Where are you from?

Where are you from?

This seems like such an easy question, but it's always been difficult for me to answer.

I'm Greek. That's the simplest answer, I guess. But even that's a bit more complicated, because my dad is from a tiny village near Sparta, but I grew up in a village outside Yiannena.

"So where were you born?", you might ask... I was actually born in Philadelphia, in the U.S.A. But I never lived there - to the best of my knowledge, my parents were there on vacation, and I arrived three weeks early.

Kinda on vacation, I guess, because my mom's actually from America - although not Philadelphia, Haddenfield New Jersey.

So I'm half Greek and Half American, you could say. The Greek side is easy - several generations back, from the same area of Lakonia. The American part is much more complicated:

My grandfather was Italian - or, at least, the son of Italian immigrants. His dad was from a village near Torino. His mom was more or less Sicilian, although born in the states.

My grandmother was Polish, mostly, with a bit of Cherokee blood. So yeah, I'm 1/16th Cherokee, which almost sounds like a joke.

My dad is Greek and my mom's American.  I was born in America, but I grew up in Greece. My dad's from Sparta but I grew up in Yiannena.

I grew up between two cultures, never quite belonging to either. Greek in America, American in Greece. From Sparta when I'm in  Yiannena, from Yiannena when I'm in Sparta.

Oh, and I've lived in Athens since 2001...

Where are you from?

The answer has never been "from here", no matter where I am.

Snippets of conversations

too exhausted to cry out my frustration and the anger
and they keep criticizing my decisions my actions
like a pot under pressure i'm suppressing emotion
negativity turns the whole shit even worse..

hidden looks but my words can't express what I'm being
like a piece of the puzzle or a fish in the sea
every day is a wild roller coaster for my feelings
and I hope for the best though it's not what I see

Hey Kiddo

In a way, you are like my firstborn - even though I didn't birth you, even though I didn't meet you until you were 14 years old... Never before has a young person put so much trust in me, never before has anyone, in a very real way, put their life in my hands...

You scared me, Kiddo. You terrified me a couple of times. When you told me of taking the gun in your hands and putting it to your temple... I wish you'd called me, kiddo. I wish you'd realized more fully that when I said anytime I really meant it.

I love you, kiddo... I don't know why exactly, but it runs very deep. The thought of you lying in a pool of your own blood... I can't even finish the thought... I love you kiddo. Even though you broke your promise. Is it arrogant to think that this love may be the reason you're still alive?

You love me, kiddo. I have no doubt that you do. And maybe it was this love that made you listen, that made you notice that I cared, that made my caring mean something.

That's why I love you, kiddo. Because you make every gesture mean something. Because when I admitted that I had to do research to figure out how to help you, instead of knocking me off the pedestal, it nearly made you cry to think that I went to so much trouble for you. Because the hours of happiness something gives you are more than the amount of time it takes to do it. Because the box I made you still has value two years later, while most others would have quasi-forgotten about it by now...

You're 18 now, kiddo. And I don't know if you realize it, but this is thrilling and terrifying at the same time. But your parents will still fight you hard for control. And you will probably think that they deserve it, as long as you are living under their roof. But it's your life, not theirs. And I think their threats are empty. But, if they're not, and the price they ask starts to seem too high, remember: you will always have a place with us.

Rant # ... It's been a while...

I'm dusting this blog off to rant about something that's been on my mind a lot lately: people with special needs (or whatever the PC way of calling them is nowadays). I don't know quite how this obsession was created in me - possibly the brother of one of my students, or a girl who lives across the street from work. The thing is, I've been reading a lot of special needs parents blogs lately - mostly kids with CP, the Down syndrome kids still freak me out a little.

It's important to state here that I live in Greece. People with disabilities are largely invisible here. Navigating any city with a wheelchair would be a nightmare, but there is also a sense of shame attached. I mean, my god, look up Leros or -

I got sidetracked. I was looking for a video I'd seen on youtube, and ran into this article ... - anyway, the situation here is dire.

(Bear in mind that I kinda get freaked out by people who aren't normal. Any visible deformity makes me  feel uncomfortable. But I'm working on it...)

-Back to my rant, after a short break-

What triggered this was a post I read on lovethatmax. Now, first of all, let me clarify something: I don't think transplant decisions should be based on a diagnosis like this, but rather handled case-by-case. Do I think an  adult who can care for him/her self should take priority over someone who can't? Yes.

But what bugged me about the post was the cry against discrimination. According to dictionary.com:

dis·crim·i·na·tion

   [dih-skrim-uh-ney-shuhn]  Show IPA

noun

1.

an act or instance of discriminating.

2.

treatment or consideration of, or making a distinction in favor of or against, a person or thing based on the group, class, orcategory to which that person or thing belongs rather than onindividual merit: racial and religious intolerance and discrimination.

3.

the power of making fine distinctions; discriminating  judgment:She chose the colors with great discrimination.

4.

Archaic . something that serves to differentiate.

Notice, a discrimination is in favour of or against somebody. So, when disabled children get to skip the lines at Disneyworld, it's discrimination. When they get a job in favour of a more qualified candidate, it's discrimination. Heck, when you ask me to say "hello" to your child it's discrimination - I wouldn't say "hello" to a normal kid. So, these parents are all for the in favour of  but vehemently against the against. But can  you have it both ways?

Random Rant #18

I haven't ranted for a while... I haven't vented in a while... and it's not as if there is nothing to rant about...

Is irrational childish behavior justifiable as a response to somebody else's bad behavior? Is it OK not to apologize for doing something wrong, if you feel the other person will never apologize for what they did wrong? I should be over the whole thing by now, I should no longer care about someone so ... words fail me. Why can't emotions be more rational? Is it a hormone thing? WTF is going on?

Random Rant #17

Missing you is like a hole in my soul. I try to patch it, but it's impossible, anything I put over it is immediately sucked into the void. The soul is like the universe, infinite and constantly expanding. The only way to handle the hole is to walk away from it as much as possible. Then, due to the distance, it seems smaller. It SEEMS smaller, but it continues to leak energy... and the jet stream created draws me close to the hole again. Missing you is like missing a part of me. It always happens when we part - when we are apart. I get stuck in a zone between fantasy and reality. And you refuse to say it - even when I do. Why? Don't you feel it? Don't you mean it? Mean - mean - I mean... - It's mean... - In the mean time... - A means to an end... - so many meanings... I am lost. I am supposed to assume, to understand, but I never KNOW. Vacillitating is like being on a swing - from front to back, from high to low. Or like a trampoline, constantly exchanging the earth for the sky and vice versa. It is heaven to soar, hell to fall. Miraculously bouncing instead of crashing.

Random Rant #16

I have missed writing... I have missed it, but I had frozen for months. I was reluctant to unleash the torrent of words that are hiding, lurking inside me. It became too real for me, the names now have faces, and relationships have to be forged. At a scale I have never been comfortable with... Even now I hesitate to be real, to express myself sincerely and honestly. You still exist in the back of my mind somewhere. I have been pushing you to the back, and you have been fighting your way to the front. And when you stop trying, that's when you rise to the surface. Because I have let my guard down. My guard - who is my guard? I miss having a guardian... There is chaos around me and I want to join it. I want to be a part of it, but it scares me. I want my life to get on track again - I had it, but then I lost it... But there are worse problems than mine out there...

I am cold - but I am always cold now... The situation is out of hand, but I don't know whether the solution is getting it in hand, or just letting it run wild, run free... I am cold and hungry, but it is my choice to be cold and hungry - there are others that lack that choice. And what do I do? What do most people do?


Nothing.