Look at the stars, look how they shine for you.

The sky is full of stars tonight. They light up the mountains that surround this little village. My refuge. A place that I can’t explain or fully describe my love to. My addiction to. 

It’s my last night in the flat. I’ve managed to pack almost everything and my room – that soon will belong to someone else – feels so empty. I wish there was someone else in bed with me to hold me.

As much as I am looking forward to my summer adventure, by leaving this place, I leave my safety zone and it’s always like ripping of a bandaid leaving here. At least I know that I will always be coming back. Just maybe not like this. Apart for the 7 weeks between seasons that I went to Sweden, I’ve lived here for almost a year and a half now… Needless to say, the bandaid has never been this hard to take off. 

A x

Memories of my father.

Part two: The pre stroke Norrköping years

I don’t remember many details of the first three years we lived in Sweden. I’ve repressed most of it or subconsciously modified the memories. Moving away from my home was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. I never felt completely at home in Sweden. I did start to see it as as safe place after a while, but it took me a long time to adapt. The person who was actually leaving his home country and going to a country that he already once had realised he couldn’t live in, the person that was supposed to find it the hardest out of the three of us – my dad – was the one that made the move easier for me and my mum. He kept a positive attitude throughout the whole thing. Was always encouraging us and tried to do the best out of our situation. We didn’t have much money at the start, but we were used to that from the winters in Greece. We knew how to make the best out of nothing and my dad was a true magician at this. He would take the cheapest, simplest ingredients and make a delicious meal and serve it as though it was a feast. He started to paint again. And do little drawings. Oh, how I wish that I had inherited his artistic skills. They all went to my brothers, I’m afraid. I got the extreme social, attention seeking side… I remember walking hand in hand with him on the streets of Norrköping, having to skip to keep in time with his long strides. He would suddenly just cross the street and drag me with him. He got jobs as a chef in various restaurants. He suddenly started liking chicken and ice-cream. He was only smoking in the kitchen, but according to my friends the whole flat smelled of cigarette smoke… He decided he didn’t like the wall paper in our kitchen, so one day he painted the walls white, without checking with the landlord. He always always always did the best of the situation and tried so hard to make it work for us, to adapt to living in Sweden, to bring as much Greece into our lives as possible. Even if the years 2000 to 2003 are a blur in my head – a constant plea to go back home, a constant struggle to make friends, to fit in, to understand the mentality of the swedish kids, to make being the shortest kid in school a cool thing, to stand the cold and the dark, to get better at reading and writing in Swedish – even though they probably were the three hardest years of my life, I had the best cheerer in the entire universe, the most trustworthy, safe, comforting and encouraging arms in the world to dive into. I had PapaParis.

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A x

Memories of my father.

Part one: The Crete years

My father, the leftie, unreligious man from Athens, managed to somehow charm his way into every (well, almost every…) villager’s heart. He was always the centre of attention. Tallish, skinny, always clad in jeans and a shirt (with a pocket for his cigarettes) and wearing a big toothy smile on his lips. He had his chair in the restaurant next to the cashier, the boss’s seat. He smoked a lot and drank a fair amount of whisky, but almost all my memories of him are of a very happy man who wanted good things for every one. He wasn’t perfect, he got a bit too drunk sometimes, he could be rude and say stupid things, but he was always there for his friends, even if they sometimes took advantage of him and his naive kindness. He took every opportunity to show me off. He always called me “koukla mou” which directly translates to my doll, but also means my pretty girl. There was always time for a hug, a kiss, a cuddle. Good job my mum was such a good boundary setter, because my dad could have easily spoiled me rotten without her. Every summer when my brothers came to see us, there was such a sense of pride and joy in his face. If I can say so myself, I think in his eyes that his children were his biggest achievement. After school I would go to the restaurant and when it was time for his siesta, we would go get some souvlaki and feast at home. He then had his nap and locked the door, so I couldn’t go out without him knowing. But I soon found out where he hid the key and snuck out to play. In the evenings, on the sofa in the living room, I would massage his back as we watched football. He taught me to tell people that we believed in the 12 Gods of Mount Olymp (Greek Mythology) and that if I could vote, I would vote for The Communist Party of Greece and had a somehow proud laugh every time I manifested this to his friends. Other than that he taught me compassion and to always stand up for myself and my friends. Although the only time he would let me see him cry, was when he was watching an old sad greek movie, I know that he actually was a very sensitive man. An artist. But he was also very proud and set on keeping his charming strong image. He reminds me of someone else I know…

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A x

Taylor Swift – Everything Has Changed ft. Ed Sheeran

Feeling very romantic today…
And also: children! The best people on this earth. As long as you give them unconditional love, boundaries and let them be themselves no matter what!
My motherly instincts are so awake right now. My biological clock is ticking like crazy. Not that I’m getting old and it’s time to have children, just that I really want some. Every time I see a baby my uterus is shouting! Having a baby doesn’t at all fit into my life at the moment though, so the amazing children and hope of love in this video will do for now.

A x

Friendzoned forever.

How can I still be the friend in every situation at 23? I mean sure, it’s a compliment, I guess, that people confide in me… I do generally like it… But I’m still the one they would rather speak to for hours about other girls than just kiss. I sound like a fucking 13-year-old drama queen right now… But it’s about time that people who are attracted to me come out of their holes! WHERE ARE YOUUUU? I’m ready! For seriousness. And stuff. Come out come out WHERE EVER you aaaare!

 

#confessionsdramaqueen (not the stupid Lindsey Lohan movie)

A x

New Husband.

I usually fangirl on here: Hellenica.tumblr.com, but this announcement calls for a proper blog post.

So, seeing as Daniel Radcliffe now is a druggie and doesn’t even look good anymore, except for in very edited photo shoot pics like this one, my 12-year-old self’s dream of marrying him has faded. Furthermore, the tragic death of Cory Monteith (for the record also drug related…) had me thinking that I would never be married to a handsome famous actor.

But, guys, you do not have to worry any longer! I have found my new future husband! He is not only weirdly handsome, but also and amazing actor. He has the voice of a velvet godlike creature, he’s as british as they come and I’m planning a spring wedding. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my latest obsession (thanks a lot!) the amazing Mr. Benedict Cumberbatch

Overdramatic fangirling plans for the future over.

A x

MY UTERUS IS BURSTING!

Probably my biggest wish is for every man in the world to at least once experience menstrual pains. It is the worst pain a human being can ever experience. It’s like a constant cramp just bellow your stomach. A thrusting cramp. It doesn’t allow you to eat. No position – neither standing, sitting or laying down – is comfortable. No clothes are comfortable. You can’t concentrate on anything and you lose all energy and willpower. Oh and it hurts too. A lot. It should be a penalty for people who go to prison for rape. Constant menstrual cramps.

Oh and did I mention that while I’m experiencing this excruciating pain, blood gushes out of my vagina!!! It aint pretty, man! Think about this the next time you call women weak! 

But in the end, this is what allows me to be able to produce new life! (Granted one needs a man somewhere in the process for this to happen, the woman does all the hard work, the man just has a nice couple of minutes!) And no matter how cliché it may sound – THAT is a friggin miracle!

A x

The Shooting Star

The stars are shining just as bright in your part of town, aren’t they?
Are you, like me, stood on your balcony, resting in the chaos that reigned?
Hello! Are you there? Hello?
Hello, is there anything left?

Shooting star
The shooting star is me
And you’re the sky that I fell from that day.
Shooting star
The shooting star is me
And you’re the sky for me every day.

Tired to death.
The winter’s short days are longer this year.
Dandy, oh Dandy!
Don’t call! Don’t write! Lock inside the eagerness in you!
Hello! Are you there? Are you still there?
Hello, is there anything left?

Shooting star
The shooting star is me
And you’re the sky that I fell from that day.
Shooting star
The shooting star is me
And you’re the sky that I fell from today.
Shooting star
The shooting star is me
And you’re the sky for me every day.

["Stjärnfallet" written and performed by Markus Krunegård.

Translation: Athina Fridh Paleologos

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XphihRWyScI original song with swedish lyrics]

A x