4th of September 1999. Saturday. Yesterday, a celebration in the village, ‘A Pazari,’ with rides, fun stalls, Greek music, dancing, laughter and joy on the faces of young and old. I was there too with my camera in hand trying with bursting enthusiasm to capture the moment. But so many things slip away and are lost. Those silent moments when you think no one is looking, my father and his friends, lost cousins, new friends, all milling about watching, listening, smiling contently. Almost as if the whole world for a moment turns its eyes on one small insignificant little Greek town called Konstandia. This morning I walked from Konstandia to Exaplatanos. It is about five kilometres. I did it in quick time. My stamina is returning slowly as I gradually lose the kilos. Although here, like back in Australia I feel myself looking for something. It is a really a bizarre feeling. But I sense it may be something I lost many years ago. Perhaps a piece of my mind or was it my soul. A piece of that happiness which flew away in a moment of rage and now refuses to return. So I search here and there looking for God knows what. I mean what is happiness anyway. Who can tell when a person is truly happy on the inside. Like every other feeling we experience in our lives it does not last. Maybe if I could only find someone. Someone special. Who is able, willing with love and compassion, with love and understanding to fill that terrible void within me. But I know these problems which wash over my mind bringing with the ebb and flow terrible images are specifically designed for me. They are mine alone. Everyday I try to write both in my Diary and perhaps also finish a letter home. Home? I send both pieces of writing outwards to friends including my sister who reside on the otherside of the world getting on with their lives. I try to capture the moment by writing my experiences down on paper then to convey what I am feeling to these people. So that in this way I can share the experience. These two weeks abroad have felt like two months. I try to pack as much as I can into each day. While the nights are something else entirely. We use the night to party. For the last four days now, I have awoken especially early to walk the short distance from Uncle Mito’s bar to a quiet Café in Town. I probably already mentioned this. Anyway, while there I write away the morning while sipping coffee served cold in a tall glass. This drink is actually called a ‘Thrappe.’ Here I have met a youngish girl called Roulla. She works at the ‘Omiros Café’ serving all sorts of drinks. I listen to soft music emanating from thoughtfully positioned speakers above on the ceiling. ‘Yes, it is a nice place.’
Posted on: Fri, 26 Jul 2013 10:30:34 +0000
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