tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66955872466056085382024-03-05T19:46:50.991-08:00Livin' in the wildlivihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-59307638519586985082023-12-24T09:43:00.000-08:002023-12-24T09:43:40.793-08:00Blog no.31 - Don't Panic<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div> A couple years ago I visited my father's really, impossibly remote village on the boarder with Turkey and Bulgaria, former home of my late grandparents, and place where I frequently summered when I was little. A sense of excitement and fear overcame me as we approached, both of which eventually gave way to a sort of topical melancholy that imbues the barren-from-people Northern Greece countryside, once we finally arrived. It was exactly as I remembered it, but at the same time it was nothing like it at all. </div><div> Everything seemed to be in its right place, the layout was the same, the location of the house was the same, with the only glaring omission being the cut down walnut tree that used to tower all over the yard and served as a seasonal swing once you hung a rope and an old car wheel on it. Outside, the whole place was overridden by wild vegetation, and the inside became something like a housing project for an assortment of spiders, flies, wasps and occasionally, small lizards. The biggest change of all however, was the fact that the people who used to live there now don't. I guess the new tiny tenants made sense in a way, life always finds a way to fill the gaps. It had been fifteen years since I last visited the place, but my memories of the last time I was there were still quite vivid.</div><div> I remembered pulling onto the entrance all that time ago and having my grandpa welcome us with a big smile across his face, and my always grumpy but equally loving grandma hugging us one by one to the point of asphyxiation. They would then sit us down by the big walnut tree and stuff our faces with various fruits and vegetables from the yard, or fresh fried eggs from their free roaming chickens. I remembered sitting next to my grandpa while he was driving his tractor, and then sitting on his lap trying to generate enough force to change the gear on that heavy-ass gearbox. I remembered going to the nearby river with the whole family, catching a ton of river fish and decorating small tree branches with them as if they were fish-shaped Christmas tree ornaments, in order to be able to carry them back home and feed both ourselves and the local kittens, who seemed to enjoy the river fish way more than we did. I remembered snapping shots of said kittens with my then new, now lost, digital camera, and then taking a rusty old bike on long rides with the other grandparent-visiting kids in the village. I would get back to the house by the evening, spend a few hours reading Harry Potter and playing on my brother's PSP (which I can now confess that I did, in fact, break), and waiting until it's time to hit the village square to drink some Coke, eat some pork skewers and play hide-and-seek with my friends. It was a nice, simple, boring routine, but I did love doing it.</div><div> Visiting after all these years was nothing like that. When I last visited, I was a short, thin, feisty little kid with ambitions of becoming a football player (even though I sucked loads) or making video games or drawing comic books or whatever little boys used to obsess about back then. I think I might have visited during my "wanting to become a comic book artist" phase, due to carrying a bunch of semi-ripped apart Asterix & Obelix and Lucky Luke comics with me, gifts from my Greek cousins. In that admittedly brief but quite interesting phase, I was obsessed with comics and comic strips, I even did a whole ass presentation on comics, complete with a very professional interview with a guy who was at the time doing political satire for a local newspaper, and a PowerPoint on why politics would be more interesting if presented in comic book fashion. In retrospect, even though I didn't think it through, I have to give it to little me for comparing then prominent political figures to Porky Pig and Bugs Bunny. It's just objectively funny. In case you haven't noticed, I didn't become a football player (although I did stop sucking eventually), I didn't become a video game designer and the attempt I made in creating comic book characters was met with the kind of shock and awe that only your parents can give you when they think "this shit kinda sucks". In my defense, it's really hard to actually do what you think you'll be doing when you're ten. Hell it's hard to even <i>know</i> what you want to do at twenty. Or thirty. Or ever for that matter. </div><div> Despite all that, I was still content with the version of myself that showed up, as it was, up to that point, the best one so far. The village felt weirdly empty and I just wasn't sure if it was because everything felt bigger when I could barely qualify for the "have to be this tall to ride" slides, or if people just stopped visiting. The streets seemed narrower, the village square seemed smaller and not quite as loud, the one tavern that was left had us as the lonesome guests. Yet, I didn't feel the kind of sadness when you feel you've lost something, or the longing that you feel when you get hit by a wave of nostalgia, I felt something more akin to having finished a really good book. When you're reading the final few remarks, and you flip through the pages yearning for an additional bit of story, but there is none; <i>this is it</i>. Going back felt like closing the cover and putting the book back on the bookshelf. </div><div> Back in that tavern I felt the need, for the first time in my life, to smoke a cigarette in front of my parents. It's quite odd since I was 27, but it was kind of a breakthrough for me. It wasn't a sad or lonely cigarette, it was one that just made sense. Last couple of days in my dad's village I haven't visited for 15 years, being by far the youngest of the adults that were present. Yeah, a smoke break made sense. I lit it up away from the table, both to not upset my parents and to just get away for a bit and take it all in, the emptiness of the village tends to accentuate everything else. The silence - cricket concerto aside - was deafening. The sky looked as starry as ever. What I appreciate in these small patches of civilization is the relative lack of light pollution, even going a couple of meters away from the central square you could distinguish constellations you wouldn't even dream of in the city. During that short smoke break I just appreciated all the memories that were attached with this place, the games with the other kids, the river swims, the goddamn mosquitos, everything. It was a chapter of my life I'd forgotten about, and one I was glad to revisit.</div><div> It's actually not that bad going back to places you've forgotten about or ones that fill you with nostalgia, it's quite comforting really. You've already read that book, but you can now appreciate how it felt to read all those years ago. It might not be what you expected it to be, but it feels a bit like time travelling. You see multiple versions of yourself experience similar events, only the latest version has complete knowledge of what happens at the end. I hope my younger self would be proud of my older self. My older self, if he could, would whisper in my younger self's ear: "Everything will be alright." And it will be. Maybe not now, but eventually.</div><div><div>
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livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-84984493370796202622020-01-11T09:38:00.002-08:002023-08-03T05:54:12.826-07:00Blog no.30: Snow <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear solid water fans,<br />
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It's been a year and a half since my last one more or less. Why am I taking time off my busy day to write this you're asking? No? Too bad cause I'm telling you anyways. Well, first of all I'm slightly sick so this time it's not frowned upon to stay inside in a Saturday night (as if that ever stopped me) and second of all, nobody cares so let's move on. Is this one really about snow you'll ask me? The answer is...no. Kinda, but not really. Besides that awful pun, I just wanted to pay homage to one of my favourite bands who I'll be seeing again after 8 years, this time with an older and a bit more appreciative view.</div>
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One thing you have to know about me is that I absolutely love snow. I mean, who doesn't? It's white and fluffy and you can hurl it at people without risking assault charges. It's rare where I'm from which makes it's few appearances special, kinda like whenever Janice came on Friends: you appreciated her at first but then you just wanted to curl her into a ball and throw her on stuff. I become such a little kid when I see some snow that I want to punch myself in the face.</div>
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The most underappreciated part of snowfall is the aftermath. We didn't get many (if any) snowfalls back in Cyprus but I've been fortunate enough to move to a city with a slightly more favourable climate, so a few winters in it finally happened. It felt just like walking into a teenager boy's bedroom in the 00's after his family switched to a DSL internet connection: everything was covered in white. Now, Athens is not the prettiest nor the cleanest city, but I love it nonetheless. After a snowfall though, all the ugliness and trash and imperfections are covered by a deep layer of fluffy, white snow. I mean it's still got some trash underneath, but don't we all? Everything looks so clean, calm, perfect, you feel a bit bad disturbing it at first so you just sit and appreciate it for a bit. You then make huge balls of it, stack it a meter high, stick a carrot and some buttons on it, and you give it a name to make sure that it becomes a person before it dies a miserable death the following morning. </div>
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So this blog isn't really about snow, shocker I know, but rather about clean slates. It's something all of us need at one point of our life or another, some in multiple points of their lives. Some do it every year, but they call it "New Year's Eve", a day to drink our livers off and make resolutions that last shorter than that one carton of milk in my fridge. I'm not very fond of New Year's anymore, I haven't been for the last few years due them being regularly shitty for me, but I've decided to take the less cynical approach this time around and accept that the day does serve a purpose, just like any other arbitrary holiday. </div>
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However silly might seem that we celebrate another year around the sun, when in reality nothing changes but the dates on our calendars, it's still a nice checkpoint to which you can add things that have changed for you. You don't see anyone doing "Best movies of March 2019 - February 2020", it just doesn't make sense. A year is a pretty decent time-frame to see how you've fared, and I've learned to appreciate that in itself, even though I'm still rather skeptical about paying a small fortune to go out for drinks with my friends as opposed to any other day of the year. </div>
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For me it's been pretty damn decent. I've learned that it's okay to feel bad sometimes, and it's more than okay to take time to relax and do nice things for yourself, more commonly known as "Treat yo'self". I've lowered the number of times I have to go through exams in my damn university to single digits, I've had a kick-ass girlfriend for the whole year and I've finally moved from my lovely apartment, among other things. I was expecting the moving to be more, well, moving for me but I was surprised how easy it was for me to let go. I made almost 7 years worth of memories in that apartment, a few bad ones but mostly great, though I guess after taking a whole damn month to clean it, sell my furniture, move all my stuff to another apartment and deal with the shitty-ass owner of the house and his snobby wife, it felt cathartic seeing it for the last time, placing the key on the counter and imagining Jefferson Airplane's "Embryonic journey" playing in the background. It felt like turning a page, like a New Year's of sorts. It felt like fresh snow on a cold winter day. A clean slate. </div>
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It's always fun reminiscing times of the past with joy, even times that didn't seem so joyous the first time around. When I was in the Netherlands visiting my sister a few years ago on New Year's Eve, sick to my core and sitting by myself on the attic, watching the fireworks by the window I felt kinda sad, like I was feeling pity for myself. Looking back though, all I remember is drinking beers with my sister, binge watching Avatar the last airbender under some blankets and playing video games with a friend of mine, and that's a damn fine way to spend your Christmas, if you ask me. Bad memories tend to fade, good memories stay with you forever. If you're stuck in the past you'll never be able to create new ones so, like I did on my last day of moving, tear that wall down and move on. It was plaster, but still.</div>
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P.S. Since I made a point about top 10 lists of the year, but I haven't seen 10 films worthy of my top 10 list, here's my top 9. </div>
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9. Booksmart<br />
8. I lost my body<br />
7. Joker<br />
6. Dolemite is my name<br />
5. Klaus<br />
4. Ad Astra<br />
3. Once upon a time... in Hollywood<br />
2. Marriage Story<br />
1. Parasite</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">2021 Edit: <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-40905695309932452152018-10-28T17:12:00.002-07:002018-10-28T17:17:41.790-07:00Blog no. 29: No surprises<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear nightcrawlers,<br />
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You can never know how things will work out in the end. So many variables fall into play, a butterfly flaps its wings and I suddenly decide to order pizza instead of burgers, or something of that sort. It's fascinating thinking about how much a single event can change the course of your life, or the universe, or everything, really. A single book can change your whole worldview and shape your future, every single encounter builds up towards your life path.<br />
At points you will face your worst enemy: hindsight. With 20/20 vision we can all make perfect life choices and live happily ever after with rainbows and butterflies and all that crap, but the harsh reality is that we don't have that luxury. It's like when you're taking off your glasses, and after a while you're unable to find them because you're not wearing your glasses. Kinda like waking up and trying to make coffee but needing coffee to wake up and make the damn thing. And you're searching, and everything's a blurry mess, and you're thinking how great life was when you had your glasses on, hoping you had another pair just for these occasions.<br />
Humans are greedy creatures, we will always downplay a situation because we could have gotten more out of it. Someone gives us a choice between two suitcases full of money, and even though we end up richer, we will be frustrated that we picked the smallest amount instead of being happy we actually got a positive net gain. I don't judge us, it's just who we are, but living your life in "what ifs" is not optimal since it hinders your ability to choose wisely in the future, sort of like a hot hand fallacy. When you keep scoring 3-pointers you keep shooting instead of thinking about the alternatives. That's why it's important to fail every once in a while, when you start missing those shots you start thinking more clearly and weighing your choices instead of just shooting on instict.<br />
I've had my fair share of luck and misfortune, and most of the times these two seemed to overlap. I hurt my knee pretty badly a few years back playing football, and I although my chances in making it professionally were negative, it was something I considered myself good at and something I enjoyed doing. At the time of my injury I was going out with a girl I met at a party, and it just so happened that a few hours before our second date I had to inform her that I can't meet her and thus cancel the date. Unfortunately, a week later I was leaving for Cyprus for the summer, thus the second date never took place and we eventually lost touch during the course of my vacations. Now, when I came back I didn't have any hobbies left, and a friend of mine introduced me to a student magazine he was writing of, encouraging me to start writing for them as well, which I gladly accepted since I couldn't kill time playing football anymore. In the writing team there was this girl who I liked but didn't really talk with much, up till my nameday which was the same day as my flight to Cyprus for my knee surgery, when she messaged me to wish me a happy nameday and I think you know where I'm going with this. You gotta think, if I hadn't torn my ligament I wouldn't have cancelled that second date, I wouldn't have started writing and I definitely wouldn't be as into movies as I am today. It's all very How I Met Your Mother-ish, which is why that show resonates with me a lot.<br />
There will come a point though when you've had enough bad luck for a while, and you're starting to think "good god gimme a break". But the universe doesn't work that way, silly. You can't just ask for no alarms and no surprises and expect it to work. In reality, life's full of them. Instead of trying to avoid them you can just learn to adjust better. Resourcefullness is one of the best traits you can have as a person. Knowing when to counter punch and when to take hit when you're on the ropes. Dribbling past any problem that's in your way. There are a ton of sports analogies I can make, but you get the point.<br />
Hell, even this summer I had the (mis)fortune of seeing this in full effect. After a week-long vacation in Spain, it was time for me to return to Greece. Now for some context, this was a week of camping at a festival somewhere near Valencia. Tiring? Sure, but having no responsibilities out of, well, not dying, was pretty damn great. Everyone was dancing and drinking non-stop, there were huge lines of people everywhere and people who seemed to have taken huge lines of various drugs, and at any point I was expecting Wall-E to show up and start stacking up trash because I'll be damned if the place didn't look like something out of a Mad Max movie. People were hiding their booze outside at the beach, since it wasn't allowed in the concert areas, digging holes in the sand or just throwing stuff around as if they were playing the nastiest game of <u>Jenga</u>. Hope that future pirates enjoy cheap vodka and bad sangria. Despite all that, the festival was fucking amazing. The pool parties were the best of the bunch, even if I wasn't one of the brave ones that actually jumped in. I did want to bring back some souvenirs from Spain but an STD wasn't very high on my list.<br />
Now the aftermath? We lost a bunch of phones, some clothes, a smidge of our pride and a lot of our dignity, but we still made it through the week safe and mostly sound; kinda hard to not inherit some sort of illness from all the sand and dirt that was around. Something that stuck with me aside from the aforementioned dirt and sand, was the fact that you could do anything you wanted and nobody would bat an eye, because hell, they probably have seen weirder things already. Dancing like you have been shot with a tranquilizer gun on the ass? Sure, go ahead. Making dirt angels in the sand on the beat of some reggaeton remix? People will probably join you. Shouting football chants while under the influence? Be my fucking guest. It was an exhausting couple of weeks for me, and even though I had a fantastic time, after a certain point I just wanted to chill for a bit. Of course though, things didn't quite turn out that way.<br />
A friend of mine and I were supposed to return to Athens via the Frankfurt airport with a few hours of wait time inbetween flights, but turns out that German pilots were on strike on the day of our departure, something that wouldn't be very surprising in Greece, but damn I had the idea that Germany of all places is immune to these kinds of protests. My friend ended up booking another flight, but my, albeit tired, cheap ass didn't want to miss on the free hotel that I supposed I was gonna get so I decided to stay put until I find a flight back home. After three satisfying meals and a fantastic nap I figured I might as well explore Frankfurt for a bit, wouldn't want to just waste all my time at the hotel.<br />
Around 8 p.m. I start walking towards the city centre to get some money from the ATM and a beer by myself, or so I thought. After getting lost a couple of times and having to climb some sort of hill on a bridge, only to find myself on what looked like train tracks and nothing else, I managed to get the the centre. Reaching the ATM, I get the money but I realize that I can't see the machine returning my card, and in true IT fashion I start pushing random buttons as if it will realize that "gee dude that's exactly the combination of buttons I've been looking for to spit your card right back out". I then call the customer service number that was on the ATM, and a few minutes in I realize I don't actually understand german, hence I have no idea what the guy I called was telling me. A group of friends come out of the vestibule so I ask them if they can help with my situation. I give my phone to one of them who has a very interesting and agreeable 5-minute conversation with customer service, only to tell me that they can't help me cause it's Sunday and the bank's closed, of course.<br />
Being bummed that I wasn't sure the money I had left would suffice for the rest of my trip, since I had no idea when I would be able to fly, I took up to the guys' offer to join them for some beers, I knew I could use the alcohol at that moment. The streets near the main station were filled with drug addicts and trash, something not wholly unfamiliar to someone living in Athens, but a big surprise once again for someone who was visited Germany before. Nevertheless, we ended up going to a weird Colombian/German bar full of drunk middle-aged people and a very enthusiastic and voluptuous bartender. One of the guys who was just returning from the bathroom was very kind to inform us that the coked up dude in the table across from ours offered him some for a very appealing price, but none of us was trully excited to try their luck, or lackthereof. Eventually a few more people joined us, a freakishly tall guy and someone who had just broken up with his girlfriend and was, therefore, pretty damn wasted. I ended up having a ton of fun with those guys and was sad that I had to abandon their company, since I had to check in the airport early in the morning in order to see if I can get a flight out. One of them was travelling to Stuttgart the next day and offered me a place in his car in case I couldn't fly out and I wanted to visit my godparents instead, so we exchanged numbers and I'd update him as soon as I found out about my flight.<br />
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My way back to the hotel was not without hiccups either. Google Maps insisted in me going through what looked like an active factory, full with smoke coming out of pipes and all that jazz, so I did just that. I ended up reaching a dead end where the river Rhine was, since the 5-metres-above-ground pedestrian bridge was closed, so I did what anyone would have done: I climbed some rusty, dirty, spiderwebby machinery as if I was freaking Ezio because honestly, I just wanted to get some sleep. I managed to get on the bridge, walk across the river and parkour myself out of it as well. Afterwards it was just a formality of walking through some forest with no lighting using my phone as a torch for half an hour, and a breezy walk towards the hotel. I was eventually able to fly the next morning, and had to refuse the offer to go to Stuttgart, but I was just happy to finally go home.<br />
A few days later I'm shopping at a market near my appartment, I take out my wallet and I see a shiny little thing that resembled the credit card that the evil german ATM selfishly devoured. Turns out I might have blacked out for a few seconds when I was getting money, just enough for me to put the card back in my wallet and not realize it, thus triggering all the events that transpired the previous day. I actually never told my parents about it because we had to cancel the card and go through the trouble to order another one, so in case they end up reading this: I'M SORRY.<br />
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Generally, I have so much faith in failing upwards that whenever a misfortune comes my way I scoff, laugh it out and I try to make the best out of a bad situation. I just think that shitty things will eventually happen to you, and a whole lot of them at that. You can always play the percentages and take zero risks, assuming that your goal in life is to just live long and uneventfully. Or you can take some risks, get out of your comfort zone and make your chances count, your moments memorable. Captain Jack Sparrow, amongst many philosophical genious he showcased in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, quotes: "The problem is not the problem. The problem is your attitude about the problem. Do you understand?" Aye aye captain. I understand.<br />
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G'night mateys. </div>
livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-42905742997971742752018-08-30T16:59:00.004-07:002018-08-31T07:07:09.392-07:00Blog no.28: Thinking of a place <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear stargazers,<br />
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I didn't know who to address this to and "stargazer" seemed like a really thoughtful, deep, pretencious-ish adjective to use so there you go. It's been a while and I'm listening to a track by The War on Drugs called "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qOfIN7XBl-4">Thinking of a place</a>" and I can't but do just that. But as I'm a man of many places that *cough* occasionally *cough* likes to sit on his ass and do literally nothing, I'm thinking of several instead of just one.<br />
I haven't been back to Cyprus in a few months, but most importantly I haven't been there for the past two summers which is pretty damn huge to me. I've always spent my summers there, same old boring summers, you know the drill, but they all had something in common: they were a tradition. Much like decorating a Christmas tree every Christmas and only taking it down when the first person tells you "Damn, you still have your Christmas decorations?", or having a "surprise" party for one of my university friends using the same non-birthday-candles and a lame excuse to hang out even though they probably expected it, as the sarcastic quotes aptly indicate. I've spent countless summers (well, 21 to be exact - guess counting ain't that hard when you're 23) sweating my ass off with my friends in the hot, humid bore that is the Nicosia "summer in the city" experience, but we always ended up having fun, more or less. Playing cards and videogames all day, getting drunk at live shows playing the same old, familiar songs, going to the beach every once in a while and arguing over the shotgun seat, randomly popping up on our vampire friend uninvited to watch a movie and raid his fridge, just being as carefree as one can be during the summer, basically. It's sort of like living in a semi-rural Southern US county, minus the guns and murder mystery novels. So those were my summers up till last year, when I thought that fuck it, I wanna try something new. Enter Athens.<br />
So summer last year was my first one away from Cyprus, from the ones that I do remember, and the first one away from my family and my friends. After spending a week in an island camping with awesome people, it was yet another summer in the city for me. And it's not a myth that the Athens city centre becomes a ghost town during August, it's the damn truth. After doing what I do best in these situations - sitting on my ass being as useless as I could ever be - I started going to some open air cinemas to catch a movie or two since they seem to flourish at that time of the year. I watched a few awesome movies and a crappy one, but the most important date of the summer was August 15th. The 15th of August in both Greece and Cyprus is celebrated the usual way: our families gather to slaughter and consume delicious animals because something happened to Virgin Mary a long time ago, supposedly. Not that we needed an excuse to do that but y'know, traditions and all. But wait, this time it's also AWAY FROM THE CITY! That's right, it's the one day of the year that everyone fucks off from the city and goes to the beach or the mountain to have their feasts because that's probably what the god wanted us to do, I guess. For my family this date is also quite important since it's my sister's nameday and the 16th is my brother's birthday, so we did something every year to celebrate both. My parents seemed to have planned their kid's births quite well, huh. Well, this time the celebrations were without a very key member in all the fun-havin'; that being myself of course.<br />
So here I am, alone in Athens, trying to figure out how to make this day seem not as miserable as everyone assumed it would be. After snooping around on Facebook I found a free showing of a greek movie called "Cheap Smokes", about a guy meeting and spending time with a girl on the 15th of August in the centre of Athens during the 00's and I figured, why the hell not. I was surprised to see that the theatre was packed, and I felt sad for those poor fucks that ended up here of all places, until I realized that I too was a poor fuck that didn't have very many choices and it all suddenly made sense. The movie was actually amazing for what it was, a nonsensical summer love story with wacky characters, a lovely soundtrack and beautiful views of Athens in the summer. The thing that resonated with me was the feeling of solitude it was oozing. The main character was just walking around the city at night, drinking coffee, pretending to know what he was doing, much like everyone else. His coolness, his effortlessness, just his general worldview seemed to resonate with me. Much like me, he enjoyed going places on his own. He liked these little talks with random people, learning about these small intricacies that make everyone unique. He liked looking for details, and in his words, he liked "collecting moments".<br />
After the movie I placed my headphones on my sweaty head and started walking at a random direction. I went through places from where I had collected these so-called moments, memories of the good and bad variant. The shuffle was on fucking point for the first time since forever, and the songs kept hitting me, one after another, with waves of nostalgia and moments of their own. I walked for what seemed like an hour and a half, following some of the movie's shots, with a huge grin on my face, dancing whenever nobody was around. I never wrote about it 'till today because it was an experience I couldn't easily describe. Saying this sounds cheesy, I know, but good god you had to be there.<br />
When talking about favourite cities or places in general, Athens comes up quite often. I've seen people shit on it for being too industrialized, too chaotic, too dirty or too crowded, and it is all those things but I'd be damned if I didn't love it all the same. I didn't use to be as fond of this city as I am now, it certainly grew on me I'd say, and it still does day by day. I do believe that for all the shit I often say about it, it has, I think, what others cities lack: character. I'm grateful for all the moments that it has given me, because these truly are the best years of my life. I wrote a piece, not long ago, about how the main character didn't feel like she had a place to call home anymore. I used to think that was the case with me as well. Now, what do I think about when I'm thinking of a place to call home?<br />
Bet.<br />
<br />
Your fellow poor fuck,<br />
Stelios. </div>
livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-48690310968662630352018-07-08T14:27:00.003-07:002018-07-08T14:52:36.086-07:00Blog no. 27: When the sun goes down<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Dear people,<br />
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It's just people this time, since I don't believe that "music" people exist. I refuse to believe that there are people who don't enjoy music; everyone likes music, it doesn't matter how shitty I think your taste is. Whether you enjoy some ultra complex progressive band with percussion, harmonica, saxophone and whatever the guy on cocaine figured would blend well together with his crummy guitar, or just some dude smashing the bongos at the corner of the convenient store for some spare change, you enjoy music, period.<br />
So, rant about music listeners aside, I went to a concert a couple of days ago. After paying a small fortune for my cheap ass to get the precious Arctic Monkeys ticket, and misremembering when it was taking place a month ago because I'm a fucking idiot, the day finaly arrived on the 6th of July, NOT on the 6th of June as some good people might have thought. I stocked up with some sandwiches and cheap wine which I was definitely not expecting to get through security, and after suffering a small heart-attack due to thinking I forgot my ticket at home, a couple of friends and I arrivd to the venue: a glorified grass field which, admittedly, felt a lot like a hippie festival. We sat for a couple of hours while the supporting bands were playing in order to be ready for the tall task that was ahead of us: standing up for the rest of the concert.<br />
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The wine I brought wasn't half bad, and the sandwiches I brought were, well, edible, so we munched through them quickly and listened to the "way better than expected" bands that would typically just be filler before the main concert, but were actually pretty damn good. When Miles Kane showed up on stage everyone stood up as if the pope was in the house, as a sign that the big names were starting to arrive. The dude was quite good, felt like listening to an 80's rockstar with modern influences, and of course, he was dressed appropriately, with a colourful flowery shirt and an equally flowery bandana. Everyone was really getting into the show while I was admiring the multitude of weird facial expressions his female drummer was pulling off and thinking about how freakishly long her tongue was. After his explosive hour-long set, and a small break inbetween, the next big name arrived:Alt-J.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwS_KlOAT5U6sEW9tB_vVUF7XwhxwhX65ID5xkw1Y9nuUXx2HOu1WDSiQcicJk_PZXlRvoHL9oW3kuvw4trDlkwQreQipoKoSHXMSnm9cIN2O0ARn_WKgcBWbcjU3Q3xqmWWAtVVHmQRk/s1600/IMG_20180706_234938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwS_KlOAT5U6sEW9tB_vVUF7XwhxwhX65ID5xkw1Y9nuUXx2HOu1WDSiQcicJk_PZXlRvoHL9oW3kuvw4trDlkwQreQipoKoSHXMSnm9cIN2O0ARn_WKgcBWbcjU3Q3xqmWWAtVVHmQRk/s400/IMG_20180706_234938.jpg" width="400" /></a> I hadn't listened to a lot of their songs before but what I listened to I liked, so I was pretty excited to see them live. The fact that their set was played out during the sunset might have skewed my enjoyment to their show, since I'm a sucker for sunsets, but damn were they good. Everyone was on their feet enoying the weird and oftentimes eerie sounds of the band. Occasionally, some cute girl that is <i>actually</i> a fan of them would hop on some dude's shoulders, and sing along to the unintelligible-to-human-ears lyrics while making a sign that could easily be mistaken for the Illuminati sign - heck, they both look like triangles to me. However much I wanted to listen to "When the sun goes down" when, well, the sun was going down, the moment they started playing "Taro", a song which even I and many other non-fans knew, the crowd went wild. I closed my eyes for a bit to take in the moment, because I realized I was gonna remember that one for a long time. The bass echoing through the speakers shook the ground so much it spread through my whole body, and I wasn't sure if my heart was doing its own thing or just following the rhythm: I could feel every vibration so clearly, I thought that even if I was deaf I'd be able to feel it. I turned around to see how much of the park had filled by that point, and the answer was all of it. Some people were singing, some people were dancing, a lot of them were recording non-stop with their shitty phone cameras, but all of them seemed to be having a good time, and that's when I realized why people go to all this trouble to see their favourite band live. It doesn't matter how good they actually are, the mere energy you get from being around fellow fans is enough for you to declare that money was indeed well spent.<br />
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The Monkeys were great of course, and I'm so happy I got to see them live, but I wouldn't say that it was the highlight of my day. It's like Victoria's theory from HIMYM, that the moment that leads up to the kiss is the moment to cherish, not the actual kiss. That being said, the kiss was freaking good. Thrashing around during "Brianstorm", holding up our phones and accidentally taking a picture of the crowd during "Star Treatment", listening to high-pitched screaming when Alex Turner took his sleeveless jacket off and shook it around enough for its concentrated sweat to shoot in the crowd's direction, seeing the guy brush his hair every so often and "losing his train of thought" as if the bag of acid he had taken before the show just kicked in, all of that is part of the experience that contributed to making this an unforgettable night.<br />
To sum up: decent experience, a 4/5 from me.<br />
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Your friendly concert-goer,<br />
Stelios Zesiades.<br />
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livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-79309242227985072482018-07-02T15:10:00.000-07:002018-07-04T06:03:06.729-07:00Blog no. 26: Blistered <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear nostalgia addicts,<br />
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Watching the sequel to Trainspotting a few weeks ago, I saw the now middle-aged characters latching to their previous lives and repeating mistakes of the past without missing a beat. I mean, seeing as they all were drugged up in their early twenties, their future was already looking grim. It's a miracle they all survived well into their fourties if you ask me, but it was sad that even though they tried to escape their past it just wasn't a choice for them, as is the case for a lot of people. Like how you get black-out drunk for the hundredth time, even though you promised to yourself you wouldn't drink again after your previous shenanigans, or how you decide to take out that tray out of the oven without using oven mitts, even though you've burned yourself the previous twenty times you've attempted this, as if this time you're freaking Elsa and your hand is magically immune to heat. Point is that sometimes even though we know we're making a mistake, we still do it because we feel the need to, and that's okay. Eventually our gag reflexes will reject alcohol, one hard liquor at a time, and our hands will be too blistered to even attempt cooking in the oven. Ι, for one, am fond of all those drunken memories (or lack thereof), and I can probably explain every scar I have with a cool story. By pure coincidence, those two usually go together. Who would have guessed ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</div>
I once read somewhere that "it's funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back, everything is different", more or less anyways. Looking back at four, five years ago is like entering a time capsule to a completely different time, with different people around you, different concerns, different tastes. Reading my diary entries from a few years back I realized how much different I was back then, and it baffled me because I didn't even realize it. Mind, me, I've only written a couple of entries since then, but those two are enough to give me an idea of who I was back then. I often find myself reminiscing about those times, much like Renton, Spud and Sick Boy did when "Lust for life" came on in the movie, not in a "life was so much better back then" kind of way, but rather because you've revisited those memories so many times, they've become familiar to you. And no matter how good your memory is, it's not like you're a reliable narrator of your own story, we tend to overexaggerate our memories to fit our narrative, and we tend to make them far better than they actually were. That's why we often revisit our failed relationships for another go, even though we know that the tray is hot, we still wanna touch it.<br />
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Even in the off chance that our memories are actually as amazing as we think they are, there's still no point in feeling down that you're not reliving them, you should just be glad that you've actually lived them. Memory is a helluva drug, it drags you around and slaps you with waves of nostalgia, and it makes you reminisce about times that can't be replicated. All you can do is strive to make your days memorable and let go of the past. The sooner you do that, the carefree-er you'll be. It's a word, alright? </div>
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<i>"I wish there was a way to know that you're in the good old days before you've actually left them." - The Office</i></div>
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Your fellow memory latcher, </div>
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Stelios Zesiades. </div>
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livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-4692786695071407112018-06-06T14:48:00.000-07:002018-06-06T14:58:46.217-07:00About a cloud - pt. 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Introduction</h3>
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You know that feeling when you think you’ve done everything right but you somehow still manage to fuck up? I mean, you have everything you wanted, friends, family, a girlfriend, a couple of dogs, and all of a sudden BAM. A car hits you on your way to the supermarket. No? Well I do, unfortunately.<br />
I must admit that it’s not a very pleasant situation to be in, but being dead does have its benefits. For starters you can’t die again, which is kinda neat. I can’t go through walls or anything worthy the attention of Murray and Co. but I can dο other stuff, I think. To be completely honest I still haven't found out what exactly I can do in this limbo-like reality I'm living right now, but I'm a fast learner so I'll figure it out. I like the one where I flicker the light for just a second so people are not sure whether it really flickered or they just blinked, it messes them up real good. That is my favorite past-time now that I’m eh, well, dead, y’know. Don’t judge me, it’s not like there’s a lot of stuff to do in the afterlife.<br />
But! This is not my story; I’m merely narrating it. This is a story of something much bigger than me, much more interesting and frankly, much more alive. This is a story about something that even though is seemingly insignificant, it’s actually of great importance. This is a story about a cloud.<br />
This is gonna be really long and weird, and I'm not gonna make it any shorter, so just try to keep up alright? To make it easier for you, I'll just break it off in 3 parts. The first one is the part where I die. Think of it as a How I met your mother situation, but instead of meeting your mother, I die. And no, it wasn't some idiot driver who got distracted talking on the phone, I was just jaywalking and, well, reading some funny post on Reddit. Hey at least the dude that made it can say that he literally made someome die from laughter, if that's any consolation whatsoever. Dying is all morbid and whatever but trust me, there's worse things that can happen to you. You could get expelled, for one.</div>
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Yeah yeah, we all hate spoilers, I know, but the me dying part is actually the least important part of the story. I told you, this isn't a story about me, but since this part is integral to the events that occur afterwards I can't really brush it aside either. Anyways, to sum up, I was on my way home from the grocery store, on my phone, wearing headphones and crossing the road. Relatively new driver is cruising at a normal speed, perfectly in line with the rules and stuff, but she doesn't have time to react to the idiot crossing the road. She tries to swerve but it's too late; my face smashes on the windshield at first before my whole body is sent flying quite a few meters away. I die almost instantly, and that's that. And that thing they say about your life flashing I front of your eyes before you die? Well, either it's bullshit, or mine was just directed by some french new wave jackass experimenting with a still black frame, which is what I actually saw. If I see the big guy at any point, I'm asking for a refund.<br />
Now that I think of it, the actual dying part isn't even that relevant to the story, damn, I should probably change the name of the first part. Let's see: "The part where I ramble on for a third of the story". Nah, too tongue-in-cheek. "The one with all the exposition." Accurate, but it makes me sound like an awful story-teller, dontcha think? How about we name it something like, uh, "The part before I die." Yeah, that's a bit more accurate I'd say.<br />
I actually have to go way way back to give you some context otherwise it's gonna be a shitty story, and this is not something I'd like to fuck up. One would think that after dying you'd just seize to exist peacefully, like your soul rests and all your memories are gone or whatever, but I guess the universe has greater plans for some of us. I don't even really believe in god, or reincarnation, or life after death for that matter, but now I don't even know what or who to believe in anymore. In a totally unrelated matter, I really like squirrels.<br />
Since that's out of the way, now I can get to the real story. You know, the stuff that is actually important to the plot. To do that though I have to go all the way back, back to the day when Chris and I got adopted. Didn't expect that did ya? Well anyways, you ready? Here goes...</div>
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livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-67570611625490822112018-06-04T16:24:00.000-07:002018-10-02T16:53:41.657-07:00Nothing good happens after 2:00 am<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I started rewatching How I met your mother the other day. At its best it's a brilliant show, not because of its comedic value, but because of the interesting way it treats concepts that are known to us but are left unexplored. At its worse it's a pile of crap that drags a single wedding to a whole season and then tears any character development of its last seasons to shreds, but that's another story.<br />
Last night I watched an episode called "Nothing good happens after 2:00 am" and it kept me thinking, how the hell did they come up with something so specific? It's such an arbitrary number that I fail to understand how such a rule can apply, plenty of good has happened both before and after 2:00 am. Then it hit me: it's not about the actual time is it? There's certain thresholds in which that rule applies, not because of its 2:00 am-ness, but rather because of the idea that there actually is such a threshold that makes us make all the bad decisions. Be it in the am's or the pm's, it's the point in time in which we're most vulnerable, a point where we seize any rational thinking and we let our insticts take over. Not the kind of instict that helps us survive from a bear attack or something, it's the kind of instict that makes you drunk text your ex after a night of partying, or the kind of instict that tells you that it's a good idea to eat that leftover pizza from last week's house party you hosted, or the kind of instict that makes you tell Robin you've broken up with Victoria when in fact you haven't, just to get a head start in your soon-to-be relationship. It's the kind of instinct that makes you drink your third post-midnight coffee in hope that you're gonna cover a semester's worth of knowledge in one miserable night. And trust me, in that context I can definitely agree: Nothing good ever happens after 2:00 am, it's just that my 2:00 am is probably different than yours. Besides, it's always after 2:00 am somewhere, technically.<br />
So take it from me, or take it from Ted's ma, "Nothing good ever happens after 2:00 am. When 2:00 am rolls around, just go home and go to sleep". Whenever your 2:00 am is. </div>
livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-91231453896090870652017-11-19T06:33:00.003-08:002023-07-20T02:01:32.957-07:00One for the road pt. 2: Sweet life <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
...<br />
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The park was about a couple kilometers away from Jessica's apartment, but she didn't mind walking that much. She wanted to clear her head anyways, she thought the best way about it was to walk in the "not-so-woken-up-yet" town of hers. Growing up in a different country, before moving to study abroad, created this weird conundrum for her; she didn't feel like she belonged anywhere in particular, like she didn't have a place to call home. The house she had grown up with she wasn't really fond of and the place she was staying currently was too recent to create a connection with, so instead of having two homes, she had none. Like a traveler who is between connecting flights, lingering in the airport terminal for a while until they eventually board their next plane. Her world was one gigantic terminal, and since she didn't have a particular destination to be at, she just sort of lingered.<br />
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Shuffling through a couple of songs that didn't quite fit her mood she stumbled upon an old favourite of hers, Frank Ocean's "Sweet Life", who she discovered by accident. She was travelling to Germany to spend Christmas with her godparents in Berlin, for which she had a connecting flight through Amsterdam. Her flight was the morning after, so she had almost a full day by herself. She booked a small room in a cute little hotel she had found online, and when she arrived she left her stuff and ran right out to not lose any precious time. Visiting Amsterdam was one of the top things in her bucket list, even if it were for just a day, so she figured it'd be a nice opportunity to go for a walk an see some sights. Not missing, of course, were her white on-ear headphones, same ones she's had for the past 5 years, a graduation gift from her parents. Walking through the quite cold, Christmas - decorated capital she couldn't hide her amazement of the buildings and architecture of the centre. She was so used to plain old roads and houses you couldn't tell apart, seeing a city that is almost literally floating on water was something extraordinary for her.<br />
After some exploration and picture-taking in the beautiful canals of the city, she decided to treat herself to a nice hot meal before heading out again. The place was swarming with Argentinian steakhouses and Italian pizzerias, and being a college student she'd have the latter every other day so she chose the former for a change. There, a clearly-not-Argentinian-looking dude welcomed her with a smile on his face and sat her at a table overlooking the local cinema. Table for two for one; Jessica hoped she didn't seem too sad about sitting by herself in a strange city. The beer was cold, the steak was great and the restaurant was playing some weirdly out-of-place tunes which surprisingly fit her music tastes. Eating Argentinian steak while drinking Belgian beer in a what seemed like middle-eastern-ish decorated restaurant in the heart of Amsterdam and listening to old-school hip-hop was something she would have never imagined doing, but there she was. After some funky Biggie songs and chill Nas Illmatic-era beats when something newer, less well known caught her attention. It was chill and had a great vibe behind it, some sweet male vocals as well. She liked noticing small stuff in her songs, like the mellow guitar rhythm or a gentle drum beat that just elevates a song to greatness. Interrupting her delicious dinner she tried to get the attention of the waiter.<br />
"Excuse me!" she exclaimed, raising her hand.<br />
The waiter took notice of her immediately and approached her table in an instant. "How can I assist you?" asked the mustached man that kinda looked like a young, less muscular Arnold Schwarzenegger.<br />
"Sorry to bother you but I really like the song, would you mind telling me who it is from?"<br />
The waiter let out a genuine laugh and stepped back from the table and into the kitchen. Jessica was baffled and kinda annoyed, as she thought that he was just being rude, making fun of her question. Just when she was ready to get up and leave, the waiter comes back with an even younger looking dude, tall, bearded and tattooed guy who looked like a guy who's last name ended in -sson.<br />
"This is my brother" said the waiter, "he's the sous-chef and our, erm, DJ of sorts." he added. He left the table and let the other guy do the talking.<br />
"Mind if I join you?" asked the guy.<br />
"I don't if you don't" said Jessica, kinda embarrassed by the situation.<br />
"Danny" he said, extending his arm to Jessica. <br />
"Jessica" she replied, a bit red on the cheeks. "Sorry about this, I just wanted to know about the song you played a few minutes ago, didn't mean to create all this trouble."<br />
"No trouble at all" said Danny, "I quite enjoy talking to customers with good music taste." His dutch accent was barely distinguishable through his crystal clear English, Jess thought. Guy before was Frank Ocean, think it was "Sweet life" playing if I recall correctly. I can check it for you if you want." he added.<br />
Their flirt-ish vibe was all over the dining table but in a weird, "This is fun but we aren't gonna get together" kind of way. They both knew it.<br />
"No I think that's it, I vaguely remember hearing 'Sweet Life' at some point in the song. Great stuff."<br />
"Been a fan since Channel Orange" said Danny. "Quite a talented dude." he leaned back on the chair and got comfortable. "So what brings you here?" he asked.<br />
"A plane" she said without realizing she just made a stupid joke. Danny's half-smile half-disappointed grunt made her retract her statement. "Er, I mean, I have a plane to catch tomorrow. I'm going to Berlin to visit my godparents for Christmas and I just had a connection here."<br />
"Awesome." said Danny. "Enjoying it so far?"<br />
"The city is so beautiful!" exclaimed Jessica. "It's just so different than-" She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence before the waiter interrupted her by giving a disapproving nod to Danny which caught his attention.<br />
"I'm terribly sorry, I have to get back to work." he said, frowning.<br />
"It's alright, don't worry" Jessica nodded.<br />
"If you'd like I can take you for a walk after I'm done, maybe grab a beer or something " said Danny.<br />
Jessica considered the option for a while and she found no reasonable reason to refuse the offer, which surprised even her when she did.<br />
"I was thinking about going to bed early to get some rest" she said, "but thanks for offering anyways!" She flashed an awkward apologetic smile at him while he was getting up.<br />
"Hey, it's OK don't worry about it." He reached into his pocket and handed her his card. "In case you find yourself lost in Amsterdam in the future." he said, winking.<br />
She blushed once more, thanking him. After finishing her meal she left the money on the table and sighed a half-hearted goodbye to a lost chance.<br />
She didn't actually go to the hotel right away. Instead, she walked around the city for a bit more, still listening to music. She pirated the whole Channel Orange album using some Starbucks free wi-fi and listened to it front and back a few times before heading to the hotel; "Sweet life" had become her official theme for the trip. The next morning she left early, went to the airport and flew an uninteresting, short flight to Berlin.<br />
<br />
<br />
She'd been walking for around 20 minutes without realizing, and her mood had instantly changed. Her face shifted from a frown to a big smile as she shuffled to a few Channel Orange songs until she reached the park. At one moment she stopped, took her wallet out of her back pocket and shuffled through her credit cards. She takes one of them out, a black-and-gold one with red details that read "Los amigos Argentinian Grill & Tapas Restaurant" with gold letters and a "Johan and Daniel Janssen" underneath. She stared at it for a while and let out an audible laugh. "So close to Jenson" she mumbled. She put the card back in her wallet and continued her walk towards the park.<br />
<br />
...<br />
</div>
livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-55647581906186823802017-09-18T20:01:00.001-07:002017-09-18T20:01:27.061-07:00Blog no.25: Sing about me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear insomniacs,<br />
<br />
It's 4:47 a.m. and I have an exam in roughly 3 hours and a half, so naturally it's a great time to write some stuff, ain't it?<br />
I've been listening to the my Spotify-generated playlist (which I update every week with my new suggested stuff) for the past few weeks, which is mostly comprised of hip-hop and indie tracks including some really good shit I'd never have known about. It's amazing how much music there is available to us and I'm so grateful for being able to experience it and procrastinate to some amazing tracks, but you know what baffles me? Some people don't even bother searching for music! I mean I get having favourite bands and songs, I have those too, but you are able to type a few words and swim in an ocean of incredible, never-heard-before music and you choose to listen to Drake, Katy Perry or Coldplay on repeat? Don't get me wrong, I like all of those artists and enjoy listening to their stuff but don't you think it's worth discovering stuff by yourself and expanding your music tastes? Hell, even my favourite band, the Red Hot Chili Peppers have so many less-popular songs that are so much better than the overplayed "Snow", "Otherside", "Scar Tissue" and the likes. "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mm9eQ1wZp48">Hey</a>" (Not Hey Oh, as an unofficial YouTube video suggested) has one of the most orgasmic solos I've ever heard, even more so than Muse's "Madness". Talking about Muse, they have so many amazing tracks (especially from "The 2nd law") which are not that well known for being too different than their usual stuff. Even Coldplay which I mentioned before have the spectacular "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=44q7mETbJys">We never change</a>" and the minimalistic "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ap-HeMIKi-c">O</a>", two very underrated songs from their discography.<br />
When I first listen to a song from an artist I don't know about, first thing I do is look them up on the internet (well, Reddit mostly), and find their most popular albums and download them in their entirety. I know I know shame on me for pirating but I'd literally be living in the streets if I paid for all the music I listen to. Point is, listening to an album in it's entirety is a whole different beast from just listening to a few tracks. Albums are supposed to be connected works of art, they tell a story, they have a certain flow to them that gets lost when shuffled and they are destined to be played beginning to end. Haken's "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DO61NWKkyWQ">Visions</a>" tells a story about, well, visions, death, dreams, time and ends with the titular track, which loops it back to the beginning. Arcade Fire's "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Euj9f3gdyM">The Suburbs</a>" talks about the effects of growing up in an uninspiring suburban neighborhood in a nostalgic, bittersweet way that takes you way way back. Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the moon" is a brilliant example of a "concept album" because it flows flawlessly, with seemingly zero interruption from one track to the other and multiple callbacks to previous tracks of the same album. But of course the album I want to focus on the most is Kendrick Lamar's "Good kid m.A.A.d city". This album got me into concept albums in the first place a few years back. In the beginning you get in the back of the white van with Kendrick and his gang and you just start rolling around Compton, getting into trouble, going through shootouts, running away from the police, trying to escape the life of gangs, drugs and alcohol and ultimately making it big. It's a perfect album, but more than that it has one of the best lyrical songs I've ever listened to, "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xtIr8k4eC7o">Sing about me, I'm dying of thirst</a>".<br />
"Sing about me" for shorts tells a story from 3 different perspectives. The first person is a troubled young dude who lost his brother in a gang related incident (in the end of "Swimming Pools"), who recalls how difficult it is to grow up as a poor black guy with a bad background and thanks Kendrick for being there for his brother but is ultimately shot in a similar fashion as his brother. The second person is a young girl who blasts Kendrick for mentioning her sister in a previous album (Section .80) as an example of a girl driven to prostitution, saying that he doesn't understand that it was the only way for her and her sister to live since they were in-between foster homes. She mentions that he has no right to talk about her sister because he doesn't know where she is coming from and to let her do her thing without obstructing her life, but ends up fading due to some sexually transmitted illness. Now the third person, <i>that</i> is Kendrick himself. Kendrick talks about how he sees himself trying to make a difference with the only thing that he has, his raps, and that he thinks about death a lot and thus he's trying to make his mark in the world by helping others. Being an influential figure, he knows that he can help people from his neighborhood by getting their stories out even if it comes with sacrificing his own image. What follows is this:<br />
"And I hope that at least one of you sing about me when I'm gone.<br /> Now I'm I worth it?<br />
Did I put enough work in?"<br />First time I heard those lines they hit me like a truck, because I related so much to what he has to say. We're all trying to make our mark in the world, to be remembered, to have someone sing about us when the lights shut off and it's our time to settle down. It is said that you die twice, once when you stop breathing and once again when your name is mentioned for the last time. It's all very morbid but very true as well, it's in our nature. I don't care about being rich and famous, I don't care about having my statue engraved in the middle of a busy square, I don't care if my name isn't mentioned in the Guinness World Records book. All I'm asking, and all everyone is probably asking is to have at least one person who thinks you're important enough to be remembered. The feeling of knowing that you've positively influenced at least one person is more precious than all the money in the world, so all I have to ask is this: Promise that you'll sing about me when I'm gone, will ya?<br /><br />Your chosen existentialist,<br />
Stelios Zesiades</div>
livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-52389850582789941042017-06-23T05:36:00.000-07:002017-06-23T05:42:36.184-07:00Blog no. 24: Films & music<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear, uh, listeners?<br />
<br />
This one's for music (again) so let's just say the greeting makes sense, yeah? Great. Two days ago was international music day as I found out, and I can't simply let that go unnoticed because if you're not gonna celebrate music what the hell will you ever celebrate about? I wrote a piece in greek for an online magazine a year ago, so allow me to slightly plagiarize myself and translate some of it for this one. Oh and since I'm a huge fan of music and I like to consider myself a cinephile, it made sense to write about them both, so here goes.<br />
You see, those two mediums are so closely intertwined, nowadays even more so than in previous decades, so you can't have one without the other. Even the absence of a soundtrack is, in a sense, an artistic choice some filmmakers use, with the most concrete example being the complete lack of background music for a large stretch of the Coen bro's "No country for old men" duration, which made everything so realistic, grounded, bleak, giving a sense of dread, making us scared of the things the ever-menacing Javier Bardem (and his equally menacing haircut) would do to get what he wants.<br />
On the other side of the spectrum, there are others that literally hang from their soundtracks as if it were their lifeline. Star Wars, Harry Potter, Indiana Jones, Jaws wouldn't be nearly as good as they are without John Williams' incredible scores, "The Lord of the Rings" wouldn't be nearly as epic as it is without Howard Shore's bombastic compositions. Einaudi's score for "Les intouchables" and Tiersen's "Amelie" one are basically front and centre in every "listen while you're studying, start contemplating life instead" playlist. Abel Korzeniowski's score (whose name I definitely did NOT have to Google) made my heart fucking pound during last year's "Nocturnal Animals" and I'm not ashamed to say that I shed a tear or two at the end of the second Pokemon movie, when the beautifully simple ocarina melody was played during Lugia's revival. Hell, even forgettable or mediocre movies like "The Notebook" and "Remember Me" are elevated considerably solely on the merit of their incredible soundtracks.<br />
Whenever you're listening to Simple Minds' "Don't you forget about me" the image of the criminal's fist from "The Breakfast Club" immediately jumps to your head, "Mad World" takes you back to Jake Gylenhaal's manic laughter from "Donnie Darko", The Do's "Dust it off" makes you gaze into "I Origin's" protagonists' beautiful eyes, and Debussy's "Claire de lune" puts you next to "Ocean's Eleven" and in front of the Bellagio Fountains. More recently Fleetwood Mac's "The Chain" made me tear up during the not too shabby Guardians of the Galaxy vol.2 but that might be because it's a really really good song regardless. Tarantino, amongst others, is a master of making a song get stuck in your head and connecting it with his movies and his smug face. Django's "Freedom", Reservoir Dog's "Stuck in the middle with you" and "Little green bag", and Kill Bill's "Twisted nerve" are some of the songs you'll find in my playlist from that stupidly eccentric, brilliant dude's filmography.<br />
Other directors more recently found some very inventive ways to fit their soundtracks into their movie's narrative. Matthew Vaughn, known for his extremely violent action scenes, manages to blend blood and mayhem with odd music choices in "Kick-Ass" and "Kingsmen", making the scenes jarring, ridiculous and, above all, hella fun. Hans Zimmer uses Edith Piaf's "Je ne regrette rien" as a literal tool for his characters to time their "kicks" in Christopher Nolan's Inception, and utilizes various slowed-down versions of the song in most of the film's soundtrack which is a brilliant way to represent the whole "time slows down in dreams" concept. Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross worked together in Fincher's "Gone Girl" in a way that differentiated the dreamy sequences of Amy's diary to the grounded and mysterious scenes of Nick Dunne's attempts to find the truth. In Wong Kar Wai's "In the mood for love", the same song is being repeated throughout the whole movie, but the duration of it is analogous to the closeness of the two main characters.<br />
There's just so many examples but, being a *cough* responsible *cough* university student, I will spare you the details so I can actually pretend to study for my exams. Either way you can all make me and yourselves a favour and <i style="font-weight: bold;">pay attention </i>to a movie's soundtrack, it might just make you understand movies a bit more and make your music collection grow a bit bigger.<br />
<br />
Your friendly know-it-all,<br />
Stelios Zesiades.<br />
<br />
P.S.<br />
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livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-23967036713861397552017-06-14T17:47:00.003-07:002017-06-15T02:58:26.463-07:00One for the road. pt.1: Flight of the navigator <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Jessica was ready to join the others for a few beers at the park. The clock read 4:26, she was melancholic, lonely, and it was a hot summer sleepless night so she figured a beer might have helped all that go away. She jumped out of bed, wore her red shorts and a black sleeveless shirt which had a negative space bunny printed in the middle, grabbed her phone headphones and keys and left as if she was late for something. She wasn't late though, people aren't often late at 4:26 a.m. unless they have a plane to catch or a drunken friend to drive home.<br />
Walking out of the apartment she stopped at the front door mirror for a second, Pink Floyd's "Fearless" echoing from her headphones. At first she tried to fix her hair, but as she moved closer she just stopped and gave a long, wide-eyed stare. It wasn't a stare to check if she looked good, no, she didn't care if she looked good at the time. It was more of a glare, her eyes fixated at her own reflection. "What the hell are you doing?" she whispered, looking at her sorrowful eyes. "What the hell are you doing." she repeated, her eyes watering up. She took a tissue from her back pocket and wiped the single tear dripping from her right eye, sighed loudly and in one quick motion she opened the door and left while fixing her long black hair underneath her white over-ear headphones.<br />
Gambino's "3005" queued up in her playlist, but she wasn't feeling it at the moment. She wanted something to fit her mood, the kind of mood you have when you're walking alone in the break of dawn, before the city has even woken up. She chose the same artist's "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iPHjM19j018">Flight of the navigator</a>" and kept going, feeling each vibration of the gentle acoustic guitar run through her body. She remembered the first time she heard that song: it was during an exam period a few years back, her future ex-boyfriend was sitting at the studying room in the weirdest position, his feet dangling from the side of the table next to his laptop and his notepad sitting on his legs. He was holding a pen on one hand, fidgeting with his fingers. He suddenly drops his pen, lets out a mild "fuck" and turns around to see if he can reach it without disturbing his sitting position. Jessica picks the pen up and hands it to him, giving him a smile and a nod. He mutters an inaudible "thank you" while smiling back, takes his feet off the table and takes his headphones off to turn to Jessica.<br />
"Have I seen you somewhere?"<br />
"Chemical engineering major?" she asks.<br />
"Nah, electrical" he answers. "Tried that too but was out of my element." he adds<br />
Jessica lets out a genuine laugh, "Oh god you're one of those" she smiles.<br />
"What, an electrical engineer, or a guy with a good sense of humour?" he smiles back.<br />
"Not sure if you'd fit in either category to be honest." Jess says playfully.<br />
"And you're in?"<br />
"Well, chemical engineering if that wasn't so apparent."<br />
He facepalms for a second, and extends his arm to Jessica. "I'm Nick by the way. Wannabe electrical engineer, bad humour specialist and quite stupid to be frank."<br />
"So is it Frank or is it Nick?" she asks while shaking his hand. "I'm Jessica" she adds.<br />
"Well Jess, I see you're ready to join the bad humour club."<br />
Both of them seemed quite into each other at that point, and they both knew it but nobody wanted to make a first move so early after they met.<br />
"So what are you listening to?" asks Jessica to break the bit of awkward silence that had formed in the past half a minute after the handshake.<br />
"Childish Gambino" answers Nick while turning to his laptop to navigate his music files. "You know, the guy from Community."<br />
"He makes music?" asks Jessica, quite surprised.<br />
"Not only that, he's amazing. Wanna listen?" he asks.<br />
Jessica takes her chair next to Nick's and lets him put his over-ear headphones on her head.<br />
She's thinking how great the song is, while Nick is staring directly at her with a big smile on his face, the kind of smile you have when you introduce someone to something you're sure they will enjoy. After the song ends, she sits there and stares at Nick for a while, not saying a word, and Nick himself staring back and smiling contently.<br />
"Wanna go out sometime?" he says all of a sudden.<br />
Jessica smiles a wide smile and answers playfully "As long as we get to listen to some more of that stuff."<br />
"My headphones are an extension of my head, so you can bet on that." he says. They exchange numbers and facebook profiles and Nick turns back to his laptop to continue studying. "If you have your own headphones we can study together and start listening to my stuff right now," he says. Jessica pulls her red in-ear ones and hands them to Nick, who plugs them into the audio splitter and resumes his studying position, Jessica taking her own next to him. He played "Flight of the navigator" a few more times during that studying session and the song made it to Jessica's own playlist in a matter of a few hours.<br />
Two years later even though she and Nick had broken up a while ago after dating for half a year, the song was still in her playlist and every time she listened to it she was reminded of him and how much fun they had together at the short period they dated. She checked her phone and scrolled to find her last conversation with him. It was from February, Nick had wished her a happy birthday and they exchanged a few messages before returning to being mostly strangers. She felt sad knowing that a person she shared all those memories with, and who knew her so well was now a stranger. She typed his phone number and put her finger over the "call" button but then she remembered: she was the one who broke up with him, and she was the one that didn't want them to keep in touch. She hoped relationships were easier than that but alas, they're not. She deleted the phone number, changed the song and moved on.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-63511788382391725072017-05-24T14:43:00.001-07:002017-05-24T14:43:58.838-07:00Blog no. 23: What plan? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Have you ever ridden a bike with a friend on a rocky road with no regards for safety, him yelling to "hold on" at the top of his lungs and you knowing that it's gonna be a bumpy ride which will probably end up badly? Yeah, that's life for ya.<br />
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I came to a realization the other day that I have no idea what I'm doing, and that's OK, because nobody really does. Some might think they know what's up, some might pretend they do but in reality, most of us are just winging it. Like a good choose-your-own-adventure book, we just make choice after choice, day by day, hoping we don't fuck up and regretting it at the very usual occurrence that we do eventually fuck up. You can call it Murphy's law or just bad luck, but making the wrong choices and getting punished for it is perfectly human and will happen a lot, so you better get used to falling on your ass. Thing is every time you fall on your ass it's a lesson to be learned, so by the 100th time you will have ass muscles strong enough to support your fall and make it a bit less painful. Or, y'know, put a damn pillow underneath if you are that prone to failure.<br />
Personally, I feel like the world moves faster than my ability to comprehend it. I feel like I'm in a perpetual state of catching up. I think I understand how things work and the status quo suddenly changes and I'm so lost I can't even understand myself sometimes. It's no use to try to wrap your head around how things work really, the world is evolving so fast by every passing moment that you can't actually keep yourself up to date. It's like an NVIDIA drive in that sense, there's always something new you have to account for, something different that fucks the whole system up. One of the most important traits you can have nowadays is the ability to adapt; without it you're just a 20/30/something-year old model running on outdated software. <br />
Planning for things has never been my thing, partially because I'm really really bad at it and partially because it's not my style. Even when I'm forced to think ahead, I'm the sort of guy who will lay down a very elaborate and well drawn plan, will write exact times and dates for each step of the plan, and will abort everything once the first step is not accomplished, making the whole thing crumble in a wreck of regret and missed opportunities. That's why I don't do New Year's resolutions anymore, I always fail them within the first week. I'm envious of people who can make a plan and stick to it, they are the kind of people that I would like to have in my lab assignments so I can have somebody to encourage me to follow said plans. Then again, isn't it a bit restraining to be forced to follow a certain path, whatever the circumstances might be? In a basketball match the coach lays down the positions and job of each player before the game, but once his team is trailing by 10 with 1 minute to go, it's all back to the drawing board with some impromptu, hopefully game-changing play. A friend of mine decided to write down some short term goals for herself 3 months in advance, with some of the bullet points being romantic relationships and mental state, so I asked her quite nicely: "How the fuck do you plan on these things in advance?" Short answer: You don't. Long answer: You really, really don't.<br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://biginterview.com/wp-content/uploads/michael-scott-interview.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="382" data-original-width="600" height="254" src="https://biginterview.com/wp-content/uploads/michael-scott-interview.jpg" width="400" /></a> It's fine to plan stuff that you can actually mostly predict like your financial state in a few months, but after a certain point planning about easily variable stuff, forces you to act in a very unnatural fashion. When you're forcing situations that should not normally be forced, you're setting yourself up for failure. This even applies when talking to people: it's perfectly reasonable to think before you talk if you're afraid of saying something stupid, but when you're close to someone isn't it better to just, you know, talk? </div>
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We had this exercise during my trip in Madrid where we had to make a short presentation about ourselves so that they could tell us what we could fix about our body language and since none of the stuff I said were practiced or pre-planned, I said some truths about myself that I hadn't really thought about before. Since my mouth was running faster than my brain what I said was pure improvisation, and I realized how I perceive myself unconsciously. I mentioned in an earlier post that when you stop thinking about stuff, that's when the real thinking begins. I still very much stand by that belief, but now I also have personal experience that it's actually true.</div>
<br />
When I write stories, blog posts, poems or even when I'm doodling something on a piece of paper, I never think about what I'm doing until I'm halfway through. I don't put any thought on what I'm writing, I just lay my hands on the keyboard and let my fingers do the talking, and that's why all this is so real for me. That has always been my goal really; if I can't be real myself, why should I expect anyone else to be? Here's the thing though: if people like the real you, you know you've done a damn fine job. And if they don't? Well you can't make everyone happy, can you?<br />
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livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-574772265888044452017-04-21T16:29:00.003-07:002017-04-22T01:26:50.466-07:00Something borrowed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"Where did you find this?" asked Cara. She walked towards me wearing a long white sundress with pink-and-yellow stripes, her straight long hair covering part of her beautiful face. Where <i>did </i>I find that jewel? I honestly couldn't remember by the time she approached me and tapped me on the shoulder.<br />
"I...I think I just found it on the floor by the post-office." I replied awkwardly. "Is it yours?"<br />
"No but it's strangely familiar. Is it a necklace or something?"<br />
I held it in front of Cara and I to examine it briefly. Our eyes reflected its silver-ish glow and scanned it quickly front and back. It reminded me of the sort of treasures Nathan Drake would find in one of his adventures in Shambala, it was very decorated for such a small piece of jewelry. It had beautiful blue details and on its sides there was some sort of writing which we could tell was not English or any latin-based language we might have been familiar with, but a rather strange string of symbols we'd never seen before.<br />
"Think it's Chinese or something?" I asked Cara.<br />
She grabbed it from my hand in one quick motion and passed her fingers through the engravings. "Nah, I don't think so. If anything it's probably hieroglyphics: see that feather-like thingy and the ring?"<br />
"You mean the cursive T and the incredibly round O?" I answered sarcastically. "I see them."<br />
Cara gave me a mean glance and rolled her eyes, as usual. Whenever I made one of my stupid jokes she would look away as if someone was looking at us and she'd feel embarrassed of me, which should normally make me feel bad if it weren't accompanied by that cute little smile of hers. God, I swear that smile made my heart skip multiple beats. <br />
The way she looked at the jewel with her big brown puppy eyes made you realize why half the school was in love with her back then, and the rest of her made you ask why the other half didn't. She touched every inch of it carefully with her silky fingers, almost caressing it, trying to make it speak to her. I couldn't but stare at her more than the weird-looking relic we'd found.<br />
"Do you think someone will be missing this?" she asked.<br />
"This old thing? She's probably resting in a sarcophagus wrapped in towels and stuff."<br />
She gave me a legitimate laugh and punched me lightly on my arm, and I let out an extremely fake "ouch" noise to see if I catch another glimpse of that smile.<br />
"We could take it to a police station if you want." I suggested. She tilted her head to the side and held a blank, silent expression. "Or we could take a picture of it and ask around on the internet first. Who knows, maybe it's magic." I added.<br />
"YES!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. "I mean yes, that's a good idea." she said in a more serious tone, clearing her throat.<br />
We walked towards our bikes and started pushing them back home to appreciate the amazing weather we were gifted with. My house was a 30 minute walk from the promenade and Cara's wasn't much farther than that. I noticed that the beach was empty as we walked by; even though it was rather hot for an April afternoon people were still weary of the sudden storms we had had in the past couple of days and preferred to stay at home for the time being. Seeing it so empty and calm was very rare and eerie, so I suggested we stopped for a while to catch the sunset. Cara was instantly on board with the idea, her being a sunset enthusiast. To be fair, who isn't?<br />
The beach was a large stretch of gold sand and a stone wall on the back that led to the promenade. Cara took of her shoes and set them on the side and her bike against the wall. She took a moment to appreciate the wet sand on her toes, letting it sink her bare feet a few inches while trying to maintain balance. The necklace took place on her neck while she was playing with the sand. I sat on a beach bed I found laying around and after looking over at her playing like a small child, I closed my eyes and leaned back. It reminded me so much of my teen years, when we used to come with our families and once the sun was down me and Cara would lay on the sand, look up at the starry sky and make up stories with aliens and space cowboys and whatever our then imaginative younger selves would come up with. We would talk about life, the universe and everything and I swear at least half of it made sense. Nowadays we didn't really have time for that, being busy with the university and whatnot, so occurrences like this one were to be treasured.<br />
Suddenly I felt her lips on mine. I opened my eyes slightly and saw her shadowed figure standing on top of me, and her leaning gracefully against the bed, messing with my hair with her free hand. For a second I flinched; I wasn't expecting that, no matter how much I wanted to I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize our friendship because I didn't know how she felt about me. I always thought there was this more-than-friends quality about our time spent alone but I was too afraid to do anything about it, and then I didn't have time to do so. It was the first time we went to the beach after those warm summer nights. It was the first time I felt she wanted me back. It was the first time we'd ever done something like that. It was my first time kissing a girl.<br />
"Emily?" she said. "I..I didn't mean to..."<br />
Before letting her finish her sentence I pulled her towards me and kissed her back, and then she hugged me and smiled playfully, before lying next to me and wrapping herself around my arms.<br />
We sat around that bed and talked and kissed and laughed all night. She confessed that she always liked me but her parents were too strict and she wasn't sure if they would accept her if she came out back then, so she hid it from everybody until now. Her eyes filled up telling me, but she was determined and hopeful that they would accept her for who she is, just like my parents accepted me. And when I held her in my arms, she knew everything would be okay.<br />
I had forgotten how good it felt to be around her and to finally find out that she actually likes me back. I had given up on the idea long ago but now that it actually happened I wasn't sure whether to believe it or not. Nobody knew if it would last and nobody really cared. We just had each other, the stars and the sea. At that moment we had everything.<br />
During one of our kissing sessions the necklace fell next to the bed and got buried under a thin layer of sand after a soft breeze. The next morning we left holding hands, heading to Cara's house to confront her parents and had forgotten all about it. I still don't recall where I'd found it. Maybe it was magic after all, passed on from a mysterious ancient tribe to make people's dreams come true. Maybe someone else will find it and it will help them too; all they have to do is look for it. The ones who do are the ones who want it more after all. </div>
livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-31350511222227122882017-02-13T17:35:00.000-08:002018-02-14T02:55:56.914-08:00Blog no.22: Wanna go to the movies? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear film enthusiasts,<br />
<div>
<br />
Yesterday was international cinema day and thus I'm a day late at this, but since I've been *cough* busy with studying *cough* I figured I might as well do it now. "Buy the ticket, take the ride" says Hunter S.Thompson in the trippy "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas", and that's what you get yourself into whenever you step a few metres behind the big silver screen.<br />
We all watch movies, film buffs or not, even the least enthusiastic-about-film people have probably seen a bunch of them. Most of them download the majority of the films they watch and I won't be the kettle and call the pot black, if pirating was a crime I'd be facing several lifetimes in prison, and then some. Thing is, going to the cinema is just a much better way to go about it if you want to see a movie, because you're not just watching it, you're experiencing it.<br />
I find it hard to rate movies I have seen at home because I don't think I'm doing them justice at all. You always have a distraction, chatting on Facebook during the slow parts, probably pausing and unpausing every so often to grab a snack or take a bathroom break and you never really experience it the way the director meant you to experience it. Every time I watch a Tarantino at home I can feel Q over my shoulder, judging me for looking elsewhere instead of watching Pitt scalping a Nazi or Travolta and Thurman doing the twist, I can almost hear Fincher yelling at me to put the damn phone down and carefully study the hundredth take it took Gyllenhaal to get the shot just right, and I can see Linklater's disappointed look whenever I pause one of Delpy and Hawke's intimate conversations. Submarine got it exactly right: "How do they know? They just do."<br />
I dated this girl last year, really great and a film enthusiast, much like me. She was probably one of the biggest influences in me becoming so passionate about movies because she didn't just like them, by the (paraphrased) words of Anton Ego, "She adored them." Most of our dates included watching a movie or two, that's how we actually started dating in the first place, and it was always a treat. One of the best movie-going experiences I have ever had was watching The Nice Guys with her, in a cute little open-air summer cinema in Plaka, Cine Paris. We weren't doing so hot as a couple due to external turbulence and were kinda distant at first. It was mid-May I think, and the movie was starting at 8 pm sharp. We grabbed my favourite beer and some popcorn and took our seats silently, waiting for the movie to start. The sun was still creeping above our beautiful view of the Acropolis as the movie was starting. Half-way during the movie we watched the sun set from the west to give way to a lovely summer-ish night and light breeze, and half-way through the hilarious Crowe-Gosling induced shenanigans my girl and I were holding hands, laughing our asses off, kissing during the break, enjoying one perfect date. It's like all the problems we had and all the distance between us had vanished. How could they not, really?<br />
One of the reasons I love Athens is because of the cinema culture it provides. Coming here I wasn't much of a film buff, I watched movies regularly but I never thought of anything beyond that, watching them was just a past-time whenever I was bored gaming. Growing up in Cyprus we didn't have a lot of cinemas, just a few big multiplexes that showed the latest blockbusters so when I came here I was introduced to a whole new world of small, one-screen theatres, summer cinemas, community theatres and film festivals. It blew my mind how many movies from all around the world I could watch, not just Disney-owned properties (which to be fair are quite good in their own right). It's mind-boggling how much choice you can have here, and I imagine how much more there is in bigger cities all around the world. We're so lucky we're able to experience all these things, but unfortunately not a whole lot of us care.<br />
A few months ago I got into the habit of going to the movies by myself. I just got really tired of having no company after breaking up twice in the span of a year, and since most of my friends aren't huge on the whole "going to the cinema" thing I have going on, I figured I might as well try it on my own. It was pretty awkward at first, I had never done something like that because it seemed such a lonely, desperate thing to do and frankly, I was a bit of both. I went to see La la Land for the first time and I was so damn emotionally invested by the end of the movie, I was literally speechless for a few moments after the end title, and I had the luxury to just sit there by myself and contemplate my feelings for a bit. I didn't have to scoff, laugh, comment or get up immediately, and so I did none of those things. I just sat there for a bit until the credits rolled, stared at the screen for a while, and then took all my stuff and quietly got out of the room. It wasn't sad or lonely, it was just very, very real. I watched a bunch of movies by myself after that, Arrival, Nocturnal Animals, Patterson, La la Land for a second time from the top of my head, and all of those were amazing experiences on their own.<br />
Looking back, I'm really disappointed at myself for being scared to do this earlier. I realized that it's not shameful or desperate to go to the movies by yourself, and that sometimes it's okay to spend some time alone. It's not awkward unless you make it awkward, and showing that you know what you're doing and that you're not afraid to do things alone and take some time for yourself is a fantastic trait to have. That being said it doesn't always have to be so profound, going as a group is always a fun ride. Just gotta find that group that tolerates your snobby "film-enthusiast" ass.<br />
<br />
Your friendly avid movie-goer,<br />
Stelios Zesiades.<br />
<br />
P.S. Since it's Valentine's day and all, I might as well list my favourite romantic movies:<br />
1. Before Trilogy<br />
2. La la Land<br />
3. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind<br />
4. Wall-E<br />
5. The Lobster<br />
6. Tangled<br />
7. When Harry met Sally<br />
8. Amelie<br />
9. Crazy, Stupid Love<br />
10. Definitely, Maybe<br />
<br />
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Honorable mentions: Casablanca, Music&Lyrics, Roman Holiday, In the Mood for Love, Blue Valentine and many many more. </div>
<br />
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livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-91001212679222390422017-01-08T03:39:00.002-08:002017-01-15T04:48:22.879-08:00Blog no. 21: The airport shuffle <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear travelers,<br>
<br>
Whenever you're planning a trip what you have in mind is always what you'll pack before the trip and what you'll do during the trip; never what you're doing inbetween.<br>
You see, the airport shuffle as it's going to be known for the remaining of this blog, is the transitional period between the time you arrive at one airport and the time you leave from the airport of your destination. It can be somewhere between 2 hours to a whole day if you have a connecting flight with a long waiting period, and it's a time where you're practically a ghost. You don't have any responsibilities, you have nowhere else to be at so you just sort of linger, wandering around because nobody will look for you, for a few hours you are neither here nor there, for a while you just don't really exist. I've been in this situation many times and I actually enjoy it, as unconventional as that sounds. It's a time where I can do whatever I want without "wasting time" because that time is practically wasted already.<br>
It's endearing, really, sitting around at the airport and just watching people come and go, trying to figure what their destination is and what they're thinking about. What baggage do they bring along? What's their story? You just observe with keen eyes, trying to figure everyone out. You're so into it that you forget your own baggage, your own destination, you forget all about your story. Maybe that bearded dude is flying to England to propose to his girlfriend. Maybe that Asian-looking lady is flying to Germany for her job interview in a law firm practice. That couple is probably going over the Atlantic for their honeymoon in Cuba. That sad-looking middle aged guy might be visiting Italy for his father's funeral. That annoying group of kids might be playing in the junior international handball finals in Sweden. And while you're doing all this thinking you're invisible, so you can keep on doing your thing and nobody will even notice (unless what you're doing is bumping into people and calling them names and stuff).<br>
I've met a lot of interesting people in airport shuffles, I've fallen in love multiple times with beautiful strangers I never talked to, I've listened to songs on repeat so that my trip would have an official theme song. "We Believe" by Good Charlotte was the one when I was stranded in Mallorca for the whole night with no money and no food, "Sing about me I'm dying of thirst" by Kendrick Lamar was my jam when my flight was postponed for an hour in Stuttgart, "4 da squaw" by Isaiah Rashad was played a lot during my overnight stay in Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam a few days ago and "Chasing cars" was the song that started it all, after my 5-day field trip in Salonica, 8 years ago.<br>
My favourite airport shuffle story though, is the one with Sofia from Chicago. So, one time I met this girl who was in my bus on the way to the airport with her friend, sitting right in front of me for the whole ride. She was really pretty, had this great smile and beautiful green eyes but I was listening to music, too shy, and too into "The Great Gatsby" that was in my hands to talk to her and her friend. After a while I took my headphones off to seem more approachable and she immediately asked me if I was enjoying the book, so I told her that it was great. She asked me if I got to the point of the huge party in Gatsby's house in which I replied that indeed I had, and she told me that was so wild. We talked for a while and she told me that her dad was from Chicago because I noticed she didn't have the traditional Greek accent when talking in English. When we arrived at the airport I was still a bit shaken because it's not something that happens often to me, a pretty girl talking me up is quite the rare occurrence, so - the idiot I am - I didn't continue the conversation. At that point she came close to me and grabbed me by the arm as if we were going on a date in some fancy restaurant. She leaned in and almost whispered in a very cute voice "My name is Sofia, and my friend is -" actually I don't remember her friend's name, silly me. "My name is Stelios, nice to meet you" I replied. We were both supposed to check in so I told her that I would check in my flight and we could meet somewhere afterward to continue the conversation. After what seemed like an eternity, Sofia wasn't at her check-in and I figured she was done before I was, so I started looking for her. I searched everywhere, walked every inch of the (admittedly not very big) airport but she was nowhere to be found, so I convinced myself that it was never gonna happen and, defeated as ever, I crawled through the security check and went on to my gate to painfully wait for my plane to depart. A few minutes before my departure I see her and her friend boarding their plane; their gate was right next to mine and she was sitting right there for the whole time. When I finally found her it was too late, so I just called her name out and waved her goodbye.<br>
Even though the story doesn't have a happy ending it's something I will remember it for a long time (and if I meet with Sofia again by an incredible amount of luck, it'll be a love story to write home about). Not every story has a happy ending unfortunately, but the ones in airports have a definitive beginning and end. The whole "it's not the destination, it's the journey" thing is amazingly true, although that shouldn't take away from the fun you'll have at your actual destination. Here's the thing though, you just <i>know</i> that whatever happens in an airport stays there and, you see, being in an airport shuffle is kinda like being in a vacuum; everything that happens is isolated from the whole world, and much like everything else around you, it just sort of lingers.<br>
<br>
Your friendly airport-shuffler,<br>Stelios Zesiades.<br><br>P.S. Don't be afraid to travel solo, you might just make a memory or two.<br>
</div>
livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-83919963444362463752016-12-31T13:08:00.000-08:002016-12-31T13:48:05.200-08:00Blog no.20 - A year of firsts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear disappointed dudes/dudettes,<br />
<br />
THE END IS NEIGH! The end of the year at least, since Giant Meteor 2016 didn't win the american presidential elections after all. It's been a year of experiences, a year of celebrity deaths, a year so full of chaos you'd think that the world <i>was</i> actually coming to an end. Well, the year's almost over and we managed to survive it all fairly decently, albeit a little bit bruised. The end of the year shouldn't find you recalling all the fuckups you experienced with dread, but with positivity. All the stuff that went wrong in this shitty year is in the past. It should be a time of remembering what you accomplished, no matter how big or small it was. And for god's sake, none of that "New Year resolution" crap, I'm talking about things that matter. Good or bad, everything you experienced will shape you into the person you will eventually become, just make sure it always leads to a better version of yourself year by year.<br />
It has been a year of firsts for me. I hosted strangers for the first time and had the time of my life doing so. I played music in the streets in front drunk tourists who danced to our ethnic sounds, I visited places I hadn't visited before with some vary sweet (and occasionally barefoot) travelers, and I confessed my feelings to a girl for the first time ever. I formed friendships (and other -ships), and despite all the heartbreak, anxiety, and negativity it oozed throughout, it's been great. Why is that? Under the stream of horrible TV news, breakups and some really awful days it has been a year of experiences. I found out that no matter how much shit I've been through in a single year, it always leads to something better.<br />
We live in interesting times ladies and gentlemen, all we can do is sit back and try to enjoy the ride. Everything we go through will eventually become something to recall in hot summer nights on the beach, or under a warm blanket with only just the Christmas lights and the moon to guide us, or maybe sitting on a bench in the middle of a packed square while waiting for our next adventure to begin. "This is not the end, this is not the beginning" says 21st century philosopher Chester Bennington in Linkin Park's "Waiting for the end", because nothing ever truly ends, it just becomes a memory. <br />
There will always be good and bad days - everybody has their rough patches - but if you endure them all you might come up with something amazing in the end. That's what life is basically, a really difficult and complicated game full of twists and turns that not even Shyamalan could think of. It's trial and error, it's falling down over and over and over again and then getting up only to find yourself down again. After you find your stride though, it will be much more difficult to fall and even if you do so, so what? Getting up for the 101st time will be so much easier than the first hundred times. Just gotta keep playing, you know?<br />
<br />
<i>"Merry Christmas ya filthy animal, and a happy new year!" - </i>The Home Alone guy in the fake movie. While shooting some other guy. Maybe not what I should've gone with.<i> Oh well. </i><br />
<br />
Here's to another amazing, shitty, tiring, awesome year, and yet another year of firsts. Keep your head high and your beer hand higher, and keep on keeping on.<br />
<br />
Your friendly dude,<br />
<br />
Stelios Zesiades.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-66244293112139732572016-11-16T14:13:00.001-08:002016-11-16T14:14:10.132-08:00Blog no.19: I hate ticking clocks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I hate ticking clocks.<br />
Whatever you're doing,<br />
No matter how you've been<br />
They just tick tick tick.<br />
<br />
They distract you from your thoughts<br />
They bring you back to reality<br />
They make you wonder how time flies<br />
They remind you of every passing second<br />
<br />
It's really unfair how it all moves so fast<br />
But still not fast enough<br />
How am I supposed to have the time?<br />
I wish I could be a ray of light<br />
<br />
I really hate to be reminded<br />
That for one more day I did not shine<br />
I see no shadows on the walls<br />
I've been in the dark for so long<br />
<br />
I'm still just a speck of dust<br />
A drop of water in the rain<br />
A complex of molecules<br />
Trying to figure themselves out<br />
<br />
Everyone sees time<br />
Moving in a straight line<br />
But all I want to do<br />
Is to go back and rewind<br />
<br />
I hate ticking clocks<br />
All they do is take time away from me.<br />
<br />
<br />
P.S. I'm not depressed, I just really fucking hate ticking clocks.<br />
P.P.S. This was all inspired by the one in the guest room which I have no idea who it belongs to. </div>
livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-41138037323897931672016-08-25T06:04:00.002-07:002016-08-25T07:44:11.814-07:00Blog no.18: Back to the future<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear time-travellers,<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You know how back in your day you probably thought of the 21st century as the century that would make everything we ever knew until then obsolete? (Assuming you're from the past, if not what the hell are you doing here? You know how things will work out.) We would have flying cars, we would have colonized a few other planets, achieved interstellar travel and teleportation or even travel back and forth through time. People were so fast to dream big, so excited to fantasize about a futuristic era with floating cities and underwater ones and since we haven't been able to do so (yet!) they don't appreciate what we have achieved in these few decades, or they heavily critisize it as a step in the wrong direction. What have we achieved so far you ask? Well, person living in an internet-less era, you'll have to sit down for this one.</div>
<div>
In just a few decades we have not only created a world wide web that connects everything and everyone wherever they are (except my stupid apartment elevator, of all places), we are now able to control it in the palm of our hands. We have these little devices that can give us any piece of information we like in very minimal time, and we're very much addicted to them as anyone would be if they had the chance. We live in the age of information, where everything is possible and you can learn about whatever your heart pleases in a heartbeat. And what we use it for you say? Well, we mostly argue about stuff and call each other names, as is tradition in human nature but we have started getting better at it for sure. We are so preoccupied to our future not living up to impossible standards, we didn't realize we are actually living in it, so spoiled by being able to control everything through a little piece of technology which a few years back would be a glorified walkman at best that we don't understand how to harness its true power through something we've always been great at: learning. Talking to a friend living hundreds of miles away without paying incredible amounts of money or relying on the post office to actually locate your friend in Middleofnowheresville, has become a novelty, really. Truth is, I can't really blame anyone on how they use the internet, since it's not something people consider a tool, but rather a convenience. That's not gonna be the case for long though, and here's why. </div>
<div>
In my mind there are three generations of people living currently on this planet. There's the older generation that was born before the internet was even concieved as an idea, much like you dear visitor from the past. You lived in a post-WW2 era, when the dust was settled for the most part, you lived a happy albeit boring childhood, your toys consisted of plastic soldiers, footballs and bicycles and your games were always outdoors. You didn't have to worry much about learning stuff since the job market was at its peak when you graduated, so you were able to do just fine with a college degree and a knick for settlement. Most of your knowledge stems from encyclopedias, books, newspapers and occasionally stories you were told by your parents or grandparents. During the explosion of the internet you were already in your 30's or 40's, you didn't need anything else and were just fascinated to hear about the advancements, but since you didn't need to use it, you didn't bother to. Now it has taken over the world and you're so technologically incompetent that you don't really understand how to use it properly, so you rely on the second or third generation to help you with that. You are slowly learning though, and now you're at a point where you can use it by yourself, just not at its true potential. Which brings us to the second generation, the generation that I will name "the transition generation".</div>
<div>
Gotta say I'm biased, being part of this "transition generation" but here's how I see it: We lived in the era where the internet was starting to become the powerhouse it is now. World was starting to get unstable after 9/11 but it was still mostly safe. We didn't have super fast lines and we had to hear a symphony of alien music to be able to go online but we actually could do so in our houses and in our disposal. We used it to, of course, download music, movies and, other, well, "stuff", and we discovered so much things we wouldn't be able to do so otherwise. We stretched our imagination to impossible lenghts since we knew the potential of this and we were told by our parents (the older generation) to "stop playing video games and just go outside". Truth is we did both equally, and we couldn't be happier about having a choice between those two things. We learned about technology first hand, we adapted to it and actually noticed the massive difference of the 00's to the 10's, we experienced the transition of the novelty of the internet to the necessity that it is today. We did our fair share of stupid shit using it, we've all caught all sorts of viruses and accidentally downloaded porn instead "Shrek 2" (was that just me?) We appreciate the tools we have right now, because we lived without them, we lived with them and that way we learned how to use them wisely. </div>
<div>
Now for convenience I will just name the third generation "the information generation" since they were born in the "information era". Mostly consisting of people born after 2000, these people are just now becoming adults, living in a very unstable environment, with news of bombings, fires, killings and natural distasters every other day. Not to say that these things didn't happen before, but being able to know about them surely makes things look a lot worse than they used to. They were kids when my generation first started getting acquainted to the internet but in their teens they already had smartphones, when all the previous generation had was regular phones, and the one before them had two cans and a string. They've always been able to find whatever they wanted whenever they wanted, they had so much stuff going on at the same time, and they were so overwhelmed by the amount of things they could do at such a young age, that they started to neglect it. This is in my opinion the most wrongly accused generation, since they're the ones who have to work the hardest to achieve what the previous ones were simply given for free. Having facebook in their teens meant their embarassments were engraved online forever, which thankfully wasn't the case in my generation. Now, learning from their past mistakes they are actually using the internet how it's meant to be used: with caution. They are fast learners and will probably the most hard-working generation if they wanna dig themselves out of the mess that the first generation caused for the next ones. </div>
<div>
Best way I can describe all three generations is the swimming analogy. The first generation didn't really have to learn how to swim since they weren't needed to, but as it became a necessity to learn how to swim they had to do so at a very difficult age. The second generation lived in the period where people started taking their kids to swim, and gave them the opportunity to adjust from not being able to swimg to being highly competent swimmers in their young years. The youngest generation was thrown into a pool with no lifejacket, and nobody to look after them except the occasional "don't go in too deep" from their parents. </div>
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As the time passes though, we have seen that all three generations have done what humans always did best: adjust. We are now just learning how to use this powerful tool that has been given to us and I gotta say, we're getting pretty good at it. We might not have colonized the moon, we haven't found the Atlantis yet and we still haven't been able to perfect our social skills but what we created, this interconnected universe we now have is just a marvel to look at. Now, all we need to do is stop blaming each other for the fuckups that brought us to this mess, and just work towards solving the problems we have instead of creating new ones. Will be easy enough, right? If anyone from the future is reading this, just make my laptop screen blink once so I know we start doing that....................................................................................................................................................Shit. Beer, anyone? </div>
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Stelios Zesiades</div>
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<i>To Sir Tim Berners-Lee, who made all this possible</i>. </div>
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livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-12595424721068135952016-05-27T15:00:00.000-07:002016-05-29T05:08:55.194-07:00Blog no. 17: The art of letting go<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear hot-headed beings,<br />
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"How are you so calm?" is a question I've been asked numerous times, and up till a few months ago I wasn't able to give a clear answer. Is it the fact that I find arguing a nigh useless exercise to solve one's problems? Maybe because I can't be bothered to get upset by the small differences with each individual person that tries to have an argument. Or am I just too damn beta to stand my ground and claim my so called "pride" as a man? In reality, I found that getting angry at everything does fuck-all for your mental well-being, which is incredibly important at this day and age. With the job market plummeting and the general consensus for my generation's future being: "We're fucked", a person should not let small bothersome things get on his nerves, and should just let them go, however "beta" that might seem.<br />
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It's very difficult to swallow your pride and not talk back when someone wrongly calls you out, and even more difficult to not snap at someone when they're purposefully wronging you or taking you for granted. Mind me, backing off from arguments doesn't mean you should let people take advantage of you, it means to have the guts to not continue a meaningless argument and control your anger in a way where it helps you instead of consuming your brain from the inside. Approaching something with a clear head is the best way to go at it, really. Have conversations, not fights with people you disagree with. We all know that the first person who raises their voice usually loses the argument, no matter how right or wrong they were at the beginning. </div>
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It's not about being "zen" or whatever, it's about calculating your resources. I have only so much time to waste every day, and this way I can spend more time on things that actually matter (or, y'know, binge-watch Friends for the gazillionth time). That's not the point though, and time is not the only resource. I believe that you just can't afford to get mad that easily, since you tend to carry it through the day like every other feeling. When you're happy, everything seems a bit better. You won't mind a sudden storm, a late bus, or a fly following you around as if you fell in a septic tank. On the contrary, when you're mad you tend to get even more mad at the most insignificant things, like your coffee being too bitter or having to shower with cold water because the sun didn't feel like showing up today. Well, not being mad is half-way being happy, or at least sets you up for it. That's how I personally go about it, although I do occasionally snap and say the absolutely meanest things I can come up with, which is the other very real reason why I avoid fighting like the plague. </div>
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I know the importance of defending yourself and I'm all for it, but learning when it's worth it and when it's not is an art. Not a particularly creative art, nor a very dynamic one, but although it's rather binary in its nature, mastering it works wonders for your happiness, or at the very least your clear conscience and healthy mentality. Your happiness is highly dependant on yourself, but you have to work towards it and set yourself up for success. However, you don't have to be happy all the time, smiling, talkative, approachable; we're all humans after all , not puppies. You're definitely allowed to be mad at stuff, just don't hold onto them for very long. Be cool, calm, collected, and as my imaginary, animated, white-haired wife once said, "Let it go."</div>
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Your next-door-wannabe-anger-management-guru, </div>
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Stelios Zesiades</div>
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livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-9024931996148120322015-10-21T16:03:00.002-07:002015-10-21T16:03:36.852-07:00Blog no. 16 - A skullful of thoughts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I think too much. Or at least I think I do.<br />
Shit, I'm doing it right now!<br />
It's like my brain is in a constant race with my heart about who does the most work. I get it guys, good job for keeping me alive and all but by any means, slow the fuck down, will ya?<br />
From the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep it's just a constant barrage of thoughts streaming into my head like a hailstorm of apple sized balls of conciousness. Quite random too. One second I'm happily thinking about all the stuff I'm gonna do in the future and everything's happy and rainbows and unicorns and all of a sudden everything's grey and I'm suddenly contemplating my life or, as my stupidly philosophical self would say, lack thereof and the rainbow is actually a huge scythe and the unicorn is, well, still a unicorn. Those things creep me the fuck out, like how the hell could you put that sharp of a horn on a creature and call it adorable? But then I'm back to being all smiles again. It's exhausting, both mentally and physically. Do you know how many muscles you need to smile? I can't be bothered to look it up right now but it's gotta be a whole lot more than keeping a straight face. Sigh. (sighing doesn't take as much energy I think so technically I'm allowed to do it.) If I didn't know any better I'd say I'm bipolar, but I do know better and I'm just kinda fucked up.<br />
I think the problem is not that I think too much, rather that I overthink. A lot. When I'm walking down a street I'm so aware of my environment I will never ever bump into anything unintentionally, even though I always wear my headphones to keep my ears busy and listen to the soundtrack of my life. That level of awareness though, it's the level of awareness that people go to the mountains and stay with monks for a year and a half to achieve. I don't know, maybe it's the fact that I'm always listening to music so everything kinda gets postponed while I'm adjusting the fucking cable or attempting to rap an overly sweary Kendrick Lamar song, being from the ghetto and all. That was sarcasm by the way.<br />
As I was saying, I overthink about stuff. When I'm ordering a pizza I have a manuscript of what I'm going to say so that I don't fuck up any of my sentences. <br />"Yeah hi, I'd like two medium sized pizzas. Yes, with bacon, mushrooms and cheese. No, no green pepper. The one without the green pepper is more expensive?" Shit shit shit this aint in the script what I'm I going to say. "Uhh green pepper is fine, then". I guess I like green pepper now.<br /> Overthinking has made me miss quite a few opportunities. It's a curse, I'm telling you, a stupid, cock-blocking curse. Why the latter you ask? Alright, let's say you're at a party. It's kinda lame, not many people are dancing and the music is, well, crap for lack of a better word, but you're drinking a beer with your friends, chatting about some funny story and you're not having that bad of a time. You see a girl sitting by the bench with two of her friends, having a quiet conversation, much like you actually. She's a really pretty one at that, blonde hair, nice face, cute smile. You're thinking about talking to her but your bladder decides that you had two beers too many and you're also starting to get really cold all of a sudden, as if the North fucking Pole shifted positions with the equator. You wanna talk to her but you're not in a position to do so, as you're dancing to the rhythm of your near-busted-bladder and your hands are trying to generate as much heat as they can to stop you from shivering and, frankly, looking like a wuss. So you're saying "I'll talk to her in a bit, I can't do it right now." All of a sudden this asshole swoops in with his friend and starts chatting your girl up. Your girl! The love of your life! The mother of your future-non-existent children! But then it all comes back to you. While you were thinking at every possible embarrassing scenario, doing the math to come up with a percentage in which you either piss your pants, drop dead from the cold or, well, both, he's just taking a shot. He might not do everything right, he might not have thought what he was going to say to the last point but goddammit his leatherjacketness took the damn shot, while you're sitting there, arms on sides and hands in pockets, pondering about what you were going to say to her. He's not the asshole after all, you are. For being too scared to face a potential failure. For always wanting the perfect setup, and a great pickup line to go talk to a girl, as if that ever worked for you. That story was totally made up by the way, and it definitely didn't happen to me about two weeks ago. Yup. Completely fictional.<br /> Either way, this brain thingy is either hurting me too much or helping me too much. Sometimes you gotta take a swing, and even if it misses you could at least say you tried. I should think less and do more. I should not calculate my every step up till the point of no return. I mean, even if that works once in a while, isn't it funner knowing you actually put your resourcefulness and quick thinking to use? That shit might actually save you in the future. Emma Stone might spontaneously call you and tell you to whisper dirty things to her. What are you gonna do then, smartass? Read your pizza manuscript? Use your goddamn instinct and leave your brain to rest, not everything needs to be planned ahead of time. Live a little! If not for yourself, do it for poor Emma. Once you're done thinking about stuff, that's when the real thinking begins. </div>
livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-42611736545936925382015-05-19T12:27:00.001-07:002016-04-23T07:22:14.648-07:00Blog no.15 - Turn that page<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear hopefully non-psychopaths,<br />
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Taking into consideration the fact that right now you're reading this, which is a fair hypothesis to make assuming the circumstances, I can see that you're fixated on your computer screen, wondering where I'm getting at and lingering between being casually interested if even briefly disconnected from the outside world, and being all the more intrigued in what's about to follow, completely and utterly unaware of your surroundings. That's the beauty of reading, you see, and the reason we've evolved past to being talking apes. </div>
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Now what happens if you stumble upon something genuinely good? Something mysterious, something entrancing? I'm telling you, that feeling is in a league of its own. Buying a new book, touching its cover for the first time, opening the first few pages and feeling each small lump of the paper on your fingertips, smelling the fresh scent of your newly acquired companion, all these seemingly small things are parts of a multi-hour trip to the end of the author's world and back. "Brace thyself he who enters, for tears shall be shed and emotions shall be triggered." </div>
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You jump into your bed and quickly assume reading position: belly facing downwards, elbows on the mattress feet kicked up high and intertwined, head straight forward leaning in the open book, hands delicately handling both sides of it's colourful cover, fingers edging the yellow-ish pages ready to turn at any moment now. And you start your beautiful journey. At first you're getting annoyed easily, by the fly that can't find the fucking window, the car that keeps screeching as if it hasn't been oiled since the middle-ages, the neighbour's dog who won't shut the fuck up, but as you're getting further and further into the book all these noises start to fade; in fact you can't even hear them after a while. Did they stop? Fuck no, the goddamn dog seems to be in a personal vendetta with every single eardrum in the building. You, however, are safe from all this racket since you have abandoned all the senses not responsible to making your brain decipher these markings on the paper and correlate them with images you can connect in order to create the characters, the story, the world that the author meant to pass on to you. </div>
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Turning the pages hastily, absorbing every single piece of information presented unto you, imagining the appearance of your new-found friends and enemies, you lose every sense of time and space, so much so that the only time that is relevant for you is the fictional one, and your posture has gone to shit since you first started reading. </div>
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Your upper body is turned sideways, half-hanging out of the bed, your right leg is bent in the most uncomfortable angle possible and your left leg is swinging at a stable frequency, hitting the foot of the bed on each oscillation. Unfazed, you continue reading as if you're lying on a comfortable mattress with puffy pillows and silk sheets. </div>
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Unknowingly and unconsciously you are smiling, occasionally cracking up. By the end of the novel your heart starts beating faster and faster, and as you turn that last page it almost stops; at least it feels like it. You read the last sentence, the last word, the last letter and the last point of the book. Turning the page you realize that there is no more, the journey has come to an end. As you're closing the book from it's rear end, you feel the back cover for one last time before letting it slide from your hands, hopefully landing on the bed. </div>
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You stop for a second to reflect on the story you were just part of, to figure out your emotions. Eventually you start noticing the details around your room. The sun has set but it's August so you figure you don't give a shit. You get up and in one swift motion you grab the newspaper from your desk and smack the fly against the window, relieving the poor blind, deaf and possibly mentally unstable bastard of his misery. At least the car has stopped, it's parts probably committing mass suicide over the fact that there was more grease on their owner's hair than on them. Oh, and the dog is still singing its now weaker and forever monotone "I'll shit on your ears" piece, in Fuck You minor. </div>
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There's a feeling of emptiness in your heart, a feeling of closure, like saying goodbye to an old friend. You close your eyes and let uncle Morpheus take you in his sweet embrace, slipping further and further into a world inhabited by your thoughts and your thoughts only, now embellished by the wonderful adventure you experienced a few blinks ago. That happens every time you pick up a new book from the shelf, one waiting to be read, to be experienced. And every single time it ends, by the time the sun has set once again and you close your eyes, dreams start becoming reality, reality starts becoming fiction, and you are now the author of your next great adventure, hopeful that one day it will lead to the one that will help you realize what your worth is in this world. And that dog still won't shut the fuck up. </div>
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Happy international books day!</div>
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Kind regards,</div>
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Stelios Zesiades.</div>
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<i>"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies, said Jojen. The man who never reads lives only one."</i><br />
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<i>- </i>George R.R. Martin, A Dance with Dragons</div>
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livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-37101202892783697332014-11-27T16:07:00.000-08:002014-11-27T16:07:21.099-08:00Blog no.14: Collection of recollections<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear photogenic people,<br /><br /> Fuck you. Seriously, I couldn't get a good picture if my life depended on it. Now that that's out of the way, let's get into business.<br />
Being unusually bored to do anything else, I figured I'd dig deep into my facebook profile in order to see how things were a few years ago with me. As I'm going more and more into the past I'm thinking "I couldn't dress for shit" on top of "wow, I was dumb as bricks". It's true, some times we think back to ourselves and cringe at what we did when we were younger, and then we stumble upon the younger ones going by their everyday lives and doing stuff they consider normal and we do the same thing, constantly reminding them how "superior" our generation was and how much better we behaved, when it really is not true at all. I kinda feel sorry for the younger generation that they can't erase what they put on the internet because I honestly believe that in 5-6 years they will be looking back, thinking "wow, I was dumb as bricks" but frankly, that's the natural continuation of things. I tried telling my cousin what to do and what not to do because I've been through the same stuff more or less, but we all know that teenagers won't listen to their parents let alone their 20-year old cousins. They will do stupid shit and they will learn from it, and there's nothing we can do to stop them. Don't judge a person by who they were when they were teenagers, most teenagers come into adolescence as completely different people, and those who don't were either too serious or too childish growing up.<br />
Now, thoughts of my past self aside, I can't help but remember all the good memories that accompanied all these pictures. It's pretty neat looking through them because they are impressions of the brighter side of growing up. Each picture has a story behind it, a laugh to be had. And that's all that sticks with you through life, isn't it? All the memories, all the laughs, all the people you shared these with. You can be jealous of somebody as much as you like, but remember that no two persons share the same memories, the same experiences. Try to cherish what you have right now because remember: these will all be memories in the future, pictures to be framed and hang, a photo album to be read, "a collection of recollections." Next time you take a selfie, remind yourself that what you will be seeing in a few moments is a past version of you. Try to be a better person every time you look into the camera, since everything you do contributes into what you will eventually become. And try not to fuck it up, will you?<br /><br />Cheers to all the good memories,<br />
and the ones that are yet do be had.<br />
Stelios Zesiades<br />
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livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-37775475319457143122014-10-14T23:19:00.001-07:002014-11-26T15:55:49.844-08:00Blog no.12: On the road<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My dear few,<br />
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It's 9 a.m. in the cold October morning and I find myself sitting on a bench by the train platform, waiting for the "7:54 train" to Salonica, alongside a young lady in her late twenties. She is rather pretty for what I managed to see; I'm always quite gentle when observing my surrounders. I was eating a cheese-pie and kept thinking how it was more pie than it was cheese while sipping from my grown-up drink through my grown-up straw, a chocolate milk carton. The few stray dogs were staring at me while I halfheartedly ate through my pie-pie so I shared half of it with mama-dog, who admittedly enjoyed it more than I did. <br />
Afterwards I krept my hand in my 5-year old schoolbag, found my way around the various sweets and snacks I had packed for the trip and pulled out my newly acquired copy of 'Gone Girl', the movie of which I had already seen twice in the theatres and loved if you can't tell. While I'm dissecting Amazing Amy's skull, thinking of her head and all that sweet nonsense, my co-bencher is lighting up her fourth cigarette since I had sat next to her, and now I'm wondering if she's that bored, that addicted or if my mere presence forces people towards destructive cigarette marathons.<br />
Nick Dunne is now wandering about his childhood memories and I'm not trying to seem sophisticated anymore, I'm really into this book! My mind is still on the now late "7:54" train though, it's lateness irritating me as much as its 54-ness, a rather cruel test for passengers with OCD. I don't even have OCD but I'm mildly annoyed since I don't get why you would someone bother pinpointing the exact minute if they are gonna be late anyways. I guess I'll never get these 10 minutes of doing nothing back, huh. <br />
Passing through the endless and seemingly empty green fields, I'm still more into my book than I am contemplating existence while looking through my smudge-covered windows into the suburban nothingness that is the northern Greece countryside; I've done this so many times in the past I'd argue there's not much more to contemplate about. I see the sun creeping through the cloudy mess of a morning sky, I put on my white headphones over my still-buzzing-from-the-club ears and I'm thinking how fine I finally feel, because for a moment, I only have to worry about getting off at the right station.<br />
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From the foggy northern Greece countryside, <br />
<br />
Stelios Zesiades.<br />
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livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6695587246605608538.post-87867571096830865772014-08-11T18:42:00.000-07:002014-12-10T10:53:10.581-08:00Blog no. 11: O Captain! My Captain!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Why did you have to leave so early, my captain? Was it because of that one time I said that Flubber sucked? Maybe because we all laughed at your crossdressing adventure in Mrs. Doubtfire? I don't know, captain, I really don't. What I do know is that you have made millions of people sad to their very core, after making them happy for the span of decades.<br />
I don't remember watching any other film as many times as I have watched Jumanji. Growing up, that was a movie that had everything for me: adventure, drama, comedy, Bollie Hunt, and you. Did I mention you were brilliant in it? Then again, you were brilliant in any movie you were in. You could have played any role and nail it every single time, you talented motherfucker you. You were the reason I wanted to be a funny man, captain, because I saw how capable you were in making people smile and like your own Patch Adams, you were the best doctor to treat an open wound with the most potent drug there is: laughter.<br />
Here I am hoping that the world isn't responsible for the saddness of the funniest man I've ever known or that whatever drove you past that line is something people can fend off. I wish I knew what you and many others are going through, but depression is a prison and the only person who holds the key is the victim itself. Me, even if I had fallen into that trap I would not give up out of mere stubborness. After all, if you can't take life seriously then take it for the joke it is, with a smile and a hint of a chuckle to go with it.<br />
This might not be the best of worlds but it's the only one we have, and I know you did the best you could to make it a happier place. You succeeded, cap! Your ability to make other people laugh was something to be admired, even if it wasn't enough to keep you going in the end. Your comedy nourished multiple generations of children and grown-ups all together and it will continue to do so, as far as people can help it, which they surely will. I for one promise to show your brilliance to the next generation. I promise that I will try to make people laugh as much as you did. And if anyone mistakes you for Robbie Williams, I will gladly hit them in the face with a Jumanji board. On behalf of the whole known universe and several unkown others, thanks for all the laughs and memories. You will be greatly missed.<br />
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<i>"O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;</i></div>
<div style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px; padding: 0px;">
<i>The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;</i></div>
<div style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px; padding: 0px;">
<i>The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,</i></div>
<div style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-top: 5px; padding: 0px;">
<i>While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:</i></div>
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<i>But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red,</i></div>
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<i>Where on the deck my Captain lies,</i></div>
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<i>Fallen cold and dead."</i><br />
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- Walt Whitman<br />
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<i>"It often seems I've skipped a rung,<br />Some days, for what it's worth.</i><br />
<i style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></i>
<i>I've missed a step - I've slipped and swung</i><br />
<i>To some peculiar Earth</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>On days like these, those moments tossed</i><br />
<i>Emerge with careless haste - </i><br />
<i>To leave me hopeless, hurt and lost,</i><br />
<i>With bitter truths to taste.</i><br />
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<i>I'm sure it seems absurd to hear</i><br />
<i>I'd grieve to let him go - </i><br />
<i>I'd close my eyes and shed a tear</i><br />
<i>For guys I didn't know - </i><br />
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<i>But all the same - I will a while</i><br />
<i>That man I never met -</i><br />
<i>The man that made me laugh and smile - </i><br />
<i>I never shall forget."</i><br />
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<em>- </em>From Reddit: <em>Poem for your sprog </em></div>
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livihadeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11765322479658643528noreply@blogger.com0