When I lived in Greece, I never really felt “Greek.” I never understood what being Mediterranean meant. Even though I related to most Balkan stereotypes, I still didn’t realise what those meant. When you’re surrounded by people like you, you don’t see the differences. You’re just a tiny part of a huge society. When people used the phrase “proud of your country,” all I could think was, “Of this unfacilitated mess?”
Sometimes, when you stand out, you also stand alone. That’s even more true because I have never heard of a Greek person moving to a cold, rainy country like Ireland. It felt lonely, but not in the sense of not having people to talk to; rather, it’s in the sense that in this other country, I represent all that’s good and bad about my country. I’m the only one I know who can represent my home, therefore I need to always remember the values that my home has and wear them as armor.Â
Although, when I went back home for Christmas break, it took me only three days for the ideas that I had shared about my people to begin to fall apart. I noticed the small racist comments, I saw the news about two new femicides, and then I read articles about people not understanding the concept of calling it a femicide, but just as murder. The injustice, the egoism, the corruption, and the entitlement—all of it caused me to drown in a pool of my delusions. Who was I fighting for? Why did I spend so much of my time celebrating people who are too proud to see how deep in trouble they have put themselves? Why do I keep holding on to a home that, even though I love dearly, never cared or had love for me—a home that never gave me a chance, a home that fit in or got cast out? And I did, as you can see, get cast out.
And what was I supposed to do then? When I came back, I found myself alone again, only this time I didn’t see the same comfort when thinking about my country. It was too much, and in the first months of living away, I was too naïve. Even though that is true, it’s not entirely true, because it can’t be all bad; it never is. What is human nature if not flawed?
My home is whole and broken at the same time. Broken by the same mistakes we keep repeating, but whole because, in the end, we will always find a way to smile that’s going to be louder than anything we could ever shout. We have been racist towards our own people since we came as refugees from Pontus during the population exchange with Turkey in 1922. Everything foreign feels dangerous and alien to us, but we learn to adapt in time. We may be the most stubborn people out there, but we can soften up, and if not, that makes us great speakers and debaters.
It’s a difficult path to love your country truly—not to turn your head away from its flaws and deny they ever happened, or to dismiss anything good about it. To just describe everything as bad, evil, and plotting dismisses the complexities of existence. But you’ll find the truth in balance. Greece is one of the most human places I know. Being there makes you feel; now, you might not always feel the kindness and hopefulness—you might feel anger, disgust, or hatred—but you feel. You experience every human emotion possible, which is magical to me.
Talk about your culture; you must. It reminds you of who you are, keeps you humble, and comforts you when you get lonely. Our flaws are only human, and that is just beautiful.