am not afraid to stand my ground, I am not afraid to oppose you when you're wrong.
And if you don't like that, older man well, you can do one.

By Charles Baudelaire

"Aux objets répugnants nous trouvons des appas"

(In repulsive objects we find enticing lures)

- Au Lecteur, Fleurs Du Mal

(To the Reader, The Flowers of Evil)

Περιμένοντας το νυχτερινό τρόλεϊ στο Σύνταγμα

Το Σύνταγμα μετά τα μεσάνυχτα μεταλλάσσεται σε μία εναλλακτική καρικατούρα της πραγματικότητας.

Βλέπεις από μεσήλικες πλανόδιους μουσικούς με ροζ τούφες και σκουλαρίκια, μέχρι τρελλούς που επιτίθενται κατά συρροή σε ταρίφες ή συνδιαλέγονται με το κενό, στυλάτους άστεγους, και μέσα σ'όλα αυτά τουρίστες που δεν έχουν ιδέα τι γίνεται γύρω τους.
Κι έτσι όπως παρατηρείς το αλλόκοτο σκηνικό που ξετυλίγεται γύρω σου, κάνεις φιλίες και χαβαλέ με άλλους παρατηρητές της νύχτας.

υγ. Ποιητική αηδία.

Απαγορεύονται τα ταττουάζ στον 'οίκο' του θεού

Τρου στόρι:

Εκεί που περιμένω να μπω στην εκκλησία για το μνημόσυνο της γιαγιάς μου, με πιάνει μία άγνωστη γιαγιά από το χέρι.
-Αυτό το απαγορεύει η θρησκεία μας, λέει δείχνοντας το μανίκι ταττού μου.
-Η θρησκεία σας μπορεί να το απαγορεύει.
-Το απαγορεύει η θρησκεία μας!
-Η δική σας μπορεί να το απαγορεύει.
-Μα είσαι στην εκκλησία, άρα τι λες;
-Δεν έχω έρθει στη λειτουργία, στο μνημόσυνο της γιαγιάς μου ήρθα.
-Το είπα επειδή η θρησκεία μας το απαγορεύει και το είδα. Ο Χρηστός...
(εκεί σταμάτησα να παρακολουθώ)
-Το θεωρώ μεγάλη αγένεια να πιάνετε μία άγνωστη και να της λέτε κάτι τέτοιο. Εγώ ποτέ δε θα το έκανα αυτό. Δεν είναι σωστό.
-Ξέρεις, και μένα έχει τέτοιο η εγγόνα μου.
(μένω μαλάκας)
-Εχμ, τι να πω. Νά'στε καλά...
-Κι εσύ παιδάκι μου.

...

Random Thoughts LXXIV

Why are we so desperately and hopelessly attracted to dark personalities and emotionally damaged people?
Why do we find someone's inner perversions, and darkness so charming?

Εξωφρενικό γεγονός με ασυνείδητο ιδιοκτήτη σκύλου

Πριν κάποιες μέρες, όπως οδηγούσε η μητέρα μου κοντά στην Αγία Βαρβάρα βλέπει έναν τύπο με ένα λύκο. Τον πήγαινε βόλτα και είχε ένα από αυτά τα λουριά που μπορείς να τα μακρύνεις με το πάτημα ενός κουμπιού. Ο τυπάς δεν κοίταγε καν τι έκανε το σκυλί και του είχε μακρύνει υπερβολικά το λουρί.

Η μητέρα μου παρατήρησε ότι κοντά τους, σε ένα παρκαρισμένο αυτοκίνητο υπήρχε μία γάτα από κάτω.

Ο σκύλος όρμησε στη γάτα και τη βούτηξε από το πόδι.
Η μητέρα μου σταμάτησε το αυτοκίνητο και πήγε να βοηθήσει το γατί.
Ο ιδιοκτήτης του σκύλου δεν προσπάθησε καν να τον τραβήξει, σε σημείο που ο σκύλος είχε πιάσει το γατί με τα δόντια και το κούναγε πέρα δώθε.

Ευτυχώς επενέβη η μητέρα μου, η οποία έξαλλη απείλησε τον ιδιοκτήτη ο οποίος θυμήθηκε να κοντύνει το λουρί του σκύλου μετά από όλα αυτά.

Το γατί λογικά σώθηκε μιας και με το που το άφησε ο σκύλος έφυγε τρέχοντας.

Η μητέρα μου θυμωμένη φώναζε του τύπου και τον στόλισε κανονικά, υπενθυμίζοντάς του ότι όταν έχεις μεγάλο σκυλί, και ειδικά τόσο άγριο, δεν επιτρέπεται να το κυκλοφορείς χωρίς φίμωτρο.

Αυτός ψέλλισε κάτι κι έφυγε γρήγορα γιατί εντωμεταξύ είχε σηκωθεί όλη η γειτονιά στο πόδι από τις φωνές της μάνας μου κι έκραζε τον τύπο.

Και θα ήθελα να πω τα εξείς:
Αν θες να έχεις σκύλο, και μάλιστα μεγάλο, έχεις και κάποιες ευθύνες.
Πρώτον, να μην τον κάνεις δολοφόνο.
Δεύτερον, να μην τον κυκλοφορείς χωρίς φίμωτρο (ειδικά αν είναι άγριος).
Τρίτον, να έχεις το νου σου συνεχώς όταν τον βγάζεις βόλτα.

Το σκυλί είναι σαν παιδί. Και δεν υπερβάλλω καθόλου. Αν δεν μπορείς να είσαι σωστός γονιός στο σκύλο σου, μην πάρεις σκύλο.

Fear of Death

Fear of death is something that has been torturing me since a very young age. It has been paralysing at times. Avoidance and inaction feels like freezing time after all. Not doing, inertia, gives you the false impression that you managed to pause life itself. 
But you didn't. 

Sometimes you may even consider inertia as 'not living.' And if you're not living, how could you ever die?
The safety not acting brings is very comforting. You make no right, you make no wrong, and you also don't progress. Because progressing means death. Doing brings you a step closer to death. 

I have been avoiding dealing with death for a very long time. The first time I had to face death was when family pets died. The first couple of times I was too young to understand what death meant. Then, I realised death is loss. Death is not ever seeing someone or something again, never experiencing life with them again, never experiencing what you love about them again.

When I was ten, my mum's mother, my grandma, passed away. She was 96 and bed bound for the last eight years of her life. She died in her sleep, on an armchair in the living room, as I was playing with my toys in the same room. They told me she died in her own bedroom a few minutes later. I recently was told by a cousin that she actually died in front of me. I still cannot digest that. I have no recollection of it. At the time, I didn't really deal with her death. I wasn't even allowed at her funeral. It wasn't until years later that I actually managed to come to terms with her passing.

The following years I heard about a few of my parents' relatives and acquaintances passing away. Most of the time I didn't even know them in person, so even though I might have felt a bit shaken, I was able to move on without paying attention. The very few times someone I actually knew passed away I didn't really think about it. I was sad and even devastated when I heard about it, but the next day it was as if the bad news had disappeared from my thoughts. Even when I went to someone's funeral, I tried to treat it like a bad dream. It wasn't real to me. It wasn't that I didn't care about those people, it was that I didn't have the mental capacity to deal with loss. I didn't know how to mourn and move on. 

One day before I turned 21, our dog, Lulu, had to be put down. She had multiple types of cancer and she was suffering. She was 15 years old. I had to tell her goodbye, so I spent some time with her, telling her how much I loved her, how much she meant to me. We had her since I was six. I couldn't stop crying. After the vet put her down I didn't stop crying for a week. I couldn't eat, I couldn't speak. I was a mess. Up to this day I feel like she's going to come to the kitchen sometimes and give us her googly eyes to get food. 

I took an oath to never have a dog or any other pet after that. I didn't have the strength to live with their loss. 

In the past five years I keep on hearing about death. In my personal circles and in the world. Terrorism, mass murders, suicides, old age, diseases etc. And I block it. I desperately attempt to never think about it. Many times I fail though. And those times it's tremendously hard to get on with life. 

After the loss of a close family friend a few months ago, then my grandma’s and more recently a family member’s miscarriage I have been thinking about death constantly.

We recently visited our family friend's widow. She was a shadow of her once cheerful self. There was a sadness in her eyes, a surrender. She's 56 years old, relatively young. Still, you could tell she didn't know how to keep on living. She had been married to her husband since she was 17 years old. She only knew how to live as his wife. She had never experienced adult life without him. Luckily, she became grandmother a few months prior to her husband's passing. From our conversation I realised her grandchild is what is keeping her alive. The night after our visit I found it hard to sleep. I couldn't shake her image from my head. The way she sat, how many times she almost burst into tears...

On the 23rd of July my dad's mother, my other grandma, passed away at 102. She died in her sleep on her bed, surrounded by her children and children in law. I hadn't seen her much in the past ten years, only a couple of times a year -if so-, since I lived in England. The last 2 years she couldn't communicate and didn't know what was going on most of the time. The only time I cried was when during her funeral, one of the children she saved as a nurse spoke about her life. I still haven't mourned her loss. Maybe because I didn't spend as much time with her. The funeral was quite hard, especially since my aunt decided she wanted an open casket. She looked quite peaceful, as if she was asleep. However, when I touched her forehead to say goodbye, she was frozen. Then it hit me: That was her dead body. It was an empty vessel and my grandma wasn't in there anymore.

I haven't been able to sleep properly since her passing. My nightmares have gotten worse and my anxiety has hit the roof. I think with her death and what came after her death, I had to admit that life ends. I had to face that life is short and when the end comes, it's the end. 

Please don't respond with your religious beliefs about the afterlife; they're irrelevant to me. And unnecessary at this point. I personally believe death brings the end. You're gone. Nothingness.
And that will be forever hard to handle.

Two days ago I was informed that a relative of mine -who has been trying to get pregnant since April- had a miscarriage. It was very early stages of the pregnancy, but she was still broken. I didn't speak with her much as we're trying to give the couple privacy. Nevertheless, I could feel her pain for the loss of a future child. The loss of her hopes that she would be a mother. Her and her husband are mourning at the moment. 

It has been a very tough summer. The warmth of the weather collides with the deaths in my immediate circles, only highlighting the antithesis.
Quite mentally drained at the moment, I'm hopelessly searching for a healthy strategy on coming to terms with loss, with death.
I have a very long way to go, and I'm unsure I'll ever manage it. 

~

ps. In reading this, I hope you find comfort in the fact that you are not alone. We all come across death and loss in life. It's one of the few things that we all have in common, a few things that can unite us.
ps2. Part of a poem inspired by the events of this summer.

My grandma passed away

I just received a phone call that my grandma passed away.
She was 101 years old, but that doesn't make it any easier.
She was a truly spectacular woman.

A bit of her story:
When she was a child she wasn't allowed to go to school because it was unthinkable to send your daughter to school back then, unless you were rich.
She learned how to write and read by herself, and she sometimes stood outside her brother's classroom just to hear what the teachers had to say. The teachers suggested to her father that she should take her brother's place in the classroom.
When she was a teenager they sent her in Asia Minor to work for a rich family as a maid. There, she had access to a huge library and studied continuously.
Later on she was part of the resistance (EPON) and gave people flyers to inform them of the current situation and anti regime moves they could partake in (something that was punishable by death at the time).
Then, she became a volunteer nurse and treated those who were fighting for Greece's freedom. There she met my grandad who was in the resistance as well and had been tortured by Germans. They got married and had two children.
She was very strongly urging both my dad and his sister to go to school and learn. She considered education to be paramount. So she worked two jobs to make sure they could finish school (as my grandad was a person with physical disabilities and a fisherman, so he didn't make much). She saved numerous children as a nurse, since she didn't ask for money to do their shots.
When her daughter had children my grandma raised them because she was married to someone who worked in the army and they had to move a lot.
She lived to see some of her grandchildren's children as well.
In her lifetime, she and my grandad made sure that they bought a house, so her children would be able to have a place to call home.
Up to when she was 80+ years old she would still take the bus to the city.
Unfortunately, later she became bed bound, and in the past few years she didn't remember much. But she was always surrounded by love from three generations.

This description doesn't even do her and her story justice, but I'm a tad too emotional to think and write properly.

Γιαγιά, καλό ταξίδι <3

"But you seem fine"

One of the most hurtful and insulting things I had ever heard was when people didn't believe I wasn't feeling well "because I didn't show it."
To assume that one will allow themselves to be vulnerable and "seem weak" in front of you is not only inconsiderate, but also ignorant.
Us who have been suffering for long know exactly how to hide our pain. And to doubt that pain merely because you can't see it is egotistical to say the least.

"Happiness is a choice" & what this may mean

1. Mental Health 

To all those saying that happiness is a choice:
Try living with mental illness for a day.

Even though I agree, it's tremendously important to make an effort to train/program your brain to think positive, we need to remember not everyone has that privilege.
Because being mentally healthy is a privilege that 1 in 4 people (if not more) do not possess.

When you're suffering from mental health, you struggle to do basic things -like surviving. You do not have the capacity to be positive and see the glass half full. You try to avoid getting crushed by your demons and that more than often leaves you no strength or time to do anything else.

I have discussed this before, but it bares repeating: Happiness isn't always a choice.
Sure, if you spill your coffee on the floor and you cry and have a melt down about it for the next year, you're choosing to be unhappy about it. However, not everything is that simple.

Human psych along with how it affects our brain are extremely perplexed issues. For a person who suffers from clinical depression failing at something could have a lasting impact on their mental state. For a person who suffers from PTSD seeing or hearing certain things can trigger horrific memories and bring back trauma. For a person who suffers from anxiety disorder even small tasks can turn into a stressful and overwhelming nightmare. E.t.c.

There is a plethora of mental disorders and they affect people differently. The common denominator being they do affect people, their thoughts, perceptions, actions and reactions. So to imply every human can choose happiness is to imply every human can choose to gain control over their mental illness. And that isn't only impossible, but also harmful, and thus, perpetuating the notion that people who suffer from mental health are mere drama queens.

If it was so easy to gain control over your mental health, less people would suffer/commit suicide/self-harm/take medication/self-medicate and psychotherapists and psychiatrists would be out of business. No one chooses to suffer from mental health. And those who do suffer from mental disorders do not choose to be unhappy. They do not have the option to feel happy at that particular moment.

I believe we have had enough with this force fed positivity. Not all of us can be (or want to be) positive all the time. Hell, it's illogical to be positive and happy all the time. For instance, if you lose a loved one, aren't you going to grieve? Are you going to be happy instead? Of course not.

2. Discomfort & Solidarity

Despite the fact that I recognise good intensions from those who jumped on the "be happy" wagon, I also cannot help but wonder whether there is a slightly suspicious agenda behind it. You see, negative people, unhappy people make us uncomfortable. After all, it's not a pleasant sight to see someone sad, worried or stressed. Let alone experience someone having a panic attack or an episode. What do we do then? How do we handle the situation? Most people would rather run away than have to deal with such situations, either for fear of making it worse or due to them wanting to go on with their day. Similarly, even when we ask someone how they're doing, we expect them to say "fine" or "well." If someone responds "Not well" we're taken aback.

Nevertheless, wouldn't we want someone to help us if we were the ones suffering? Aren't we alienating ourselves by denying others' help? Aren't we forgetting that to experience a quality life we need to show and receive solidarity? Isn't this "be happy" philosophy maybe forcing us to seclude ourselves, pretending to be well so to not be a discomfort, or pretending to not see those who are not well so to not disrupt our routine or trouble ourselves (or possibly because this way we can keep ignoring the monsters living under our bed)?

An acquaintance of mine who is a psychotherapist once said "We learn about ourselves through experiencing ourselves through others." But if we only interact with others on the grounds of positivity, aren't we denying ourselves the chance to discover more about other parts of ourselves? And if we always hide our vulnerability, sadness or negativity, aren't we denying ourselves the chance to discover how receiving compassion and understanding can positively affect us?

3. Security & Core Beliefs

A conversation with someone who isn't "happy" may challenge us into deep dialogues which in turn may shake our core beliefs. For example, if you believe that people only receive what they can survive or deserve, meeting a kind person who is dying of cancer may upset you and force you to reconsider. Being exposed to different experiences than ours, especially those that are unpleasant, hurtful and unhappy can open new doors of perception. 

However, not everyone is ready -and some will never be ready- to have their core beliefs challenged. Our core beliefs are notions and ideologies deeply rooted within us. Sometimes for no particular reason than our upbringing, religion, family tradition, culture etc. Yet, they are instilled in us and having to question them may shake the whole foundation of who we are. And that can be terrifying. 

Losing that security of knowing that "1+1=2" and suddenly, possibly being introduced to "1+1=5" bursts our security bubble. When that bubble is burst we are floating in the unknown. It makes sense trying to avoid anything that or anyone who can lead us there. Therefore, having the need to always be -or merely fake being- "happy" is predictable. 

I am in no way saying there is a conspiracy behind the "be happy" movement/ideology. I would be stupid not to look at this through a critical prism though. 

Food for thought.

Another day of fatshaming

So today I realised one of my contact had shares this video:

I was infuriated to say the least.
So the best way they could direct this was in fatphobic fashion that not only demonises being fat and is based on stereotypes but also reinforces fatshaming?
There are plenty of constructive ways to promote a healthy lifestyle and this isn't one of them.
This reminds me of the saying "if you don't wanna get STD's don't have sex."
Fear mongering. 
Utterly ridiculous and insulting.

"Πρέπει να γίνεις μάνα"

Με αφορμή το άρθρο που διάβασα στη LIFO:

Είναι λυπηρό, αλλά συνάμα σεξιστικό και μισογυνικό. Η γυναίκα αντιμετωπίζεται ως αναπαραγωγική μηχανή που είναι η μόνη υπεύθυνη για τη διαιώνιση του είδους. Η προσωπική της επιλογή και ευτυχία αγνοούνται. Κι αν τυχόν όταν καταφέρουν να τη χειραγωγήσουν δε μείνει αμέσως έγκυος, αρχίζει η ντόπα -γιατί όπως λένε οι πεθερές 'το αγοράκι μου δεν έχει πρόβλημα εμένα.' Έχω κι εγώ ακούσει διάφορα κι ας είμαι μόνο 29. Εδώ και χρόνια όταν αναφέρω ότι δε θέλω τα παιδιά και δε θα ήθελα να κάνω μου αρχίζουν όλ@ τα 'θα αλλάξεις γνώμη' και 'είσαι μικρή ακόμα.' Όταν όμως βλέπουν μικρά κοριτσάκια να λένε από τα 8 πόσα παιδιά θέλουν να κάνουν το θεωρούν φυσιολογικό. Λες και είναι λογικότατο ένα παιδάκι να σκέφτεται πότε θα κάνει παιδιά το ίδιο. Λες και είναι φυσιολογικός ο βομβαρδισμός και η πλύση εγκεφάλου των γυναικών και κοριτσιών για το ότι η αποστολή/υποχρέωσή τους είναι να κάνουν παιδιά με ό,ποιο κόστος. Το αν θα κάνεις παιδιά θα έπρεπε να είναι καθαρά δική σου επιλογή και επιθυμία και όχι απαίτηση της κοινωνίας/θρησκείας/συγγενών σου.

"You're not feminine"

Yesterday one of my driving theory classmates said I'm not feminine because I don't wear high heels and I don't speak a certain way. I got angry at him and told him I disagree. He insisted that I don't dress feminine and my mannerisms aren't feminine. Apparently to him, femininity is correlated to being a bimbo.

The notion that there is only one specific expression of femininity bothers me. Being feminine doesn't stem from your fashion choices. It is deeply rooted within you as a person, it's part of your character and personality (and of course it is irrelevant to your gender). Whether and how you choose to express it isn't a necessary indicator of it.

Can we all please stop being brainwashed by the media's (and social media's) projection of femininity and masculinity? Can we all please stop restricting ourselves when it comes to our feminine and/or masculine expression? Can we stop letting toxic and harmful generalisations and stereotypes define us? Lastly, can we stop judging others by our standards, and respect that every individual is different and has the right to be respected for the way they would like to be perceived?