diary – Lessons I learned after I turned 30

I’m somebody else…

Saturday, 21st of November, 2020

Well, you look like yourself

But you’re somebody else

Only it ain’t on the surface

Well, you talk like yourself

No, I hear someone else though

Now you’re making me nervous

I’ve been listening to this in the morning and it hit me hard when I realised that’s pretty much the conversation happening in my head lately.

It’s been a while since I last sat down and scribbled my thoughts on (virtual) paper. Truth be told there’s been chaos in my head for the last year or so and making decisions doesn’t come easy for me, which made everything even worse (the global pandemic didn’t help either!) but now things are more settled, I can finally at least attempt to figure out what’s going on.

I loved my year in Italy despite its ups and downs and the incredibly hard work. I met amazing people, I made amazing friends and learned a lot (I’ll write about that soon, I think it’ll be helpful for newly qualified EFL teachers). But I realised I needed to try something different and I was also in desperate need for me time, which was minimal during my first year of teaching. Yeah, it’s as hard as you’d imagine and even worse if you teach for a well-respected, busy school.

I was planning to work part-time for a while and devote the rest of my time on all my hobbies and interests and then a job that seemed perfect for me came up. It combined my love of variety, my urge to help others and my never-ending wanderlust so I thought I’d apply although I didn’t think I’d get it.

If you live in Cyprus you are probably aware it’s almost impossible to land a decent job unless you know someone to recommend you but I wanted to make it on my own. Miraculously, I did. It was painful of course but it was worth it (I wrote about that too a few weeks ago).

So, what now?

I’m certain I made the right decision but I’m also still VERY confused, conflicted and not sure who I really am. I’ve written a little about it before, it’s like I’m two different people , living abroad for years does that to you and what’s worse I miss all my people, my nearest and dearest who know me well and thankfully keep reminding me every now and then who I am. I desperately need it now my confidence has taken a hit. It’s tough to be confident when you are that confused.

The truth is I feel more like an expat now I moved back to Cyprus, more than I ever felt 10 years in the UK.

I don’t know much for now, I have to find the right balance (I’ll start making more videos and posts on English and mental health and travel very soon, as soon as I enlist all my coping mechanisms!) but one thing I know for sure (thanks to my new manager who gave me such great advice during our interview I’ll never forget), moving back home comes with compromises, you’ll have to adapt to the culture again, but never lose your identity and who you really are.

And that’s my advice to you if you are in a similar situation.

I dedicate this post to all my friends who I haven’t seen for months or years (more than a year now). I miss you all and can’t wait to see you and hug you tight one day in the near future.

Namaste

Eleni

Funerals are so surreal…

On Wednesday, 31st of July, the first week of my CELTA course, I received that dreaded phone call, my little sister letting me know my grandpa had died. A few days later I had a chat with one of my tutors and he inevitably asked me how I felt. My least favourite question at the time. It was the first time I didn’t cry when I was asked that after grandpa’s death and I just said:

‘I hope my uncle doesn’t die too, if that happens, I’m out. I’m definitely quitting this course. I won’t be able to handle it’.

I immediately changed subject. I couldn’t even imagine it might happen anytime soon. He had just been diagnosed with cancer and was recovering from his operation before starting chemo.

Less than two months later, my sister, my mum and I went to see my uncle Spyros at the hospital. His operation was successful and he had his first chemo, which caused him unbearably painful sores, he couldn’t speak or eat much, but his mind and spirit were still strong. He was even joking. I genuinely thought at that moment that he would definitely recover. He would never give up.

Exactly a week later, his health deteriorated (he unfortunately caught an infection when his immune system was at its lowest) and he was asleep or unconscious most of the time. He could hear though… so my sister and I were to visit.

We didn’t make it. Just before we were to leave for the hospital, I received that dreaded phone call. Uncle Spyros died. Ι burst into tears, devastated. He didn’t want to die, that bloody cancer and chemo killed him.

The kindest, sweetest, funniest, most generous man, always smiling. We all loved him to bits. How is he now gone??

My mind couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. How is that possible? How did we lose both my grandpa and my uncle in less than two ? How can my aunt, who used to live with both, deal with this?

How is it possible that less than a year ago, at Christmas time, we all had a laugh at grandpa’s house and now they are both gone??

Death and funerals are awkward, sad, surreal, especially in the Greek Orthodox religion.

I was asked to write the eulogy a couple of hours before the funeral. Nobody had the strength to do it and I couldn’t not do it. His son Christos, with tears in his eyes shared some beautiful sentences and I did the rest.

I wept and wept writing it so I asked my sister, Stella, to read it, as she rarely cries in front of others but I was going to be right next to her the whole time, in case she breaks.

After a short, half an hour service, it was time for the eulogy.

Stella and I went up. She read the first sentence and then burst into tears. I looked around, his three beloved sons, my aunties, my mum, my cousin, everyone weeping. Flashbacks from the last time I had to read a eulogy, my aunt’s funeral 4 years ago kept coming to my mind.

I needed to do it for my uncle. With tears streaming down my face and with breaking voice I took over and managed to read it until the end.

‘Until we meet again. Rest in peace our beloved Spyro’…

And then the priest said… ‘Δεύτε τελευταίον ασπασμόν’ (‘the last embrace/goodbye’) where for the last time we say goodbye. Probably the worst but also the most necessary part of the service. A final peek at the dead, to help the brain realise their spirit has left their body. (in theory anyway, he just looked he was peacefully asleep). Closure.

I’ve been grieving for my uncle for the last week but because I never said goodbye to my grandpa, I still feel he went somewhere else and he will soon be back. It’s crazy.

After the funeral, probably the most surreal part of a Greek Orthodox funeral took part, the burial. We followed the car carrying him to the cemetery. There the priest read a few prayers and then his sons, my aunt and other relatives said their very last goodbye. He was lowered into the grave and then bread and other random things including a plate the priest broke there and then were also put in the coffin, before we all threw a bit of soil and the graveyard people did the rest. Customs I don’t really know much about.

After the burial, my grandpa’s home where a week before we gathered for grandpa’s 40 day memorial, was bursting with people who came to pay their respects. Bittersweet moments, sharing stories of my uncle, grieving him whilst at the same time celebrating life. A cruel reminder life is too short and we should enjoy and appreciate every minute.

‘Why are all crying, uncle Spyros is just resting and we will all see him soon, when we die? My 7 year old nephew, Angelos, who uncle Spyros adored, asked me with his little eyes full of questions on what he just witnessed.

‘Because we’ll miss him, we don’t know when we’ll see him again.’ I said. It was hard to answer most of the questions he had, I didn’t know the answers either, this was the only one I had a genuine response for.

A lot more happened this week, I’ll tell you soon, but the biggest and saddest was uncle’s Spyros death.

We’ll miss you θειε μου. Until we meet again.

Eleni

Nothing stays the same and nothing changes… (part 2)

Thursday afternoon…

I’m ready. I put my Spotify on and After all comes up first… ‘tou tou tou tou tou tou...After all I really love you‘. I smile. I loved this song since the first moment I heard it, when a friend sent it to me a while ago. It never fails to cheer me up.

I packed all I need and waiting for the little one to pick me up. First stop, her Italian oral exam. Somehow half an hour later I find myself sitting with her and her course mate in the classroom. Stefano invited me in, I smiled and nodded. What a lovely man. Funky yellow trousers, cool glasses, a sweet, polite voice.

I’m surprised how much Italian I remember. I’m so proud of my little sis and her classmate. They did brilliantly.

I chat to a couple of her classmates afterwards, nervously waiting outside. I wish I could tell them that none of this really matters… Enjoy your life little ones and don’t worry about exams. But would have I listened if I was told that ten years ago when I was in their shoes?

Now… what should I have for dinner on Tuesday when I arrive back in Southampton late and exhausted? What about moving? What if I don’t find a place and have nowhere to stay, what if the agency messes up me and I have to stay another two months? (Cold sweat…) Stop it! Focus!

Now the exam is over it’s time to head to the theatre for a final rehearsal and the show.

There’s no signal in the theatre and I can’t use my phone. That’s for the best. It can be my worst distraction sometimes…

A few hours later…

Tickets sorted, all ready, it’s showtime!

It all went well minus a couple of hiccups. I feel bad I didn’t recognise the Vice Chancellor straight away. I’ve only seen a photo of him the day before and there was a mess up with the tickets… I didn’t instantly figure it out. But all well.

I’m so proud for my little sister and everyone involved in the musical. None of them is a professional singer or an actor but they put together a brilliant show. Now, let’s help pack, tidy up and go home…

I can’t unlock the car, why can’t I unlock the car?

I knew it! The long beep I’ve heard earlier when we were rushing out of the car was the lights. I told her. She thought it was the door…

Now it’s half past midnight and other than one more person, who didn’t have any equipment to help us start jump the car anyway there’s no one else left at the car park.

After about an hour, we are finally home. A friend came to the rescue and it all ended well. God I’m exhausted…

Friday noon…

I finally got some sleep. I still feel drained but there’s no rest for the wicked.

The little sis and I pop to the shops for some essentials. The guy at the newsagents starts a conversation… Surprised, I stare for a second and then I remember where I am and how people are different here. I smile and make a joke. I’ve adapted again, a couple of days before I’m about to leave…

Friday afternoon…

I’m meeting two of my oldest best friends. We’ve known each other since high school. We haven’t changed much, other than carrying our bruises and scars of the last 18 years, hopeful but more realistic and scared to dream as big…

And… a lovely surprise! A friend I haven’t seen for ten years, a friend I spent endless evenings just driving around town with, nights out and days at the beach as a naive and careless 20 year old. So happy to see him. He looks exactly the same. He talks exactly the same, strikingly honest as always but he as well more mature and pragmatic about life.

Saturday morning…

This is the only time during my short visit the five of us are all together and it’s hilariously chaotic as always. We go for a walk at the beach, still a bit too cold for a swim but perfect for a Saturday stroll and lunch. I can’t stop humming ‘tell me how to be in this world, tell me how to breathe in and feel no hurt’…

I cherish these rare moments, that’s what they are nowadays, rare and they will get rarer the older we get.

It’s funny how as a teen, even a young 20 year old, we dread family time with our parents and our siblings but the older we get, the more we realise the fragility of life and how thing may change at any minute, the more we appreciate the sacrifices they made and still make for us, their selfless love and the only thing they want in return is for us to be happy and spend time with them…

Saturday afternoon…

I finally get to see the only best friend I couldn’t see at Christmas. We sit at a cafe for hours chatting, with a coffee in hand, like we used to back at uni.

A few hours later we are having beers right next to the Faneromeni church with her fiance, his brother and my sister. It feels like a scene from Boyhood… but a few years later, now some 30 year olds who’ve known each other for years, sitting at a bar, just outside one of the oldest churches in Nicosia, having a beer, still troubled and desperate seeking the meaning of life whilst reminiscing… What a beautiful, surreal way to end the day.

Sunday noon…

No matter what you have planned for the day, there is always time for a cup of coffee and almost always the company grows at the last minute.

Sunday afternoon…

After some shopping and… a coffee with friends and sisters it’s time for my godson’s belated birthday. I’m so happy I’ve been to his first birthday last year and now his second. He’s grown so much and every time I see him our bond is getting stronger and stronger…

Pappou Costa and my aunties are here, my cousin’s little angels and her husband and relatives are here. I enjoy every moment, despite the mayhem and the noise, it actually somehow makes it better…

Monday noon…

I’m sitting at the Uni’s cafe with my mum. I’m on my laptop writing a post, the first part of this blog and she is knitting rosaries. It’s quiet, peaceful…It has just rained but the sun is out again. It never stays away for long on this island…

Monday afternoon…

I take the little sister on an educational trip down old Nicosia. I’m surprised how little she knows about the island’s history but I’m glad I’m teaching her what I’ve known for years… Up the Siakolas tower for a panoramic view of the city, one of the few spots you can see over ‘the other side’ without having to show your passport to cross the green line, the only divided capital in the world, down the old town, the Archbishop’s place that was half burned during the coup in 1974, the house of the dragoman Hadjigeorgakis Kornesios who, although working with the Turks, secretly helped his fellow Greek Cypriots in the 1800’s, when the country where under the Ottoman empire…

Tuesday morning…

My throat feels sore… typical. I’m getting a cold just as I’m about to leave. I try not to think about it.

I say goodbye to the family and this little man…

and my sister drops me off at the airport. I think I prefer it to just get dropped off rather than saying goodbye to my sisters and my mum to the gate. Still emotional but makes it easier to leave.

Time to go back, but I feel I needed a few more days… to tackle my overthinking… Remember, one day at a time…

Remember… nothing stays the same and nothing changes…

Remember… you got this…

Namaste

Eleni