Kites are flying…

It’s Green Monday in Cyprus and it’s a public holiday as the majority is of the Christian Orthodox church. This means, they go to the fields or beaches or taverns and have vegetables and maybe some molluscs like octopus or any other shell fish.

Then they fly kites. I’m not so sure about the custom behind the kites, but everybody does it. It’s always been like that ever since I can remember.

I remember flying a kite last year, almost exactly a year ago. It was around beginning of March and I had gone to my brother’s place for the weekend. He had bought this super kite, not the usual ones, a stunt kite as they call it. The last time I remember flying a kite was years ago, ages ago! I must have been around 10 years old and it was a kite of a generic Native American’s face with the tail being the extension of the feathers of his hat, if that’s what they call it. (I really don’t know, if you do, leave me a comment – I’ll appreciate it!) And that was it. But last year, the wind was favorable and when I mastered the art of holding the two rolls of rope and keeping it in the air I started admiring the way it was all the way up there as if it was between the gray clouds , mimicking a bird’s wing.

And then, here I am today on a Green Monday all these years later about to fly an imaginative kite that is real.

A kite that is to withstand all the storms and winds and sunshine of time and distance.

A kite to be brought down only when the pilots, that are holding on to it, meet again in person.

A kite of love.

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Where the monsters lurk

You know, going home for some people is where the safety is – the sanctuary to which they can come back and feel coming back to… and the world outside is the place where everything bad can happen and all the monsters are lurking around the corner.

That’s what the majority is like. But then there’s the minority, the small section of this world, that has the complete opposite of what was just described as a reality. That is, the world outside is where the greatness lies and the sanctuary is based, but the place that’s called home for others – is a personal hell that sucks you in a vicious circle you had forgotten about while you were a nomad traveling through deserts and forests… But you have to come back to that.

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Last Day of February, 2013



The Rex dogs in this family have something common that is not their breed; they are the German Shepherds that die in February.

Rex the 3rd has left us.

We let him go. It was the most humane thing to do, to set him free from suffering to his final deep exhale. It was lung cancer they say.

We loved you big guy, Rest in Peace. And I'll never forget that you were there for me.

Bye Rex, Goodbye.

Just when I said today “no, no goodbyes”. 


p.s. Dexter is looking for you.


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We’re all collateral damage…

Collateral damage is a military term. According to Collins English Dictionary it is “unintentional damage to civil property and civilian casualties, caused by military operations”. Military is the armed force or members of it.

In my head then, the military is anyone else and each of us. And we’re each other’s collateral damage, either by first degree, second, third or higher.

Our every action affects either directly or indirectly. Our parents’ love or not love that gives birth to us and we have to be brought up in whatever situation they are and get into. The shouting,the temper, the anger,  the lies, the money problems , the accusations, the projection on us of their problems; setting a big fault of their problems on us. The words they use and how – useless, stupid, trouble are some. The mishandling of separation that leaves the kid torn up between two worlds that once were one.Well, I can only guess this is what it’s like for most of individuals out there. There may be exceptions as well; please give an award to the parents that resist their innate inhumane nature.

Learning in a way to do the same, because that’s all what we’ve been shown while growing up. And it’s not just to our kids, but our friends, colleagues and strangers. And there it goes, the collateral damage surviving and regenerating and growing through ages,like cancer. As long as there’s blood to feed on.

Our friend’s happiness or sadness or troubles becoming our worry, carrying a part of their emotional luggage – something that our friends didn’t intend to happen – “unintentional damage” , and damage is how the friends will perceive it, a weight. Although, you may willingly throw yourself into this “unintentional damage” and turn it into intentional. A reciprocal reaction that results in everybody being each other’s carrier of emotional luggage.

Often blinded by our emotions , acting selfishly.

But all it takes, is to look up and see a face of red cheeks and embed it in our memory. And realize that face changed us and brought out the best in us. It heals the collateral damage we went through , but once we go back to our camp of “military” members all the wounds  open up and burn as if salt was thrown at them. And we are back to  minus something, wondering if we’ll ever get higher on the scale to reach a better state, a state superior of the camp we were brought in. If  it will last us longer.

What I wonder the most though, is how to save the red cheeks from (further) collateral damage, from becoming an imperfect puzzle of collateral damages put together without the pieces matching but by just gluing them together, one over the other. What can I do?

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The importance of faking eating cake and drinking tea

I’m not sure if adults made the fake cakes and teapots for children to play tea party or the children made the adults make them so they’re entertained by them fake-eating and fake-drinking.


Wait. Let me press rewind.

It was dinner time. My niece was refusing as always to eat and she was already playing with the teapot and the little smiling purple teacups and the tree small plastic cakes on their pink plate. She’d offer us and of course we’d take it and then put it back. The cake. Oh but then she’d choose which cake we were to take; no no, take the chocolate one.

And there she was, smiling and chuckling and hiding behind her little palms giggling while we’d pretend eating the cake and taking a sip from the little smiling purple teacups that were dying for a refill from mother teapot. And I wondered; who is trying to be who exactly? Are the children really who mimic adults or are the adults who mimic children? Or is there no line at all , that clear cuts this old preconceived idea just like the egg or the chicken coming first.

I guess, we get to preserve the child within by being around children and children to learn to be adults *whatever that means*.

But beware. The children may not be as innocent as you think. They understand a lot more than what they’re credited for and they surpass the master in their art – in this case the adult- of faking. I am not condemning imagination, that’s different although it may require faking in its manifestation.

It’s not just putting the cake underneath the sweater to say you’ve eaten it and it’s gone down your stomach.

That’s only a part of why the child is entertained. It’s also learning tricks, deceit and making sense of what is true and what is not. Of course your stomach is not between your shirt and sweater Mr.!  I’ve looked there – I know it’s not! 

But the importance of faking extends as we grow up; we fake confidence, we fake personas, we fake ourselves. Without faking sometimes, no matter if you’re against it and staying true to yourself as they say, we wouldn’t have survived. Think about it. I will too.

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Lu Lu Lu I’ve got some Apple…

no, no no. Not a real apple.






But… an ipod shuffle Apple.

My best friend sent me  a package for my birthday. She requested that once it arrives, my parents pick it up from the post office and do not let me see it. Because I’m a good guesser, she said. Note: I don’t think I’d ever guess this one though.

So she had gone to London for a few days and asked me to keep waiting until she got back so we could Skype. You see, see the comic below.

(generated with bitstrips app on Facebook)

And so I waited. Last night, we could finally Skype.

She told me about her trip and then we called my mum, to give me the package. Taking a picture of it… and WOW Royal Mail! Sent from UK! Queen on stamp! *I love stamps*

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There was a card in a golden envelope on the outside attached to it. I only assumed it was from her. I opened it and there was a fairy.

And then I took a look inside

and I was surprised and started laughing.

She didn’t know who these people are. But we agreed, it was nice of them. Although… she got scared I didn’t get the right package.

So she was starting to freak out… a tiny bit.

I continue my battle with the box and then …

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I got into a shock state.

I got it, and told her: Listen, I really think this is the wrong package. I’ll take the pics and send it back ok?

I could not believe it.

An ipod shuffle, an mp3 player most of all.

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And then, I had to open it. The emotional roller-coaster was not at its peak.

I notice there’s a tape sticker around. And then… by trying to figure out how to open it…

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an ARROW! there’s an ARROW!!!! I black out for a few seconds as I am laughing hard.

2013-01-19 11.05.00 And as I’m taking this picture for the second arrow (I know!), only then do I notice there’s something. There’s an engraving. An engraving!!!!

Live. Laugh. Love. Lucia

No no, this still can’t be right. There must be a candid camera around.

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 and oh my god – earphones. Apple earphones. so… white!

I got really scared of using it. I mean, it’s so beautifully metallic green and that engraving… Like an expensive small perfume bottle … And just like with any expensive perfume, one should use it because it was not made nor purchased to be stored away.

Therefore, as I don’t have the chance to run to the store and get a protective case… I made a draft pouch for it from some leftover yarn.


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Thank you bestie… that’s all I can say for now. I’m still in shock.

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First day of school

I remember my first day of school. I had put on my long blue knife pleat school skirt which was covering my legs almost to the ankle, because it was hard times back then – it could last me for another two years, and it did. That’s when it was perfect size !

Parents got me this purple backpack, which was of course larger than me. It was metallic purple. And the material was … well absolutely fantastic for a 5 n 1/2 year old like me. It had this rectangle of plastic studs on the top.

My hair was pulled back in a ponytail and I was wearing a white shirt with blue apple buttons – a part of a costume I wore at kindergarten’s event earlier that year.

I was excited. I stood by the plants and mum took a picture before leaving the house. I was waving and smiling; my face was glowing.

Mum escorted me to the school. She asked me how I was. I told her, I’m fine mum, go already!

Mum wasn’t so sure about this. She kept telling me she can stay if I want her to.

“I’m fine mom!”

I didn’t need her. All the other kids were crying and shouting and I was the quiet one. I wanted to be there.

She told me she’ll be around and if I need anything I can also find my brother, who is 4 years older.

I played with the other kids. That’s all I remember. Everything else is a blur but few moments I can still recall from that first grade; like the girl sitting next to me drawing a girl’s hair green (why not, she said) and this other girl bringing her Barbie mermaid doll that had hair which would change in cold water or learning the alphabet and having that awesome pouch with pockets for paper cut-out letter rectangles and eventually shaping words and sentences in that folder with rows of plastic to insert the letters in.

Ah, the memories of first grade.

Powered by Plinky

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They said “Money doesn’t bring happiness…

and later filled in “…Its amount does” or ” … A man with ten million dollars is no happier than a man with nine million dollars” or  Herb True that added “…, though it has been known to cause an occasional smile”.

Money doesn’t bring happiness. Whoever said that was right. And I’ve stood by that for my whole life ever since I was 5 years old. I’d tell my parents, it’s not the money. Money is needed, sure, but it’s not what makes the human being. 20 years later, I’m still reviewing it more and more. I agree with the 5 year old-me. Though I have to finish that sentence, or add another one to it. A statement as ultimate as that, cannot possibly stand alone in the world that has been shaped by generations of people making mistakes, stating their power and dying alone.

Money doesn’t bring happiness. It brings greed, hunger for power. Selfishness, ignorance. Carelessness.

Money can bring happiness in sections that the society has made money a requirement. Like, being able to pay off your University fees which would then ensure you your degree being held in your hands and providing you that extra tool you can get a job with. A job, which you may enjoy and love doing. A job, that will give you a stable income and not having to worry about “to buy, or not to buy bread today? Milk – do I need it?”.

Without money to pay your education, there’s no money to get your degree. With no degree, there’s no job. With no job, there’s no money. With no money, there’s no roof, no food. No food, no you. No food for dog, no dog.

Without money, all the dreams shatter. All the future dreams cannot be dreamed.

Lack of money, can strip off you all that makes you happy.

Lack of money – people stop looking at you. Because it’s the society’s structure that divides the rich from the poor and all to look up at the rich and look down at the poor.

And yet I know, money doesn’t bring happiness. People do. Money can ensure your survival for you to be able to be with people that bring you the happiness.

To be continued.

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One year on WordPress

I just thought to randomly check WordPress today. Sometimes I just check my email for new posts by fellow bloggers, comments (if any) and sometimes I just go directly to the site. And I got this notification 🙂

So, I’ll take the chance and:

Thank you for reading 

Thank you for liking when you liked my posts

Thank you for commenting 

Thank you for clicking Follow on my blog

Thank you for being a blogger too – WordPress is a very interesting place 🙂 

I was just experimenting with WordPress – and while at it I left Blogspot behind. I liked it. And I blogged more.


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Christmas Eve to New Years Eve, Hello 2013!

Don’t get me wrong. I’m the kind of person that believes in Christmas magic and spirit all year round and that it shouldn’t be for just one day out of those 365 days – 365 opportunities that are 24 hour long each, to make a change, to be nice , to do anything and live fully.

But what I see on Christmas Eve is Chaos. Chaos that wouldn’t be as bad if the whole year was put together in one day. People rushing through the shops, leaving a mess behind. Shouting at each other. Overlooking. Pretending to care. Making one day  matter more than any other. And all these xmas songs… the depressing ones about not being with the one you love, or being hurt or being away. The fights. The disappointment when something goes wrong be it not finding the present you want, not being with whom you’d love to be or not being remembered.

And that guy, being worse than Ebenezer Scrooge himself, shouting. Being all HUMBUG! about the customer service and a product, while the TV in that store had “A Christmas Carol” on – ironically enough.

We didn’t decorate a Xmas tree this year. Ok, I decorate it for the family. It’s always been my thing. It’s not that there’s no space in the house or we couldn’t make something. I also couldn’t feel it. It was just another day. Nothing special. But then again, if that was Santa’s attitude towards forgetting one child on Xmas eve and saying “It’s just one kid out of the billions out there…” then everything and nothing would lose any significance it ever had.

So what if it’s all bogus commercialized bulshit? Sure, I would LOVE to be with that one person right now on New Year’s Eve. And Christmas. And everyday. It sucks not to be able to do that. It sucks to be confined by 4 walls. But I can’t think like this or else it would shutter me in pieces and hurt more than it already does. Instead, I keep in touch. I wait for the next tomorrow when I will be able to see them.

And as it goes with breaking all traditions, there’s no King’s Pie. No champagne. No Sprite. Instead, we are welcoming the New Year with a mug of Dreamtime Hot Chocolate from Whittard and mini marshmallows.

And that’s a damn special way to celebrate!

That’s my cue! In 5 minutes the year changes where I am.

Hello 2013! Happy New Year Everyone! 

I may not know you, but I wish you the best.

PicMonkey Collageg

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