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Two days.

Two days I’ve been thinking about this post, mentally grabbing so many details around me, laughing when thinking at all possible puns I could put down but then the fingers would stay still.

Two days.

How long is two days really. If you ask me, not long at all. Every “two-day” weekend -which really feels like a one-day pause to my mouse race of a life-  vanishes in a blink. And when your body is craving sleep (that wonderful, amazing experience that has become more and more cherished over the past few years), just some type of horizontal rest surrounded by effortless movements (grab the remote / fluff up those pillows / go rustle up something quick in the kitchen / yawn / shower / repeat), your mind will just not stop. Nope. It is spinning and wants to do everything conceivable to a human.

Mind and body will very seldomly be at the same pace. Hence our daily efforts to stop that mind of ours, slow it down, make it follow our breathing (breathe iiiiiin, and ouuuuuut, the Headspace app dictates and you feel like a complete muppet when a strange voice needs to teach you oh the most basic of exercises, scrap that, the most basic of necessities in life: Breathing). Waves crushing, the sound of wind whispering through the trees, you running next to the dog you still haven’t got, all because you want to, you are trying to STOP. Just hit PAUSE and watch that still frame of yours unwind, refocus, find some inner peace. Every single device has a stop / pause button, why can’t the human mind have one? Preposterous, if you ask me. And just when it all appears to have slowed down and you think of this nice non-ending sandy beach that your footprints get erased every time a gentle wave hits the coast, BOOM!! You get hit by the uncontrollable tsunami forces of your mind taking over!! No rest for you Missy, listen, did you remember to send that email out? Do you remember you need to run to the grocery store before it shuts or you’ll be having cobwebs for dinner? And what about your skin? Oooooh yes, there is this big meeting tomorrow and you totally look like your real-life persona (how disgraceful of ya! No make-up, hair up-in-a-bun, totally mismatched clothes, bra is ALWAYS optional – because yes, that is what FREEDOM feels like, hell yeh!!). You need to get up, slap on that face-mask, cook something for tomorrow, run that first laundry cycle at the same time, send that email out, must-not-forget-that-email.

But wait. That all sounds totally uninteresting and pretty much a given in your life. What’s happening in the world at that very same moment you decided to take that mental pause of yours? Surely something much more interesting, something that will not be worth giving a thumbs up or a heart 3 hours later (are you high??? No no, you need to do this now!). So, one hand is stirring the kitchen pot while the other is scrolling down frantically, to the point that your thumb is definitely gonna need therapy at some point (slow down woman!! No I have to keep up with it all). Emails / Insta / FB / Twitter / Pinterest / Newspapers / OMG WHAT IS HAPPENING OUT THERE?? The world is moving waaaaay too fast for you to stop and breathe woman!!! And as your mind gets caught dreaming about that pair of shoes or that place you never got to visit and that a**hole is now posting his totally self-centred existence at, the pot bubbles up, froth overflowing turning everything into a white mess (and yes, you’re gonna have to clean that up right at this instant!),  your mental pot has been overstirred too!! You have 16 tabs / apps open at the same time, cross-referencing information, watching everyone and everything, make sure you know if their dog is sick or a new baby has been delivered by Mr Stork Man (jeez, dictating to my phone: Remind me to buy a “It’s A Boy!” card tomorrow!!), did you like that picture? No? Scroll back up and do that pronto!

Wouldn’t everything be SO much easier if that Matrix scene was our reality? You sit on a big-a** leather chair, you get plugged in, you feel a bit weird, you wake up a Kung-Fu master!! Who needs to stop their minds? Pffffff, that’s so circa 1990, get over yourselves 2018 peeps! We live in the time of the hare and the tortoise, where the hare doesn’t EVER go to sleep, the tortoise has admitted defeat, so the latter climbs on the former’s head and they can both see the Finish Line!! You have to keep up with it all to be relevant (God Forbid, you’re not relevant woman!!), you can’t focus at one thing for too long, you have to keep going and sometimes stop to catch your breath…. no hang on, I think it’s the other way round, your breath is trying to keep up with you, so you decide to have a 5-second pitstop, just so it will catch YOU. Our fear of missing out on the myriad of events unravelling at the very exact moment we decide to stop, makes breathing optional I’m afraid. The megaphone in your head is going “We are terribly sorry but breathing has been delayed for at least a couple of hours, please bear with us and a further announcement will be made”.

So, as I woke up on this lazy by default Sunday (shamefully admitting I had a lie-in and really wishing I could be a little kid again so that I could take a long nap and everyone would be really proud of me!), I put the coffee on, put some tunes on, started assembling all these clothes I wanted to take to charity, checked my work email, my Insta, my FB, wished people Happy Birthday, responded to my poor mum who lately only knows what I’m up to by keeping up with my posts, messaged my brother, ran to the grocery store to buy a few more things I forgot yesterday (silly billy, where you mind at woman?!) and then somewhere between the eggs and my coconut milk, I STOPPED! And it was because my mind ordered my body to HALT. To pick up this book and start laughing in the middle of Waitrose, thinking of the irony of it all; how it feels like I’ve been running on the hamster wheel all weekend, constantly wondering about what this book, in real Truman Show style, had on its cover.

So I bought the book, ran back upstairs, refilled my coffee mug, put the music back on, wrote this post and now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll start turning its pages, looking for the answer. After all, it is meant to be “a fabulous book”. I will of course remember to share this on every app possible so that every other little mouse out there can start running after me in the track!

Because I truly am “a fabulous woman”.

……..Oh, and I barely found the time to write this post……

xo

Victim of my own good intentions….. sings Florrie and she touches a particularly familiar chord with that verse….

So, everywhere I turn my eye or ear the past few days, all seems to be moving from one reality to an alternate one. It’s true. All seems to be but then again isn’t. All seems to happen but then again doesn’t. I call that, the “Sliding Doors” episode. And its ever familiar sequel. And I say that because, at least in my life, I’ve watched it play one times too many.

Same leading character, various scenarios, various newly casted figures. Whether it’s your love life or your professional one, there comes a point that you essentially are sitting there, planning your bottom away, and then come all planets retrograde  (and some incredibly cryptic individuals) to upset the balance and show you that you basically know absolutely nothing. And what you thought was, isn’t. And what you expected to find, is no longer to be found. There you are, bearing witness to your own little life, feeling equally excited and scared to see what the next day holds….

I was having a fantastically insightful conversation yesterday with a female friend of mine, who, I believe, to be graced with the gift of being able to see and hear things on more than one level. She will stack ’em all up for ya (actually she will ask you to do it for her) and then one by one, like playing Jenga, she’ll start pulling the bricks away. The purpose of this exercise is not for the tower to fall and her to be the almighty winner (that would be rather childish, right?) but for this deconstruction to bring reconstruction in your life. So, we are sitting there, miles away from each other, clicking away on our keyboards and discussing a certain situation, which is proving to be somewhat – how can I delicately put this – maddening…! And as she’s playing her whole “Bob the Builder” role, she once again manages to hit gold by nailing the key issue in this “Sliding Doors” episode. That, my friends, is called Expectations.

Sure thing, expectations are an almost natural tendency of ours, one that most of us really cannot shake. Something happens and then we immediately start thinking of the next thing and the one after that, imagining our future (and boy how much brighter does it look!) and then comes the careful planning of all steps to achieve that wonderful picture and nail it on the wall. You know what happens then? The doors slide. In. Your. Face. Either open or shut. And you step out and you’re all of sudden in LA wearing a colourful maxi dress and flip flops, thinking “Em, I’m sorry… what now?!”

Interestingly enough (and bang on trend – I must be clairvoyant or just a cliché of a woman) this morning I was reading me an article called “Can you only be happy if you lower your expectations?”. HA! And true to form, the two parties arguing the admittedly both strong sides of this debate are, wait for it, women. “I finally realised that the pursuit of perfection was pointless” vs “Settling: The word makes me shudder” would summarise it all for you. And so it continues. Now, my beloved friend (mentioned earlier) argued this with me in a much more “divide and conquer” way and it really worked miracles. “The point Melina”, she goes “is not that you are expecting too much or too little. But how you stand there expecting it. Meaning, are you expecting it as a “bound to happen, for sure” thing or a wonderful surprise in your life? And Melina, you know when we say a surprise in our lives, we actually mean we can never plan them, right? So no faux-prise for you, when you wish for it to happen but actually kinda wanna push your life towards it…. Get it?”. Ma’am Yes Ma’am!!

Expectations are not always a bad thing. To expect also means to have previously set things up in order to watch them flourish. But if things are moving, tides are changing, moons are rising and setting, you can’t possibly expect anything. You can just, dare I even say it, dream. And pray that the universe is listening. Coz they say, if you really put yourself out there and you project your dreams loud and clear enough the universe will finally listen. Either true or another little white lie we tell ourselves to carry on. On a closing note, I’d like to say that disco beats have made work easier this morning and funnily enough, the playlist jumps from “Just An Illusion” to “Got To Be Real”. I rest my case…..

Oh, and in case the universe is listening, last night I slept like this…True story.

Just in case 😉

xx

Ου και πόσο ήθελα να γράψω δε φαντάζεστε!! Και πόσο δε μπορούσα, επίσης δε φαντάζεστε!! Δουλειά, το μεροκαινυχτοκάματο, κούραση, μια μέση διαλυμένη, διακοπές και πάλι πίσω στο κλουβί….

Έχω γράψει εγώ ποστ ποτέ στα ελληνικά; Όχι ποτέ μα ποτέ. Γιατί; Ξέρω γω, μάλλον επειδή άμα μιλάς, σκέφτεσαι, αναπνέεις αγγλικά, οι σκέψεις σου ξεπηδούν όλες πλέον αλλόγλωσσες (και αλλόφρονες μπορώ να συμπληρώσω!). Μετά την BA επιστροφή μου όμως λίγες μέρες πριν, διαπίστωσα ότι αυτά που σκέφτομαι τώρα θα ήταν κρίμα – μα πολύ όμως!- να μην απαθανατιστούν ελληνιστί.

Έχουμε και λέμε λοιπόν:

1. Απολογισμός διακοπών και τα συναφή – ´Ιντρο.

Και φτάνω η Λονδρέζα στο Ελ. Βενιζέλος 4 τα ξημερώματα, έχοντας κατεβάσει δυο μπουκάλια (του δείγματος καλέ) βότκα με λεμόνι στο πλαπλάνο και γκουρμἐ κοτόπουλο με νιόκι που πραγματικά, ήθελα να πάω στο κόκπιτ και να πιάσω τον καπετάνιο απο τα μάγουλα για τα συγχαρητήρια!! Ναι ναι ταξίδεψα μπίζνες παρακαλώ! ‘Οχι επειδή είμαι Δεσποινίς Πλουτίδου (όπως με αποκαλώ αυτοσαρκαζόμενη στους φίλους μου) αλλά απλά επειδή δεν υπήρχε άλλη θέση, εκτός κι αν ήθελες να ταξιδέψεις ας πούμε για Ελλάδα όρθιος σε τουαλέτα αεροπλάνου ή μέσω Ζυρίχης για ακόμα περισσότερα λεφτά και περισσότερες ώρες!! Ναι ναι , βέβαια η Ζυρίχη σου επιτρέπει και το πρώτο σου τσεκ-ιν (Πλουτίδου στάιλ), τύπου είμαι Ζυρίχη τώρα εγώ όχι επειδή ήταν το κονέξιο αλλά επειδή γουστάρω και είμαι! Όχι επειδή ανησυχουσαν όλοι, κατάλαβες;

Και λες δε βαριέσαι, έφτασα σπιτι μου το κορίτσι, ο αδερφός μου εἰναι εδώ καμαρωτός καμαρωτός και με περιμἐνει με ανοιχτἐς αγκἀλες (πρέπει να πήρε έναν ελαφρύ υπνάκο στο Χ95 ερχόμενος μέσα στα σκοτάδια) κι ας ξεκινήσει το χόλιντέι!

2. Διακοπές και η πρωτεύουσα!

Άμα λέω εγώ κάθε πέρσι και καλύτερα, οι περισσότεροι κουνάνε το κεφάλι τους συγκαταβατικά και κάποιοι λίγοι αφιονίζονται. Για τους τελευταίους, σάμπως και δε θα μπορέσω.
Το ψέμα μου δε μπορώ να το πω. Αν ζούσα ακόμα στην Ελλάδα, δεν υπήρχε περίπτωση να μπορώ να είμαι τόσο ξέγνοιαστη κυκλοφορώντας στην Αθήνα οποιαδήποτε εποχή. Αυτή είναι η απλή και καθόλου σκληρή αλήθεια. Κάποιοι από εμάς αποφασίσαμε να αποδημήσουμε χρόνια πριν. Και όλοι ρωτάνε πως και όλοι έλεγαν “Απαπα εγώ με τίποτα” και τώρα οι περισσότεροι (είπαμε είναι κι αυτοί που αφιονίζονται ακόμα) “Αχ Μελίνα μου εσύ την καλύτερη απόφαση πήρες, κἀτι ἠξερες εσὐ, αλἰμονο σε μας τώρα…!”. Ναι αμέ σίγουρα μην το ξαναπείς. Όλα πανεύκολα! Γιατί το να ζεις χιλιάδες μίλια μακριά από την οικογένεια σου, άγνωστη μεταξύ αγνώστων, δουλεύοντας 10-15 ώρες την ημέρα και βλέποντας ήλιο μόνο στην εκπαιδευτική τηλεόραση, είναι πραγματικά σούπερ εύκολη υπόθεση. Όλα σε εμάς τα ξενιτεμένα μας έρχονται τόσο απλόχερα που όταν συναντιόμαστε για το εβδομαδιαίο τσάι μας στο Ριτζ (όχι Φόρεστερ, άσχετη!), γελάμε με εσάς εκεί πίσω στο Ελλάντα και περνάμε ζάχαρη!

Περπατάω λοιπόν στην Αθήνα περήφανη ναι. Όχι γιατἰ έφυγα και μπορεί να εἰμαι πιο πριμοδοτημένη σε κάποια θέματα, αλλά γιατί με αυτά που βλέπουν τα ματάκια μου και ακούν τα αυτάκια μου κάθε χρόνο όταν επιστρέφω, κάνω και τον σταυρό μου που πήρα την απόφαση που πήρα και μας χωρίζουν κάμποσα βουνά και ποτάμια…..

3. Το λαϊκό παράπονο -και κιου τον Πάριο να κλαίμε όλοι….

Δεν υπάρχουν λεφτά σου λέει, πάνε να μας φάνε τα λεφτά μας σου λέει επίσης, μας τρώνε τα λεφτἀ ήδη και δώστου, δεν μπορούμε πλέον να αγοράσουμε 15 σουβλάκια και να πετάξουμε τα μισά στα σκουπίδια γιατί και σκάσαμε και δεν τρώγονται κρύα τα ρημάδια! Άκου τωρα εσύ προβλήματα ο κόσμος πίσω στην πατρίδα μου. Αλλά το κυριότερο, το μεγαλύτερο πρόβλημα που μαστίζει την ελληνική κοινωνία (ναι εγώ θα σας το αποκαλύψω και όχι η Τρέμη που τελείωσε κι αυτή τη θητεία της στην ελληνική ενημέρωση) εἰναι, κυρίες και κύριοι μου, οι διακοπές! Ναι μάλιστα, οι διακοπές. Και πιο συγκεκριμένα, αυτό που δεν έχουμε αρκετά λεφτά τώρα και που δε μπορούμε να πάμε σε διακόσια μέρη!! Και πώς τώρα σε ρωτάω, πώς θα συντηρηθεί η ανάγκη του μέσου νεοέλληνα για το τσεκ-ιν;;! Και το ίνσταγκραμ;! Αυτό που το βάζεις;;! Τσάμπα το τριπλοπλήρωσε η άλλη το πακέτο στη Βόνταφον να έχει 300.000 gb να αλωνίζει σε όλα τα απλικέισιον σαν φοράδα;!

Εσείς Μελίνα λέει πότε σταματάτε για καλοκαίρι;;! Άκου βλακώδης ερώτηση πότε σταματάτε. Καλά, σταματάει ο Εγγλέζος ποτέ να μετράει λίρες;; Τι λέτε τώρα, εμείς απαντάω εγώ, δυστυχώς κυρία Ευτέρπη μου, ποτέ δε σταματάμε. Να, ο καθένας εκεί παίρνει την αδειούλα του οπότε μπορεί και μετά επιστρέφει στη μαύρη τρύπα που του αντιστοιχεί…. Και επιστρέφουμε λοιπόν για λίγο στη μαμά πατρίδα να μας θρέψει με τον ήλιο της, τις ζουμερές ντομάτες της (που της έχει άχτι κάθε Έλληνας που ζει στην Αγγλία), τη θαλασσίτσα της και κυρίως να μας γεμίσει τις καρδιές μας με όλη τη ζέστη της φαμίλιας μας (εκ γενετής και επίκτητη).

Και κάθομαι στον ήλιο και ψήνομαι σα το μοσχάρι και τους έχω “Πωπω πόση ζέστη, δεν αντέχεται! Καλά εσύ δεν έλιωσες, τι κάθεσαι εκεί; Άστα και δεν έχουμε να πάμε πουθενά φέτος, ας όψεται η Μέρκελ και όλες οι κυβερνήσεις (νυν και παλαιότερες) που μας κοροϊδεύουν!! Ναι ναι μας κοροϊδεύουν βέβαια. Παλιά θα ξεχάσω εγώ, από Μύκονο σε Σαντορίνη και από ΒΠ σε ΝΠ – αναλόγως το πάρτυ- τώρα τυχεροί είμαστε αν τα καταφέρουμε, ε έτσι μη φανταστείς, δέκα ψωρομερούλες Μύκονο (ή Πάτμο ή Αμοργό – όλοι μαζί σαν τα βόδια). Φτάνουν Μελίνα μου; Τι να φτάσουν; Είναι που ξεκινάμε πάλι και δουλεια απο Σεπτέμβρη και ποιος αντέχει το οκτάωρο;;;!”…..

Και τώρα θα πω, σε κλασσικό τόνο Δημητρούλας που είναι το άλτερ ίγκο μου: ΚΑΛΕ ΔΕΝ ΕΙΝΑΙ ΙΣΟΡΡΟΠΗΜΕΝΑ ΠΡΑΓΜΑΤΑ ΑΥΤΑ!!! (Καλέ κατεβάστε την καρέκλα από τον τοίχο!!). Δηλαδή πάτε καθόλου με τα καλά σας; Πόση παράνοια και ξιπασμάρα αντέχει πλέον αυτή η χώρα;; Τι να πω….. Ψωμί, τυρί δεν έχουμε, τσεκ-ιν και χιπστεριά για την όρεξη! Κι έρχομαι εγώ με το νεύρο κρόσι με τους ψυχοπαθείς που συνομιλώ κάθε μέρα (πελάτες και μη) και τι ζήτησα; Λίγο κρασί, λίγο θάλασσα – το αγόρι μας τελείωσε. Θες να με στείλεις αλειτούργητη τώρα;;! Που διάβασα ότι θα κλείσουν και το Δρομοκαΐτειο και το Δαφνί, πού θα πάω μου λες; Να πάω καμιά Μύκονο κι εγώ και να αρχίσω τα νεοπλουτίστικα; Όχι γιατί αφού μπορώ, αλήθεια λέω.

Συνέλθετε λίγο σας παρακαλώ. Σε σας μιλώ της ίδιας γενιάς και των νεοτέρων επίσης. Στους μεγάλους δεν μπορείς να πεις και πολλά. Και ούτε που ενοχλούν οι δόλιοι. Η κακομοίρα η μανούλα μου, το ρήμαδι το φέισμπουκ για μένα το έκανε μέρος της ζωής της, να βλέπει τι κάνω και να μου γράφει πόσο με αγαπάει. Το δε ίνσταγκραμ, α καλά, ήθελε τρεις φορές επανάληψη για να καταλάβει πως ανεβαίνει η φωτογραφία “Ναι αγάπη μου αλλά εγώ την θέλω ετσι όπως τις ανεβάζεις εσύ, με αυτά τα φίλτρα που την κάνουν να μοιάζει από τον καιρό της γιαγιάς σου”. Και αντί να κολακευτείς, της φωνάζεις κιόλας που σε εχει πρήξει να της τα εξηγήσεις. Συγγνώμη μανούλα μου. Δημοσίως και με κάθε ειλικρίνεια.

Αλλά για τους υπόλοιπους, πραγματικά, καμία συμπόνια όμως. Άξιοι της μοίρας σας ναι. Α, και όταν σας ματιάζουν και παίρνετε τη μάνα σας στις 3 το πρωί να σας διαβάσει (όχι για να δείτε τι κάνει, σιγά τώρα ποιος νοιάζεται!), μετρήστε λίγο πόσες φορές μας είπατε που είστε, τι πίνετε, πως το πίνετε, τι φοράτε (που είστε όλες πανομοιότυπες όμως, δηλαδή ούτε σιαμαίες τέτοιο πράγμα).

Να σας πω ένα μυστικό που βασικά και κλεμμἐνο είναι και το πρωτόπε ο Σταυρίδης στον Γκιωνάκη; Άχου και δε με νοιάζει. Μα καθόλου όμως. Κι εγώ “ανέβασα” στιγμές απο αυτό το εξωτικό καλοκαίρι, βεβαίως. ΣΤΙΓΜΕΣ. Όχι τον κατάλογο του ΟΤΕ για την καλύτερη ψαροταβέρνα και το πιο σφιχτοδεμένο παρεό. Γιατί αυτές οι στιγμές, οι άξιες του ἀπλοουντ, είναι που με κρατούν ζωντανή τις υπόλοιπες στιγμές εδώ στη Λόντρα, όταν θέλω να ουρλιάξω. Και δε χρειάζομαι να (απο)δείξω σε κανέναν πόσο “ιν” είμαι πηγαίνοντας σε όλα τα νησιά που επιβάλλει η μόδα του φετινού καλοκαιριού. Ναι δεν είναι τυχαίες οι επιλογές ενός Έλληνα. Σε παρακαλώ πολύ. Ό,τι πρόσταξει ο κάθε γελοίος εκεί κατά τα τέλη Μάη που αρχίζει η “έμπνευση”, αυτό μετά γίνεται το καλοκαιρινό μάστ κάθε αξιοπρεπή νεόπλουτου. Σαφώς.

4. Χάλια πέρασες δηλαδής ε;;

Τι λέτε καλέ; Το ξέρετε αυτό που λέμε εδώ στην ξενιτιἀ, για τα διαμάντια, τα κρυμμένα μέσα στα γύρω γύρω ελαττώματα; Ε αυτό ακριβώς. Επιλογή υπάρχει πάντα. Και να περάσεις όμορφα και να θυμηθείς γιατί τέλος πάντων σου λείπει ώρες ωρες η χώρα που μεγαλώσες. Είναι κάτι άνθρωποι διαμάντια όμως. Εκεί ναι. Στη χώρα του παραλογισμού και του “δε μαζεύω λεφτά ποτέ, ξοδεύω άρα υπάρχω”. Δεν είναι και πάρα πολλοί. Τουλάχιστον όχι για μένα. Αλλά αυτοί οι λίγοι με κάνουν και νιώθω πιο ξεχωριστή από ποτέ, να γελάω μέχρι να βγαίνει η Φιξ από τη μύτη και να βουτάω το χέρι στη σαλάτα μέσα στο λάδι, και να σου λένε, άντε συνέχισε τὠρα να δούμε τι θα καταλάβεις, χαχα! Με φίλησαν, με αγκάλιασαν, με σήκωσαν ψηλά, με έκαναν να γελάω και να κλάψω και γενικά τους κλείδωσα πάλι στα κουτιά της καρδιάς και του μυαλού μου, μέχρι την επόμενη φορά.

Τους αγαπώ τόσο πολύ. Μα τόσο πολύ. Και τους θελω τόσο πιο πολύ κοντά μου. Αλλά είναι που δεν αντέχεται αυτό το υπόλοιπο που σας περιέγραψα πιο πάνω και δυστυχώς, αν κανείς μένει στην Ελλάδα, δε μπορεί να το αποφύγει με τίποτα. Οπότε, διακοπές κι εγώ όταν μπορώ, και πάλι λιγοστές στιγμές όταν και όπως έρχονται.

Την υγειά μας να χουμε (που δεν την έχω και γι αυτό και κοντεύω να το χάσω εντελώς) κι όλα τα καλά του κόσμου δικά σας. Πάω τώρα να απολαύσω τα τρία λεπτά πριν αρχίσει πάλι να βροντάει και να αστράφτει (καθώς σήμερα βαλλόμαστε απο την Μπέρτα- ποια είναι αυτή ρωτάει; Η ξαδέρφη του Βαγγέλη! Ποια είναι… Ανοίξτε και καμία Ιντερνάσιοναλ σελίδα να ξεστραβωθείτε).

Α και να μην ξεχάσω να πάρω μαμά Σοφία για ξεμάτιασμα επειγόντως…!! Γιατἰ κἀτι μου λἐει ότι θα το χρειαστὠ. Επἰσης, σπίτι μου είμαι. Δε θα κάνω τσεκ-ιν. Απλά σας ενημερώνω. Επίσης ακολουθώντας πλήρως την ξεφτιλισμένη τρεντιά των ελληνόπουλων, έγραψα όλες μα όλες μου τις ξένες λέξεις με ελληνικούς χαρακτήρες! Ε, ε;; Δεν είμαι καρακαταμέσα στη μόδα;! Παναγιἀ μου βοήθα και μη χειρότερα να λέμε, που δεν το βλέπω.

Λέιτερς χέιτερς και καλή πανσἐληνο να ἐχουμε.

xx

http://youtu.be/fI2FC36lXXQ

This day of all days, regardless of how many years have passed and how many years are yet to come, will always be “The day that Death becomes me”. 14 years have left their mark on me, one after the other after the other, since my beloved dad passed away, all of a sudden, out of this earth his spirit lifted and into the blue horizon he flew away….

And on this day I can never make sense of my emotions, as every year feels different, not a futile commemoration of a sad event and a few words thrown in the air. But a pain in my heart, a thorn on my side, some megatons of weight bringing my shoulders down and all the wheels and cogs in my brain turning endlessly, sounding like a meat grinder working on “super” mode.

I have thought of my father a great deal these past few weeks. Never has it stopped bringing tears to my eyes, never has it stopped bringing a smile to my face. So many things have happened in my life that I wish I could just pick up the phone and tell him. I would probably wake him up most of the time but he wouldn’t mind. I miss him to an extent unfathomable to me and a degree so painful that only a hand on my cheek and an arm around my small body can make it a little bit easier…. You let time consume you and wrap around you this invisible cloak of forgetfulness (definitely not the right style for me). But in essence, you never forget. You merely develop slightly hazier vision and very questionable consciousness. And the pain lingers, the memories take over and question marks fill the air, jumping up and down in all colours like birthday party balloons tossed from one kid to another.

God only knows how much I loved my dad. God only knows how many things I never got to tell him, how many things I have tried to tell him when sitting next to his grave, how many things I got to whisper to him when touching his bones. What now remains of my dad lives in a box. In a cold, musty storage room, with a mere number on it. But that is not my dad. I really hope not anyway. Wishful thinking or not, I still like to believe that he is now slowly pacing someplace peaceful, looking down, up or directly at me and wrapping his invisible cloak of fatherly affection all around me (all tailored to perfection for me).

Because that is the thing I miss the most. His presence around me. And a fairly large presence it was, may I funnily add.

Apologies for the morbid tone of my post today, but as I mentioned right from the start, this day is “The day that Death becomes me”. And when Death knocks on your door, there is very little you can do but let Him in. He never comes alone; His friends are an odd bunch and they march on through your doorstep, while you keep your head low. You all just sit round the table in silence and your face is still pinned to the ground. And then the singing begins……

Αντίο μπαμπἀ μου, σε αγαπώ πάντα…..

xx

The times that the weather was behaving herself (she is totally a female, that much I do know) and allowed beautifully intricate composers like Vivaldi to ponder on all wonders of nature and produce such masterpieces, are long gone. Four seasons don’t exist anymore. Correction. Four seasons in this country don’t exist anymore. There’s this everlasting “slug-pace” morphing atmosphere called “no season”. 4=0?

People often ask me (being a bubble-olive oil girl and all) “How can you tolerate living in this weather?”. Simple answer, I don’t. Even simpler answer, I have to.

Statistics and surveys all year long come to prove that the most discussed topic in Blighty is the weather. Yeh, no shit Sherlock!! There is no summer –that much we always knew. There is no spring –that much I can certify with my zip-on hoodie on stand-by and the raindrops still drying on my jacket. So we are left with autumn (not the romantic yellow-brown leafy one) and winter (the chilling, non-stop snowing, gale blowing one). Autumn to winter to autumn AND winter to winter AND autumn 4-2=2≥1?

How is that an inspiration?! If Vivaldi was a) alive and b) a UK citizen, his creations would sound more Berlioz-esque and less like his instantly recognisable melodies. Everybody moans about the weather, checks the forecast and air-threatens the weather man with “a plague upon his house!”, curses their luck (or more like lack of) and leaves their brolly by the door overnight (must-not-forget-in-a.m.-when-still-half-asleep).

And then of course follows the inevitable escapism. Everyone is too busy planning, putting annual leaves in and dreaming of warmer and sunnier climates, which would turn London into a distant (grey) memory. 4-2=2≥1=30?

Where to go and where to dream of? How soon is now and when can we fly away? Humans always bear an inner tendency to “be free”. I for one always want to fly away. Guess that would explain the latest addition to my ink collection. My inner tendency exposed (but still quite cleverly hidden, wink-wink).

So. Small gems of advice to all fellow Londoners and distressed Britannians all around:

1. If you fight the weather, she will win with a “KO”.
2. When in need to literally strangle the people walking in front of you (as everyone is in a mad rush to find shelter), hide under your hoodie and pump up the volume on your trusted iPod.
3. Grab your brollies and hold onto them tight.
4. Buy a spare brolly –you will need it.
5. Keep the ‘Expedia tab’ open on default on your browser.
6. Never stop dreaming of flying away.

Coz, using the wise words of the MOST AWESOME MAN EVER, if I’m a bird, you’re a bird.

And we can all learn to fly.

Inner wings spread.

Hopefully to our freedom.

2=∞

I really hate it when I don’t get the time to write. Then again, I hate it even more when I don’t get the space to write. It’s like my mind experiences this kaleidoscope of colours and shapes, rotating figures and sounds, and I can’t even get close to my trusted MacBook. 

So this Sunday down to business it was. More like leisure but anyway. My coffee has almost run out, music has been playing since 7.30 am, there are two (not so sad) puppy eyes taking turns in looking at me, then my fingers, then me again. The sky looks like the White Wizard will be with us soon again and my poor toes will fall off ’cause of frostbite this winter. That I am almost certain of. 

Aaaaah, “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times”, Charles Dickens once wrote in A Tale of Two Cities. That, Ladies and Gentlemen, appears to be the essence of these days. Not so much on the side of despair but more on the parallel lines, parallel realities, sliding doors and split personalities effect. Even the weather has gone all bipolar on us, so hey, who am I to judge anyone with an existential crisis? Aren’t we all suffering from one after all?

The more I go out and play (adult games of all seriousness and maturity, of course, of course…), the more I realise that every single one of us carries a second entity in them. No wonder Londoners bloody queue everywhere and always have that heavy look on their faces. They are walking for two!! You walk, you talk, you interact and everyone seems to be torn over something. Including my tiny self – just easier for me to carry my “other Melina” as I’m practically still the size I was when 13 years old, so we are fast becoming really good friends! 

Just recently, an amazing coincidence (or parallel thinking) found me chatting with someone and I heard myself saying: “It’s either because we have both lost our sense of direction or we are both merely trying to find it”. So I ask you:

Is it possible to find your way when you feel your inner compass is broken?

We always need to know, eastbound, southbound, here, now, in six months, right or wrong. And you find yourself wishing for a crystal ball, a time-machine, a magic carpet and all items aloof. Because you don’t know which rabbit hole to fall into and if the grass will be indeed greener on the other side. So I would like to live the “here and now” please and for my other self to live the “there and a little while later”, thank you. Then we could all decide, couldn’t we? And feel right as rain. 

And, as all sad realisations in our lives bring our daydreaming or nighthunting to an end, reality does not allow parallel existences of one’s self. Or so I’m being told. That is very circa 1900 if you ask me. I mean, if Charles was forward-thinking enough to write the aforementioned quote in 1859, what the hell have our lab rats been busy with?? I have never been a girl of science(s). They escape me and, although I am an extremely analytical creature in nature, I don’t like their patterns. 

  I mean, seriously?!

So, since I still haven’t received my email alert about perfecting time-travelling, I choose to apply my own non-mathematical identities (which are assertions that are truly independent of the values of any variables contained within them, I now remembered, courtesy of an everlasting tool called Google Search). They don’t look quite as complex as the math ones, but they are carrying the one value that, pour moi, is the one and only always giving this life(-ves) of ours direction.

Faith. 

(and a bit more on the geeky but close to my heart side, πίστη)

xx

The candle is lit. The frame is next to it. 

My tears a waterfall. And the song is playing.

Again and again and again.

For you.

I love you dad. 

xx

p.s. I’ve stopped crying. I’m swaying on the boat now.

xx

It’s true what they say.

Sometimes you simply get lost in time. It happens. Tis not that your mind gets foggy. If only… Your mind works full time, overtime even. But it is difficult to pin that moment down and get on with whatever it was you were planning to do. But, true to the lil icon at the top left-hand corner of the wordpress page, the pin has finally been stuck.

Lately, as in the last few days (and the last few months), I’ve been thinking about leaders. Their presence, their appearance, their demeanour and their paths in this time. It’s quite easy to identify a leader. Most times, it would be in the shape and form of a tall, strong-minded man, with the perfect balance between an iron fist and a loving heart. Or in the shape and form of a not so tall, intelligent woman, with the perfect balance between her iron fist and the pinches on her behind.

Most of us spend our lives following a leader. Actively or subconsciously, we seek them out. And they direct our every move and make us follow certain rules that they saw fit for this world. Some of us spend our lives wanting to become one. Not so much a leader of the kind who stands on a podium and addresses the masses, but one who has complete and constant control of their lives and the direction they will follow. Fewer of us have to become a leader. In simple terms, that means to worry and always focus on our next move, to mould our surroundings as if made out of clay and therefore accomplish that feeling of control, security, relief. Well, let me tell you that the latter kind of leadership does not come with praise, public votes or admiration. It comes with responsibility, stress and a huge sigh at the end of each day.

So what happens when leaders -of whichever kind- get stripped of their “-er” and become l-ed? One day there’s a knock on the door, they answer it to find a box lying on their doormat. It doesn’t have a bow or a fabulous brand written on its sides. It doesn’t even have a name tag on it. But the leader knows that the box belongs to him.  As they rip it open, there pops out a huge question mark (and there’s not even a nice playful tune to go with it like in them winding kiddies’ boxes).

I don’t know everything but I certainly know this: Leaders do NOT like question marks. They have been trying to avoid them for a looong time. They’re always prepared and always have a back-up plan. “Everything has been in control so far”, they think, “right? What on earth’s name is this freshly unleashed hell upon me now?!”. Mind-boggling as it may be, it is there and then that they realise this might actually be a good thing. Maybe this question mark will now lead them to bigger and better things. Maybe it’s good to finally not be responsible for all that happens (and is foreseeable). Maybe this is the time they have been waiting for.

Sometimes you get to realise that you’ve been trying so hard to draw the map of your journey in life, you’ve ended up forgetting all about the journey. Em, hang on a minute. Isn’t this how it’s supposed to be though? You embark on a journey carrying a well-detailed map?? Well logically yes. But, don’t they also say that the best journeys are those which take you somewhere you could have never expected?

I’m starting to believe that leaders become better when they finally give in the undeniable forces of life (or fate, for the more romantic ones out there). And it is nice to be led sometimes. Afterall, none of us ever lose their tiny internal compass under our skin. So no matter what, we will always find our way home.

xx

the strongest ace of ’em all!

and so lying underneath those stormy skies, I know the sun must set to rise

everytime I close my eyes…

xx

Thought I’d catch the “no post for a month” curse before it unravels and gets hold of ma’ keyboard and the very kind you, who still click n’ read the ramblings of a mad woman aka me.

If it wasn’t for that numerical reflection of our passing through this lifetime called a calendar, I’d seriously have no idea what day it is, how many weeks have gone by and how ridiculously close we are to Christmas. When events are in need of, when emotions devour every single day leaving it hollow and turning it into a mere repetition of the previous one, it doesn’t take much more for us to lose ourselves and the track of time.

So I’ll have to stick to today then. Today is very chilly. Today is black. Today is whipping me to the ground and making my eyes carry that vacant stare that substitutes their usual sparkle (no-fair-trade, there must be an injunction of some sort against this absurdity!). I wish I could delete it from my memory, like I would with all the telly shows I’ve watched on my V box.

For I is a girl who craves for sparkle. And when I seem to have permanently (or temporarily, as my “glass half-full” confidant would say) lost mine, I need someone to make it happen. Usually, Vogue pages accomplish the mission by making me lust after jewels in the shape of a shoe, a bag or an even more significant accessory. But not lately I’m afraid. I want to find the light, I got blisters under my feet from this endless journey and darkness is consuming me like a hungry one-eyed monster. I feel like I have to fight a tangle of branches, quickly twisting around my ankles and, unlike any good ol’ fashioned fairytale, there ain’t no sword for me to set myself free. If I was a heroine, I’d be called Desperella or Glumelina or something to that effect.

If only there came the sound of a fast-approaching horse with a brave knight on it in the far distance… So far, the silence is deafening.

xx

You know? I gotta hand it to them.

It seems that Hebrews had the whole subject figured out. Throw in an extremely righteous man, some seven sons and three daughters, a conversation over two muffins and two tall Americanos between God and Satan, all doom imaginable and boom, you got yourself a Biblical bestseller. True to form, the story starts by presenting us with a nicely painted picture that we all know will soon go down the drain. Clouds in that ever so blue sky start appearing from nowhere, a storm is about to conquer all and Job embarks on his journey of chaos. As every other gripping story, it rapidly escalates and after countless blows (no whistles) and seven days with his lips zipped, the poor man breaks his silence and curses the day he was born. Only to then be reminded of God’s strength and greatness over all and to be rewarded with good health, a new family and twice as much livestock. The End.

Over the last couple of weeks, the story of Job has been brought to my attention by two, very different, sources. The first was a crowd pleasing one and the second was a personally directed one. Both sources however, were dealing with a tormented individual, who keeps being torn apart in a million pieces. By the time it takes her to put all the pieces back together, she is kicked down by an even bigger force. And then comes the disappointment, the despair and the irresistible need to “curse the day one was born”. Which automatically calls for the tormentee to reflect upon Job and try to envisage her nightmares as mere testing hurdles.

Being as prophetic as Hebrews were held to be anyway, made me wonder: Did they title this book after a character whose name would nowadays become the harshest plague of ’em all? Is the Book of Job really The Book of JOB?! The parallel is uncanny and the question is inevitable, if you ask me. This wretched word has become the core of every single sentence of mine, superglued to every noun possible. Job-hunt, job-stress, job-racism, job-location, lack-of-job. Never did I ever think that, in my overly articulate life, I’d come to a point where I’d only need about thirty words to describe my daily routine. And half of them would be a prequel or a sequel to… you know which word. So when two more came to be added to my fantastically uneventful vocabulary (again of course as a mere accessory to the King of all words), I thought to myself that there’s got to be a reason behind it.

Whether the reason is for me to soldier on and still endure these tests or to gather all material necessary to write “The Book of Job Vol 2: The Millennium years”, I’m not entirely sure. But yes. Job’s story is a truly inspiring one. And in its own didactic way, it may encourage a few of us to withstand the reality we’re currently living in and manage to enjoy a colourful autumn afternoon in the park. Even if we still need to shed a tear or two on someone else’s shoulder…

one of William Blake’s twenty-two illustrations of the Book of Job

I was leaning on Blake’s tombstone this very afternoon whilst contemplating Job’s suffering and my job suffering. Coincidence or sign?

xx

Happy Birthday to the most beautiful brother there will ever be!

May you always be as treasured as the most precious gem of ’em all.

♥ everywhere, to infinity and beyond

your sis 

xx

Ma’ livin room window just started gettin drizzled on again…. Miserable weather these days, tis gettin colder by the minute and I think it’d be safe to say that the nice warm summer days are long behind us. Lil tip ladies: Do not venture it out bare-legged anymore, you might actually get frostbite! Or whatever the autumn equivalent would be.

Just had meself some apple crumble (no I’m afraid I can’t take the credit for making it, but it sure tasted deliche!) and I’m feeling wonderfully warm and, dare I even say it, free. I’ve been living like the walking dead over the past few weeks, from am to pm and am again, seemed like a pointless interchangeable feature between Mr Cloud and Mr Moon. Tonight I have reached my destination. I have completed something of extreme worth to me , let’s just call it “Project M” and I’m now staring at a big white envelope carrying plenty of pages inside it. It will soon be on its way and then another ticking clock starts.

They say “anything is possible”. They also say “you make your own life” and “your life will be what you want it to”. Even if these sayings came printed on lovely day-glo’ tops, it’d still be hard to believe in them after a certain point. I bet you’d like to put them in the washing machine, hottest cycle known to mankind and shrink ’em down to a single consonant! That should teach those sodding optimistic, happy-go-lucky peeps a lesson! I sometimes don’t get what’s the big hoo-haa bout possibilities. They are pretty much what this entire world is based on, right? So why is it such a big revelation that anything is possible? ‘Course it is possible. Anything could happen and sometimes it actually does. But, more to the point, since anything is possible, is it also passable? Nevermind the possibility of it occurring, can it please be good enough to be passable?

I can only hope. And pray. And walk around in my patience boots.

They’re a lovely pair but I’ve worn them out…

xx

Be still now
I am with you,
I am deep within you;
You are at peace.
You cannot be harmed;
You will not suffer.
Breathe deeply,
Breathe in the healing love of the universe,
And breathe out the sickness which has taken you.
I am with you.

I miss my dad tonight. And every night. But I somehow always seem to find him in ma’ books, the crannies and nooks of complex crime and the pounding beat of ma’ heart. 

xx

 dark-blue pure silk slip star dress by Beyond Vintage

wish list  

a girl’s allowed to dream right?

xx

This is my third attempt for a starting sentence. First one was too forward, second one was too dark.

I don’t really like waking up to a grey, dull sky, but then again, after all these years, I should have got used to it, right? That is what one would expect of me anyways. After reading Aigli’s post (penandbiscuits.wordpress.com) on a truly remarkable day, it got me thinking. You never really know what’s gonna hit ya, when your eyes make their first lil flicker every morning. You look at the ceiling, then your pillow, then maybe someone’s face who’s sleeping next to you and wait for them to flicker back in response. Sometimes they’ll smile, sometimes they’ll turn to the other side and a few but truly cherished times, they’ll grab hold of ya, lock you in their arms and their breath will be softly tickling your ear.

And that is what we call a defining moment. That is the exact moment when your face feels warmer, you assume your position, foetus style, and you think to yourself “There’s nothing that can make this day a dull one”. Defining moments can last a couple of minutes, a good few hours or even a mere second. You might not know you’re experiencing one, not til it’s over and you then realise what has just happened. But there’s a lucky few who know. And they embrace them moments with longing arms. Like diving deep into the sea and swimming all the way back to the surface to take the biggest of breaths.

Last couple of days, I’ve had a couple of conversations with a couple of peeps (everything comes in pairs, yes) at, what I like to call, bitching o’ clock and I’ve come to realise that there’s a lot of attention-seeking individuals out there, who haven’t actually had a profoundly defining moment for a loooong time. But they do know of their existence, they may have even witnessed one when it comes to someone else right next to them. So, being stuck in their own disappointment and vanity, they desperately try to create a fake one. They flaunt it before everyone’s eyes like there’s no tomorrow, I’m tellin ya! Tis them who’s now in the centre of our rotating planet, in case you were wondering. Not hot lava, spewed liquids and rocks, but them! And they want our eyes, ears, keyboards fixed on them. And they hope to wake the lil green eyed monsters up from inside of us so that we can then define their very existence.

Their precious Montblanc rulebook goes like this (below is a true picture of its first page):

Rule no 1: When in lack of real defining moments, make one up!

Rule no 2: When your life is all bout show, show off some more!

Rule no 3: When one calls your bluff, never acknowledge them!

(Coz God forbid you do! These people are on to you!) 

                              – – –                              

Maybe the world’s wealth, the lush trips, the Louboutin shoes and Mulberry bags belong to the afore-mentioned rulebook holders. But the moments? The moments are ours. Ours to keep, to cherish, to long for.

And that my dearest readers, is worth having a moment for.

xx

p.s. my trusted ol’ typewriter is good n’ runnin, after changing its ink cartridge. So, no more handwriting for now. But clunk clunk clunk and here I go! 

This piece goes out to the most adorable mutt there is out there.

And she deserves her very own font, all different from my other posts, so there. After all, I am using the above-pictured typewriter (what d’you mean that’s not possible?!), so this is a true and accurate reflection of my writings. She is lying in her bed next to me, sighing and looking at me with her sad puppy eyes, coz the freakin rain hasn’t allowed long walks in the parks today. Just a couple of short strolls round the block for, em, the bare dog necessities, and back indoors we were.

“Someone to care for, and to run for, I love Chew-ie

Someone to cuddle, and to ruffle, I love Chew-ie

Someone to walk with, and to talk with, I love Chew-ie

Someone to fall for, and to cry for, I love Chew-ie”

This is our tune and no, we’re not ashamed of it. We also like cheese n’ ham sandwiches, plastic, mini milks, Enders and dirty cop dramas. Yes Sir. And now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a cuppa, some work, a nap and some tail wagging to get back to.

You love us. Really, you do.

xx