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7.12.20

Ο Αετός και το Λιοντάρι

Μια φορά κι έναν καιρό στην Αφρικανική Σαβάνα ήταν ένα νεαρό ζευγάρι αετών. Ενθουσιασμένοι, έχτιζαν τη φωλιά τους σε αναμονή για το πρώτο τους αυγό. Δύο μήνες τους πήρε να μαζέψουν κλαδιά και φύλλα και να τα τακτοποιήσουν σε μια γωνιά, ψηλά σε μια ωραία Ακακία. Έπειτα κούρνιασαν, βολεύτηκαν, ώσπου η αετίνα ένιωσε ότι το αυγό ερχόταν. Ο αετός πετούσε ανήσυχα και μάζευε ποντικούς και κουνέλια για την αετίνα του. Η ώρα ήρθε, αλλά με μία έκπληξη: Οι Πολεμαετοί κάνουν ένα αυγό, συνήθως. Όχι, όμως αυτή τη φορά. Αυτό το ζευγάρι Πολεμαετών έκανε δύο αυγά! Χαρούμενοι αλλά και ανήσυχοι για το πώς θα μεγαλώσουν δύο μωρά, άπειροι γονείς καθώς ήταν, μια ο ένας, μια η άλλη, κλωσούσαν τα αυγά τους.

Πενήντα ημέρες αργότερα, άκουσαν μικρούς ήχους από το μεγαλύτερο αυγό. «Τακ-τακ, τακ-τακ», σαν κάποιος να χτυπούσε μία μικροσκοπική πόρτα. Ρωγμές εμφανίστηκαν στο κέλυφος και με ένα «κρααακ», η κορυφή του αυγού έσπασε, εμφανίζοντας ένα μικρό, μικρούτσικο κεφαλάκι με κλειστά μάτια και ανοιχτό ράμφος. Οι αετοί άρχισαν αμέσως να ταΐζουν το πεινασμένο τους μωρό. Το άλλο αυγό, όμως, τίποτα. Τρεις φορές τάισαν τον πρωτότοκο πριν να ακουστεί ο παραμικρός ήχος από το δεύτερο αυγουλάκι. Οι αετοί κοιτάχτηκαν, φοβούμενοι μήπως ήταν ελαττωματικό. Ωστόσο, αργά και σταθερά, ο δεύτερος νεοσσός έσπασε κι αυτός το κέλυφός του. Οι αετοί κοίταξαν περίεργα το σπασμένο αυγό. Πού ήταν τα μάτια, το ράμφος; Μια μικρή ουρίτσα ξεπετάχτηκε και, οπισθοχωρώντας, το μικρό πτηνό βγήκε από το αυγό. Φαινόταν μικροκαμωμένο και αδύνατο, αλλά, όταν άνοιξε το ράμφος του, σφύριξε πεινασμένα και ζωηρά.

Οι επόμενες μέρες πέρασαν γρήγορα για το νεαρό ζευγάρι, καθώς προσαρμόζονταν στις νέες τους ευθύνες. Ο πρωτότοκος, αρσενικός, μεγάλωνε γρήγορα. Ήταν δυνατός και μεγάλος. Η δευτερότοκη, θηλυκιά, μεγάλωνε κι αυτή, αλλά πιο αργά. Ήταν πολύ πιο μικρή, αλλά με δυνατή φωνή.

Στους δύο μήνες πλέον δεν χρειάζονταν τάισμα στο στόμα. Οι γονείς τους τους έφερναν θηράματα, τα άφηναν μέσα στη φωλιά και οι νεοσσοί τα τσιμπολογούσαν με το ράμφος τους. Και τότε άρχισαν τα προβλήματα. Η μικρή ήταν ζωηρή και παιχνιδιάρα, αλλά μοιραζόταν πρόθυμα το φαγητό. Ο μεγάλος, πάλι, ήταν ζηλιάρης και πονηρός. Δεν ήθελε να της αφήνει φαγητό και έπρεπε να τσακωθούν για να μπορέσει να φάει κι αυτή. Η μικρή στενοχωριόταν και δεν καταλάβαινε γιατί την ταλαιπωρούσε τόσο. Νόμιζε ότι κάτι είχε κάνει για να τον θυμώσει και κατηγορούσε τον εαυτό της. Οι γονείς, απασχολημένοι με το συνεχές κυνήγι και την προστασία της φωλιάς, δεν είχαν χρόνο να ασχοληθούν με την αδελφική αντιζηλία. Άλλωστε, αν έστω και ένας νεοσσός επιβίωνε θα ήταν αρκετό γι’ αυτούς, δεν ήταν σε θέση να ζητήσουν περισσότερα από τη ζωή.

Κι έτσι η μικρή συνέχισε να μεγαλώνει, απομονωμένη και στενοχωρημένη, ονειρευόμενη την ελευθερία από την καταπιεστική φωλιά.

Σιγά-σιγά, τα μικρά άρχιζαν να βγάζουν φτέρωμα. Τέντωναν κάθε τόσο τα γυμνά φτεράκια τους, δυναμώνοντάς τα για όταν θα ήταν έτοιμα να τα χρησιμοποιήσουν. Οι Πολεμαετοί συνήθως χρειάζονται τέσσερις μήνες για να πετάξουν και τα αρσενικά πετούν πιο νωρίς από τα θηλυκά. Συνήθως. Η μικρή μας, όμως, βιαζόταν κι έτσι αυτό το έκανε πρώτη κι ας ήταν πιο μικροκαμωμένη: Στους τρεις μήνες πέταξε για πρώτη φορά! Ο Μεγάλος έσκασε από τη ζήλια του, αλλά αυτή πια δεν ενδιαφερόταν για τίποτα άλλο. Με λίγες μέρες σκληρής εξάσκησης (οι γονείς της γεμάτοι περηφάνια άρχισαν να τη φωνάζουν «Φτερωτή») ήταν έτοιμη. Πέταξε ψηλά και δεν ξαναγύρισε, ούτε κοίταξε πίσω.

Η ελευθερία ήταν απολαυστική, αλλά και μοναχική. Για μήνες περιφερόταν στη Σαβάνα μόνη της. Παρά το μικρό της ηλικίας και του μεγέθους της, ανήκε σε ένα από τα πιο δεινά αρπακτικά ζώα της περιοχής. Λίγα πράγματα είχε να φοβηθεί. Ακόμα κι έτσι, όμως, μια-δυο φορές κινδύνεψε η ζωή της. Την πρώτη, μόλις είχε πιάσει μια μαύρη πάπια που κολυμπούσε σε μια λιμνούλα, όταν πετάστηκε από τα χορτάρια της όχθης μια λεοπάρδαλη και προσπάθησε ν’ αρπάξει το θύμα της. Ευτυχώς την είδε εγκαίρως και με μια απότομη στροφή, απέφυγε το επικίνδυνο αιλουροειδές. Την δεύτερη φορά, δυσκολεύτηκε στο κυνήγι για πολλές μέρες, ώσπου έφτασε να νιώθει τόσο αδύναμη που με τα βίας μπορούσε να χτυπήσει τα φτερά της. Κατά τα άλλα, μια χαρά τα έβγαζε πέρα μόνη της.

Μια μέρα, πετούσε πάνω από την στέπα, σκίζοντας τον αέρα με τα γερά της φτερά. Μακριά στο έδαφος είδε μια αγέλη από λιοντάρια, μαζεμένη γύρω από το κουφάρι ενός τεράστιου βουβαλιού. Όπως είναι καθιερωμένο, το αρσενικό, ο αρχηγός της αγέλης, έτρωγε πρώτος και ανενόχλητος, ενώ οι λέαινες και οι σκύμνοι περίμεναν υπομονετικά, όσο πεινασμένοι κι αν ήταν. Γεμάτη περιέργεια, άρχισε να κάνει κύκλους για να παρακολουθήσει τη σκηνή. Ο αρχηγός τελείωσε κι απομακρύνθηκε νωχέλικα, γλύφοντας τη μουσούδα του. Οι λέαινες όρμηξαν με τα μούτρα, κρύβοντας τελείως το σκοτωμένο ζώο. Οι σκύμνοι πήγαιναν πάνω-κάτω, ανήσυχοι, περιμένοντας την σειρά τους. Ένα λιονταράκι ξεχώριζε αμέσως: Ήταν πιο μικρό και το τρίχωμά του δεν ήταν κιτρινωπό, αλλά κατάλευκο.

Οι λέαινες χόρτασαν κι έκαναν κι αυτές στην άκρη. Οι σκύμνοι επιτέθηκαν σε ό,τι είχε απομείνει, γρυλίζοντας και παλεύοντας μεταξύ τους για τα τρυφερότερα κομμάτια. Το λευκό λιονταράκι πλησίασε πιο προσεκτικά και φαινόταν σαν να αποφεύγει τους υπόλοιπους. Έπιασε ένα κομμάτι με τόσο λίγο κρέας που κανένας άλλος δεν ασχολούνταν μαζί του. Μετά από μερικές μπουκιές, όμως, οι άλλοι το πήραν είδηση κι άρχισαν να του μουγκρίζουν επιθετικά. Αυτό έκλεψε μερικές μπουκιές ακόμα στα γρήγορα πριν οι άλλοι να του ριχτούν. Ακολούθησε μια γρήγορη μάχη και το λευκό απομακρύνθηκε κουτσαίνοντας, με κόκκινες γρατζουνιές σε όλο του το σώμα.

Η Φτερωτή το παρακολούθησε λυπημένη. Δεν μπορούσε να μην σκεφτεί τη ζωή της στη φωλιά, πώς ήταν να παλεύει για το φαγητό της. Αλλά τι μπορούσε τι να κάνει; Έτσι ήταν η άγρια ζωή. Έφυγε, προσπαθώντας να βγάλει την εικόνα από το μυαλό της. Αυτό που δεν είδε ήταν δύο μεγάλα μάτια που την παρακολουθούσαν από ένα δέντρο λίγο πιο πέρα.

Πέρασαν μερικές μέρες που η Φτερωτή προσπαθούσε να πείσει τον εαυτό της ότι όλα ήταν όπως συνήθως. Έπιανε τον εαυτό της, όμως, να επιστρέφει στο ίδιο μέρος κάθε μέρα, χωρίς να το παραδέχεται ότι έψαχνε την αγέλη. Μετά από μια εβδομάδα την ξαναβρήκε. Τα λιοντάρια ξαπόσταιναν κάτω από μια τεράστια Αδανσονία. Κάποιες λέαινες κοιμόντουσαν, άλλες καθαρίζονταν. Ο αρσενικός έλειπε, πιθανόν σε περιπολία της περιοχής, ενώ οι σκύμνοι έπαιζαν με κάτι σπασμένα κλαδιά. Το λευκό λιοντάρι τα πλησίασε, θέλοντας να παίξει κι αυτό.

«Φύγε από εδώ, Χιόνι, δεν σε θέλουμε!» Του φώναξαν.

«Τι δουλειά έχει το Χιόνι στη Σαβάνα;» Το χλεύασαν.

Απογοητευμένο, γύρισε κι απομακρύνθηκε με το κεφάλι σκυμένο. Δεν φαινόταν πολύ καλά, ήταν αδύναμο και εξαντλημένο όπως σωριάστηκε κάτω από ένα θάμνο.

Η Φτερωτή στένεψε τα μάτια και πέταξε ακόμα πιο ψηλά, κοιτάζοντας ολόγυρα με τα δυνατά της μάτια. Μετά από κάποια ώρα, είδε αυτό που έψαχνε˙ το χορτάρι κυμάτιζε γρήγορα σε ένα σημείο. Βούτηξε με όλη της την ταχύτητα και έμπηξε τα νύχια της μέσα στις πρασινάδες. Ίσιωσε από την βουτιά της με μια μεγάλη σαύρα γραπωμένη στα πόδια της. Πέταξε προς το λιονταράκι και έριξε τη σαύρα κοντά του.

Μέχρι ν’ ανοίξει τα μάτια του, η Φτερωτή είχε ήδη απομακρυνθεί. Το λιοντάρι πήγε παραξενεμένο πάνω από την πεθαμένη σαύρα και κοίταξε τριγύρω. Ήταν σίγουρο ότι είχε ακούσει φτερά, αλλά δεν έβλεπε τίποτα. Έπειτα, συνειδητοποίησε την κατάσταση κι έφαγε γρήγορα πριν δουν τα υπόλοιπα λιοντάρια τι συμβαίνει. Η Φτερωτή χαμογέλασε από ψηλά, τα δυο μεγάλα μάτια πάλι καρφωμένα πάνω της από μέσα από τα φυλλώματα.

Τον επόμενο μήνα η Φτερωτή συνέχισε την ίδια στρατηγική. Κυνηγούσε για το λευκό λιοντάρι κι έφευγε πριν προλάβουν να την δουν. Ωστόσο, σύντομα κατάλαβε ότι δεν ήταν μόνιμη λύση στο πρόβλημα. Το Λευκό, όπως το έλεγε, εξακολουθούσε να ταλαιπωριέται από τα άλλα λιοντάρια.

«Δεν θες να φας;» Το ρωτούσαν ειρωνικά όταν σταμάτησε να προσπαθεί να φάει μαζί τους.

«Μην της μιλάτε, είναι Φάντασμα», είπε ένα.

«Ναι, πώς γίνεται να ζει χωρίς φαγητό;» Είπε ένα άλλο.

«Εξηγεί το χρώμα της», συμφώνησε ένα τρίτο.

Κι από τότε άρχισαν όλα να την αγνοούν. Η Λευκή δεν καταλάβαινε γιατί την αντιπαθούσαν τόσο πολύ. Η στενοχώρια την κατέβαλε τόσο που στο τέλος σταμάτησε να τρώει τα ζωά που της έφερνε η Φτερωτή. Ανήσυχη και απελπισμένη, εκείνη, την έβλεπε να μαραζώνει, ώσπου δεν άντεξε.

Μια μέρα, αντί να ψάξει το χορτάρι, πήγε κατευθείαν για το λιοντάρι. Βούτηξε από ψηλά, αναπτύσσοντας τρομακτική ταχύτητα, αλλά επίτηδες χτυπώντας τα φτερά της πιο δυνατά απ’ ό,τι χρειαζόταν. Ο θόρυβος έκανε την αγέλη να κοιτάξει προς το μέρος της. Συνέχισε να σκίζει τον αέρα με αποφασιστικότητα, τέντωσε τα δάκτυλά της και μάζεψε τον σκύμνο. Τα λιοντάρια ούτε διαμαρτυρήθηκαν, ούτε ασχολήθηκαν. Την θύμωσε ακόμα περισσότερο αυτό. Τα δύο φωτεινά μάτια που την παρακολουθούσαν στενά, όπως πάντα, σηκώθηκαν στον αέρα και την ακολούθησαν από απόσταση.

Το λιοντάρι ήταν τόσο στενοχωρημένο που δεν φοβήθηκε καν. Καθώς έβλεπε το έδαφος να απομακρύνεται γρήγορα κάτω από τα πόδια του, σκέφτηκε μόνο τι ωραία που ήταν η θέα. Έπειτα είδε τα γαμψά νύχια γύρω από το σώμα του και συμπέρανε ότι τα προβλήματά του είχαν μόλις αρχίσει.

Μετά από κάποια ώρα, το λιονταράκι παρατήρησε ότι το έδαφος ξαναπλησίαζε και σύντομα η Φτερωτή το είχε αφήσει μαλακά πάνω στο γρασίδι. Η ίδια συνέχισε να πετάει και επέστρεψε σε λίγο μ’ άλλο ένα θήραμα.

«Φάε», είπε στο έκπληκτο λιονταράκι κι αυτό υπάκουσε. Αφού έφαγε χωρίς να αφήσει τα μάτια της από την Φτερωτή, την ρώτησε:

«Εσύ μου άφηνες φαγητό τόσο καιρό;»

«Ναι», απάντησε η Φτερωτή.

«Μα, γιατί;»

«Ξέρω πως δυσκολεύεσαι να βρεις φαγητό. Και ξέρω πώς είναι να νιώθεις ξένος στην αγέλη σου.»

«Σ’ ευχαριστώ», είπε απλώς η μικρή λιονταρίνα.

Και – προς έκπληξη της Φτερωτής – πήγε και κούρνιασε δίπλα της, γουργουρίζοντας από ευγνομωσύνη. Έτσι, λιοντάρι κι αετός κοιμήθηκαν δίπλα-δίπλα. Τα μεγάλα μάτια εξαφανίστηκαν.

Από τότε έγιναν αχώριστες. Η Φτερωτή ανέλαβε να μεγαλώσει την Λευκή, όπως την ονόμασε τελικά. Της κυνηγούσε, την προστάτευε, όταν κάποιος άλλος σαρκοβόρος κυνηγός την έβαζε στο μάτι, και πάντα κοιμόντουσαν παρέα. Κάποιες φορές ξαπόσταιναν κάτω από δέντρα και θάμνους, όπως κοιμούνται τα λιοντάρια. Άλλες, πάλι, κοιμόντουσαν ψηλά πάνω στα δέντρα, όπως κάνουν οι αετοί. Μάλιστα, η Φτερωτή έφτιαξε μια φωλιά, όπως θα έφτιαχνε για τα αετόπουλά της, από φύλλα και κλαδιά, πολύ πιο γερή, όμως, από τις συνηθισμένες φωλιές, για να μπορεί να σηκώσει ένα λιονταράκι.

Τα λιοντάρια είναι κανονικά κυρίως νυκτόβια, ενώ οι πολεμαετοί ημερόβιοι. Φτερωτή και Λευκή συμβιβάστηκαν με το να περνούν τον κοινό τους χρόνο όταν η μέρα και η νύχτα συναντιούνταν˙ το ηλιοβασίλεμα και το ξημέρωμα. Και κυρίως έπαιζαν. Έπαιζαν συνέχεια!

Η περίεργη αυτή σχέση γρήγορα τράβηξε την προσοχή στη Σαβάνα. Πού είχε ξανακουστεί αετός να μεγαλώνει λιοντάρι; Κανείς δεν ενέκρινε αυτήν την αλλόκοτη κατάσταση. Οι αετοί διαμαρτύρονταν, τα λιοντάρια αποδοκίμαζαν, τα υπόλοιπα ζώα κουνούσαν το κεφάλι.

«Λιοντάρι να κοιμάται σε φωλιά!»

«Αετός που κυνηγάει το βράδυ!»

«Τι αφύσικα πράγματα είναι αυτά!»

Τα δύο μάτια μόνο δεν είχαν πει την άποψή τους. Στα κρυφά, παρακολουθούσαν ό,τι γινόταν. Την Φτερωτή δεν την ένοιαζε τι έλεγαν οι άλλοι. Η Λευκή ήταν απλώς χαρούμενη που είχε επιτέλους οικογένεια. Κι έτσι περνούσαν οι μέρες, Φτερωτή και Λευκή ζούσαν, κυνηγούσαν, έπαιζαν παρέα.

Με τον καιρό, η Λευκή μεγάλωσε. Το τρίχωμά της πύκνωσε, οι μυς της δυνάμωσαν, θέριεψε η λιονταρίνα. Ήταν δύσκολο να φανταστεί κανείς ότι εκείνο το μικρό, ασθενικό λιονταράκι είχε μεταμορφωθεί σε αυτήν την τρομερή κυνηγό. Ωστόσο, το μέγεθος και η δύναμή της ήταν παραπλανητικά˙ ήταν ακόμα έφηβη και, από κάποιες απόψεις, ήταν ακόμα παιδί.

Κι η Φτερωτή είχε μεγαλώσει. Όχι απλώς μεγαλώσει, είχε ενηλικιωθεί. Τα φτερά της πύκνωσαν, το ράμφος της σκλήρυνε, άστραψε το βλέμμα της. Οι αετοί μουρμούριζαν συνέχεια επειδή δεν είχε κάνει τη δική της φωλιά. Η Φτερωτή, όμως, είχε αφοσιωθεί στην ανατροφή της Λευκής και δεν την ενδιέφερε τίποτα άλλο.

Η Λευκή, ωστόσο, άρχισε να δυσκολεύεται. Της έλειπαν τα άλλα λιοντάρια. Μια-δυο φορές προσπάθησε να τα ξαναπλησιάσει, αλλά αυτά δεν την ήθελαν.

«Τι λιοντάρι είσαι εσύ;» Την κορόιδευαν.

«Το χρώμα σου είναι λάθος κι οι κινήσεις σου παράξενες!» Την περιγελούσαν.

«Τι ξέρεις από λιονταροζωή εσύ, αφού ζεις μ’ έναν αετό;» Την κατηγορούσαν.

Η Λευκή στενοχωριόταν κι η Φτερωτή ανησυχούσε για εκείνη. Της έλεγε συνέχεια να μην ακούει τι λένε οι άλλοι. Ήταν μια χαρά λιονταρίνα κι έπρεπε να πιστέψει στον εαυτό της, ό,τι και να λένε οι άλλοι γι’ αυτήν. Η Λευκή την ευγνομωνούσε για την υποστήριξή της, αλλά αισθανόταν ότι της ήταν εύκολο να μιλάει εκ του ασφαλούς. Όπως είναι συχνό στην εφηβεία, ένιωθε ότι κανείς δεν την καταλαβαίνει. Σταμάτησε να προσπαθεί να πλησιάσει τα λιοντάρια, αλλά κάπου μέσα της άρχισε να κατηγορεί την Φτερωτή για την απομόνωσή της. Άρχισε να παίρνει την Φτερωτή για δεδομένη.

Η Φτερωτή κατάλαβε ότι κάτι είχε αλλάξει, αλλά το έριξε στην ηλικία της μικρής. Άλλωστε, δεν υπήρχε κάτι που μπορούσε να κάνει. Μια μικρή, μικρούτσικη ρωγμή είχε εμφανιστεί στην σχέση τους, αλλά δεν ήθελαν να το παραδεχθούν. Συνέχισαν να ζουν όπως ζούσαν, ελπίζοντας ότι με το χρόνο θα άλλαζαν τα πράγματα προς το καλύτερο.

Αυτό που σίγουρα πήγαινε καλά ήταν το κυνήγι. Ατρόμητες και οι δύο, έμαθαν να συνεργάζονται τόσο αποτελεσματικά που τίποτα δεν τις ξέφευγε. Χρησιμοποιώντας τα μυστικά του αέρα και της γης μαζί, έγιναν το πιο περιβόητο κυνηγητικό δίδυμο της Σαβάνας. Αυτή η απρόσμενη επιτυχία τους έκοψε τα αρνητικά σχόλια μαχαίρι. Πώς να τις κοροϊδέψουν πια, τόσο δυνατές και όμορφες που είχαν γίνει; Η ζήλια άρχισε να εξαπλώνεται στη Σαβάνα. Το λιοντάρια άρχισαν να ζηλεύουν την εξωτική, λευκή λιονταρίνα και την φτερωτή της φίλη. Οι αετοί άρχισαν να φθονούν την λαμπερή αετίνα και τη λευκή, αιλουροειδένια φίλη της.

Μια μέρα που το κυνήγι τους ήταν ιδιαίτερα εντυπωσιακό και επιτυχημένο, μια παρέα νεαρών λιονταριών πλησίασε την Λευκή την ώρα που έτρωγε.

«Τι κάνεις;» Την ρώτησε ένας λιονταρίνος μελιστάλαχτα.

«Καλά, τρώω, θες λίγο;» Προσφέρθηκε πρόθυμα η Λευκή.

«Όχι, όχι, ευχαριστώ, είναι χορτάτος», είπε τριγυρίζοντάς την. «Ωραία να έχεις βοήθεια στο κυνήγι από τον αέρα, ε;»

«Ναι, όντως», συμφώνησε ξαφνιασμένη η Λευκή. Ήταν συνηθισμένη στα αρνητικά σχόλια και δεν ήξερε τι να κάνει με έναν καλό λόγο.

«Τι ωραίο που πρέπει να είναι να πετάς», συνέχισε αυτός. «Δεν ξέρω αν θα μπορούσα να κάνω παρέα με ένα ζευγάρι φτερά και να μην ζηλεύω! Μπράβο σου που εσύ δεν έχεις τέτοιο πρόβλημα». Και, γελώντας, έφυγε με τους υπόλοιπους.

Η Λευκή μπερδεύτηκε από το σχόλιό του. Ενώ δεν είχε πει κάτι κακό, όπως συνήθως, κάτι στο ύφος του την ανησύχησε, αλλά δεν καταλάβαινε τι. Η Φτερωτή που πετούσε από ψηλά είχε ετοιμαστεί να επέμβει, αλλά ξεφύσηξε με ανακούφιση βλέποντας τα λιοντάρια να απομακρύνονται. Ένας αετός βρέθηκε δίπλα της ξαφνικά, ξαθώς αυτή ξανανέβαινε σε μεγαλύτερο υψόμετρο.

«Τι ωραία που έχεις βρει κάποιον να προστατεύεις», της είπε μελιστάλαχτα. Η Φτερωτή τον κοίταξε κουρασμένα και δεν απάντησε. Αύξησε ταχύτητα για να τον αποφύγει, αλλά αυτός την ακολούθησε.

«Αν και δεν χρειάζεται πια προστασία, είναι δυνατό λιοντάρι πλέον!» Συνέχισε. «Τι ωραίο που πρέπει να είναι να είσαι ο πιο τρομερός κυνηγός στη φύση. Δεν ξέρω αν θα μπορούσα να κάνω παρέα με ένα βασιλιά της ζούγκλας και να μην ζηλεύω! Μπράβο που εσύ δεν έχεις τέτοιο πρόβλημα», είπε χαιρέκακα και πέταξε μακριά.

Η Φτερωτή θύμωσε πάρα πολύ και μάλωσε τον εαυτό της που δεν απάντησε. Τι θράσος! Χτύπησε με μανία τα φτερά της και πήγε στην Λευκή που έγλυφε τα μουστάκια της.

«Ωραίο κυνήγι, ε;» Είπε στην Λευκή χαμογελαστά.

«Ναι...» απάντησε αυτή σκεπτική.

«Τι έγινε, γιατί είσαι προβληματισμένη;» Ρώτησε ανήσυχα η Φτερωτή.

«Τίποτα, κάτι που μου είπε ο λιοντάρος...»

«Τι σου είπε;»

«Μπα, δεν έχει σημασία. Ναι, ωραίο κυνήγι! Πάμε να παίξουμε στη λίμνη;» Πρότεινε φωτεινά. Καθησυχάστηκε και συμφώνησε η Φτερωτή. Τα δύο μεγάλα μάτια εμφανίστηκαν από το πουθενά, αλλά ξαναέκλεισαν γρήγορα όταν η Φτερωτή γύρισε προς το μέρος τους ενστικτωδώς. Ιδέα μου ήταν, σκέφτηκε και ακολούθησε τη Λευκή.

Πέρασαν το απόγευμά τους γελώντας και πλατσουρίζοντας στα πράσινα νερά της αγαπημένης τους λίμνης. Η ίδια λίμνη όπου χρόνια πριν η Φτερωτή είχε κινδυνέψει από μια λεοπάρδαλη. Το βράδυ, όμως, όταν σκαρφάλωσαν ψηλά σε ένα δέντρο Μαρούλα για να κοιμηθούν, καμιά τους δεν την έπαιρνε ο ύπνος. Η Λευκή ήταν ακόμα μπερδεμένη από τα λόγια του λιοντάρου κι η Φτερωτή ήταν θυμωμένη και ανήσυχη. Γιατί προσπαθούσαν να τους βάλουν λόγια; Γιατί δεν τις άφηναν στην ησυχία τους, επιτέλους; Δεν θα τους περάσει, μια χαρά τα έχουμε καταφέρει μέχρι τώρα, καθησύχασε τον εαυτό της και αποκοιμήθηκε. Δυστυχώς, είχε πέσει έξω.

Τον επόμενο καιρό, σταδιακά δυσκόλεψαν τα πράγματα. Οι άλλοι συνέχιζαν να τους βάζουν λόγια. Η Φτερωτή τους έκοβε και δεν έδινε σημασία, αλλά η Λευκή ήταν ακόμα μικρή και είχε τις ανασφάλειές της. Άρχισε να κρατάει μούτρα και να κάνει γκρίνιες. Η Φτερωτή, παρ’ όλο που ανησυχούσε, δεν αντιμιλούσε. Ήλπιζε ότι αν έδειχνε κατανόηση θα περνούσε η φάση από μόνη της. Αλλά όσο πιο πολλή κατανόηση έδειχνε, τόσο πιο πολύ πείσμωνε η έφηβη Λευκή. Η Φτερωτή είχε κουραστεί από την συνεχή διαμάχη, αλλά δεν μπορούσε να το παραδεχτεί στον εαυτό της. Είχε αφιερώσει την ζωή της στην λιονταρίνα και ένιωθε ότι ήταν υποχρεωμένη να ανεχθεί τα πάντα, αλλιώς θα ήταν σαν να έχει αποτύχει.

Η μικρή, μικρούτσικη ρωγμή έγινε ρήγμα στα θεμέλια της σχέσης τους, ένα ρήγμα που όλο και μεγάλωνε και όλο και τις απομάκρυνε. Άρχισαν να κυνηγούν χωριστά και να περνούν λιγότερο χρόνο μαζί, κάτι που ανακούφισε τους υπόλοιπους. Η κανονικότητα είχε αποκατασταθεί στα μάτια τους.

Ένα πρωινό κάθονταν δίπλα στη λίμνη τους, όλες οι ανείπωτες ζήλιες και πικρίες υψωμένες σαν τοίχος ανάμεσά τους. Την άβολη σιωπή έσπασε ένα θρόισμα που τις έκανε να γυρίσουν απότομα το κεφάλι. Μέσα από τα φυλλώματα ξεπρόβαλε μια τεράστια κουκουβάγια. Τα μεγάλα μάτια είχαν βγει επιτέλους στο φως.

«Καλημέρα, Φτερωτή και Λευκή», τις χαιρέτησε.

«Μας... ξέρεις;» Ρώτησε παραξενεμένη η Λευκή.

«Σ’ έχω δει!» Αναφώνησε η Φτερωτή πριν προλάβει να απαντήσει η κουκουβάγια.

«Ναι», επιβεβαίωσε το μεγάλο πτηνό. «Σας παρακολουθώ χρόνια.»

«Γιατί;» Ρώτησαν μαζί οι νεαρές.

«Απ’ όταν ήσαστε μικρά παιδιά. Σε είδα από μικρό πουλάκι, Φτερωτή, να παλεύεις με τον αδερφό σου για δυο μπουκιές. Να δουλεύεις σκληρά για να μάθεις να πετάς και να κερδίσεις την ελευθερία σου. Κι έπειτα να βρίσκεις ένα μικρό, διαφορετικό λιονταράκι. Δεν υπάρχουν πολλά ζώα με την καλοσύνη σου. Δεν άντεξες να μην βοηθήσεις, κυνηγούσες γι’ αυτό και στο τέλος το υιοθέτησες. Και μεγαλώσατε μαζί, χωρίς να σας ενδιαφέρει τι λένε οι άλλοι».

Οι μικρές την κοιτούσαν αποσβολωμένες.

«Μέχρι πρόσφατα», συμπλήρωσε με ένα νεύμα του κεφαλιού και τα κορίτσια κούνησαν αμήχανα φτερά και ουρά. «Είσαστε τόσο διαφορετικές, αλλά και τόσο ίδιες. Είστε φίλες από τύχη, αλλά αδερφές από επιλογή. Πώς να καταλάβουν τα άλλα ζώα αυτό που έχετε; Πώς να διαχειριστούν την διαφορετικότητά σας; Γι’ αυτό σας βάζουν λόγια. Για πείτε, λοιπόν, τι βλέπετε όταν κοιτάζετε η μία την άλλη;»

Η Λευκή κοίταξε το έδαφος και μουρμούρισε:

«Βλέπω τα φτερά που δεν έχω.»

Η Φτερωτή ξαφνιασμένη είπε:

«Ωραία τα φτερά, αλλά είσαι ο πιο δυνατός κυνηγός της Σαβάνας!»

Σειρά της Λευκής να ξαφνιαστεί.

«Είδατε;» Ρώτησε σοφά η κουκουβάγια. «Βλέπετε αυτό που δεν έχετε. Αυτό που νομίζετε ότι σας λείπει.»

Τα κορίτσια φάνηκαν να μπερδεύονται.

«Αφού δεν το έχουμε...» άρχισε η Φτερωτή.

«... αυτό δεν σημαίνει ότι μας λείπει;» Συμπλήρωσε η Λευκή.

«Λογικό να σας ακούγεται το ίδιο», χαμογέλασε η κουκουβάγια. «Κι όμως! Δεν είναι. Δεν σας λείπει αυτό που δεν έχετε, αφού το μοιράζεστε απλόχερα. Μαζί έχετε τα φτερά, μαζί και τα πόδια! Πετάτε ψηλά, τρέχετε μακριά. Χωριστά, αλλά και μαζί. Η διαφορετικότητά σας σας ενώνει, δεν σας χωρίζει! Κι αυτό τρομάζει τους υπόλοιπους, επειδή δεν το καταλαβαίνουν. Εσείς, όμως, καταλαβαίνετε;»

«ΝΑΙ!» Απάντησαν δυνατά και συγχρονισμένα, χαμογελώντας πλατιά.

«Αγνοήστε τους, λοιπόν. Αγνοήστε τους, αλλά και καταλάβετέ τους. Μην τους θυμώνετε, αλλά και μην τους φοβάστε. Η άγνοιά τους μιλάει, η μοναξιά. Δείξ’τε τους ότι υπάρχει κάτι καλύτερο στην πράξη κι ίσως κάποιοι από αυτούς να αλλάξουν μυαλά κάποια μέρα. Και τώρα να με συγχωρέσετε, αλλά πρέπει να πάω για ύπνο. Ξημέρωσα πολύ σήμερα περιμένοντάς σας, δεν θα μπορώ να σηκωθώ το βράδυ!» Γέλασε η κουκουβάγια. Οι αδερφές την ευχαρίστησαν και της ευχήθηκαν καλό ύπνο.

Από τότε έζησαν χαρούμενα και ευτυχισμένα. Μαζί κάλυπταν γη, νερό και ουρανό. Δεν υπήρχαν όρια στο τι μπορούσαν να καταφέρουν, παρά μόνο η φαντασία τους. Και η φαντασία της Φτερωτής και της Λευκής σίγουρα δεν είχε όρια!

Αυτά λέει ο μύθος «Ο Αετός και το Λιοντάρι». Συχνά, οι μύθοι κάποια βάση έχουν, όμως, στην πραγματικότητα. Ίσως, επίσης, αυτός ο μύθος, αυτός ο παλιός, πανάρχαιος μύθος να μην είχε απλώς βάση στην πραγματικότητα... αλλά να ήταν και προοικονομία για το μέλλον.







15.11.18

Being Romantic

Romance is a thing of the character.

Being romantic is beyond any particular person. It's more than wanting a lover or nurturing a relationship. Being romantic is a way of life.

It's the love you feel for the beauty of the trees and the flowers and the sky and the sun and the moon and the stars. It's the times you stand still and listen to what the wind is trying to tell you.

It's the joy you feel when you return home to find your dogs and you cats waiting for you by the door.  
It's the feeling your guts are being torn apart by worrying over your loved one who is in a surgical room.

It's the gentleness with which you pick up a wounded pigeon, the attention with which you take care of it until it's ready to fly away.

It's how the idea of letting it go breaks your heart, but still you don't hesitate to open your palms.

It's the heartbreak of watching it leave you, overshadowed by the fierce pride you feel for your winged survivor.

It's the nights you lay awake in bed and cry into your pillow, thinking about all the kids that are crying themselves to sleep.

It's the way a piece of music can make your spine tickle and your chest swell, and you feel like you'll burst with all that music in you.

It's how kind words on your lips can bring a smile to people frowning with worry.

It's how you shrink into insignificance the first time you hold a newborn baby in your arms.

It's the tenderness with which you place your hand on a grieving shoulder.

It's the truth you find when looking into someone's eyes.

And, yes, romance is the absolute surrender to a lover.

Romance is...
...deliberate...
...mindful...
...love.


Signed,

A Romantic for life


(Even if it kills me)


4.10.18

Hope and Freedom

When I first heard of Kazatzakis' quote "I fear nothing. I hope for nothing. I am free," I wondered why it's made so much of an impression. The first part is certainly brave and impressive; it's admirable to not have fear and it's certainly followed by (and it deserves) freedom. To imply, however, that not only you don't need hope to be free, but that it's an actual obstacle to freedom... it seemed like armchair arrogance in my childish mind. I interpreted the absence of hope as absence of motivation, absence of goals, absence of action, absence of interest.

Back then I had a very close relationship with hope. I hoped with all of my soul, I hoped as much as I could, thinking the intensity of my hoping alone could influence things in my favour. And I hoped and I wished, and I wished and I hoped.

Hoping by hoping, though, I observed at some point that whether I hoped or not was independent to the outcome. Whether I hoped or not did not change the probability of getting heads on a coin toss. The things that I couldn't influence with my actions, I couldn't influence with my hoping; and the materialisation of the things that I could influence with my actions was determined by said actions, not my hoping. This realisation disappointed me greatly, but it didn't stop me from hoping. Hope continued to give me strength; it was my motive, the fuel of my cognitive machine.

However, my hope, apart from useless, it was meant to become a problem, as well. At some point I realised that I was spending more time recovering from hopes that were not vindicated, than enjoying either the vindicated ones or the hopes themselves. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't not get hurt when a hope was proven vain. And the more and/or more often and/or more intensely you hope, the more and/or more often and/or more intensely get disappointed.

Soon, I started worrying every time I felt hope waking up inside me. The idea that I will hope for something that won't happen and I'll be disappointed again was disturbing. It came to a point when I just couldn't handle the prospect of one more homeless hope. How many times to tell yourself, "It's OK, let's move on?" How many times to tell yourself, "It's just one more failure, it'll pass?"

Having been, therefore, imprisoned by my tendency to hope, I thought I figured out why Kazatzakis conceived the absence of hope as freedom; because, as long as I hoped and got disappointed, I wasn't free, but dependent on my fear of getting disappointed again. The idea of forsaking hope, even if it meant (according to my interpretation) I'd fall in inaction and apathy, started to look appealing. It was enough that I would not get disappointed again. So, arm, aim, shoot! The firing squad of the sides of myself set hope up 6 meters away and then buried her 6 feet under, satisfied to go against the popular saying that wants hope to always "die last."

Some time passed that I didn't hope for anything. I existed nice and quitely, without the passions of desire and expectation; and the quiet was welcome after years and years of persistent (and painful) expectation. Along with the quiet, came the inaction. I wasn't trying for anything, I wasn't planning, I wasn't acting. Nothing to made me happy, nothing to made me sad; the absolute balance. Then, I believed I'd found Kazatzakis' freedom.

Without realising how, though, I started taking chances here and there. I started planning, I started acting. I had no hope anymore, but that didn't stop me from setting goals and - after some practice - from doing my best. And then I figured out I'd been mistaken...

It is different to be apathetic than to be indifferent. It's different to hope than to want. I trained myself to want without drowning in my desire, without the anxiety of "Will I succeed or not," "Will it happen or not?" And accepting wanting for what it is, with the knowledge that nothing is certain, I made it to a point where I was indifferent to the outcome, without being apathetic to it. There was no hope, nor did I need it. I wasn't getting disappointed, I wasn't getting excited; nor was I missing the excitement and the disappointment. Methodically, I moved towards what mattered to me. And then I was certain, finally, that I had understood what Kazatzakis meant by claiming freedom comes from the lack of hope.

But that didn't last long. Sooner that I'd wanted, came the time when a wonderful prospect (or, perhaps, the prospect of a wonderful prospect) brought an unexpected resurrection. Hope, like a phoenix, was reborn from her ashes.

I don't know why that happened. I don't know if it's because it had been a long time I'd wanted something so much; if it was the intensity of my desire, that is; or if it's a tendency, human or personal, to hope, that had simply curled up in the darkness, waiting stoically to make it's reappearance when the conditions allowed for it; or if it's just a weakness of mine to apply in pratice what I support in theory.

What I know is that I catch myself hoping again... And what I know is that it changes nothing. What I want is not any more possible or probably because I want it. I'm not trying more or less, better or worse, because I hope. In fact, the only thing I can do is wait, because there's nothing I can do to influence the outcome, anyway. And even so, I hope.

And maybe that doesn't make me free... but it certainly makes me alive.


22.6.16

Projection is fun

I was around sixteen and I was out with my best friend and her boyfriend on a Friday evening. We were walking down a busy street of Athens, when my friend’s boyfriend decided to buy a CD from some hawkers. He spent some time looking at the different CDs and asking them questions, if they had this song or that singer, if the discs were good quality, if they’d play in this or that player, that sort of thing.

The two black people selling the music got annoyed that he was taking so long to decide. They figured quickly he didn’t understand English, and they assumed my friend and I didn’t either. They kept their faces straight and pretended to help him, but started insulting him in English.
“What an idiot, what are you looking for, you asshole, just pick one,” the one said, keeping his smile in place. “He and his bitches just want to waste our time,” the other replied looking elsewhere, seemingly talking about something irrelevant. They both laughed sarcastically.
My friend and I exchanged startled glances, and she pushed her boyfriend, who was still blissfully unaware he was being insulted, to hurry up.

“Fucking Albanians are morons,” the first one said, as our guy finally picked a disc and passed him the money. I've always found that ironic, immigrants being racist to other immigrants.
But as we turned to leave, I couldn’t help myself. I looked at him right in the eye and told him: “Thank you, but you didn’t have to be so rude.”

Did I yell? Did I call him an asshole, a bitch, or told him to fuck off? No. I endured his insults without flinching and in a calm, if somewhat snooty, tone told him he was “rude”.

*~* Music intermission *~*

This song seriously annoys me, for one thing because this guy does not understand what "rude" means (hint: it's not just saying "no"), and for another because who would be stupid enough to think it's a good idea to show up at his girlfriend's father doorstep high AF?!? You look stoned, dude. Don't go talking to parents when you're stoned! Common sense. But, in any case, it fits perfectly here. I imagine my sixteen-year-old self, going all sassy at those guys: "Why you gotta be so rude? Huh?" And it's funny!

How do you think he took it? He lost his marbles, that’s how he took it. His face went from smugness to surprise and then rage, and it was like watching a Porsche 918 Spyder going from 0-100 km/h in 2.2 seconds (Wikipedia informed me that's the best acceleration for production cars). He launched towards me, screaming:
“YOU CALL ME RUDE? WHO CALLED YOU RUDE? YOU MOTHAFUCKA? YOU CALL ME RUDE?”

I was so shocked by his overreaction that I barely took a reflexive step back. My friend’s boyfriend jumped between us, put his hands in front of him and started telling the guy to calm down. While still numb, I felt impressed and grateful to him. He didn’t have to stick his neck out for me, but he did. Thankfully, the situation didn’t escalate, and we just walked away. It would have been a very stupid reason for either of us to get beat up over, after all.

Once we were at a safe distance, he asked us what happened and he was surprised that they were insulting him in his face. We were all shaken up, but once the adrenaline burnt off, we started laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. It’s been fourteen years and this is one of those stories that don’t get forgotten.

Here it was a situation where my friends and I did nothing wrong. My friend's boyfriend was under no obligation to be quick or even to buy anything from them. Sure, it's annoying when someone asks too many questions and/or doesn't even buy anything from you, but it's still their right as a customer. On the other hand, insulting others in their face, hiding behind a language barrier is about as cowardly, mean and petty as it can get.

Going off on that tangent, I've found myself plenty of times on either side of that barrier. Excluding a person from a conversation by speaking a language they don't understand felt extremely rude, either when I was the one excluded or someone else. I don't mean saying a few phrases, translating them etc. I mean literally talking about things, while others start glancing around awkwardly. When I'm abroad, I get particularly stern with Greeks who try to show off and speak in Greek with me in front of others who don't understand it. It is rude even when the conversation is about the weather, but, of course, it's even more so when they are bad-mouthing people who are present. If nothing else, people shouldn't do it, simply to avoid the humiliation if the other person actually understands them.

Oops!
It's pretty epic when that happens, even when you aren't the Mother of Dragons.
"Valyrio muño ēngos ñuhys issa! Who's the bitch now?"

The interesting part is that all people have rationalisations for their double standards, what psychologist Robert Kurzban often refers to as "Why everyone (else) is a hypocrite". When called out, that person tried to pretend he had consistent standards: His first defence was to tell me he hadn't called me "rude". Well, he was technically correct and that was a rather good debating twist, to be honest. It's beautiful to watch the capabilities of the brain to offer explanations. He had not, indeed, called me "rude"; he had just happened to called me a "bitch", instead. Needless to say, his understanding of severity of name-calling (if "rude" is even name-calling) could use some calibration.

His anger was just a defence mechanism. He was caught. He'd either be a grown up and swallow it, or he'd blame the person who caught him. But - alas! - as a very wise wizard, Albus Dumbledore, has said, "People find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right."

The morals of the story:

  • People feel entitled to insulting others and not having any consequences, which is why they do it behind their backs.
  • People have double standards about how much respect they give to others and how much they demand in return.
  • People that get their kicks out of bad-mouthing others behind their backs are probably too cowardly to do it in their face, which is why when they’re caught they project the anger, hurt, and blame. So, not only do they make the initial mistake, but then it’s unlikely they’ll admit they made a mistake at all; they’ll just double down and “blame” others for exposing their hypocrisy (pronoun confusion alert).
  • It is generally a good idea to only say things about a person that you would have no problem saying to that person.
  • When we get caught making a mistake, we can at least do the right thing and admit we made it, instead of lashing out and making ourselves look even more ridiculous in our attempt to save face.
And, most importantly, don't let others' double standards and projection to confuse you. People will do their best to avoid responsibility, which means you should expect their manipulative manoeuvres. 

24.9.15

Tomorrowland, a.k.a. the "easy-fix", the "chosen-one", and the "positive thinking" obsession

I watched Tomorrowland a few months ago, and I've been meaning to write about it, but life has been happening again. Anyway, I suppose a "better late than ever" attitude is applicable here, so here it goes...

(Take notice that there are some mild spoilers for this movie and also for The Lego Movie and Inside Out.)

I am a lover of science fiction, it is arguably my favourite genre. However, I'm not a simple consumer of hi-tech graphics and futuristic cinematography. I seek intellectual fulfilment as much as audiovisual gratification. Sci Fi can be the best of everything, when it is coupled with rich philosophy, well-thought-out script, clever direction, and good acting. The Matrix, for example, remains in my mind as one of the best movies ever made, because it married all of these things in a happy polygamous arrangement.

So, when I went to see Tomorrowland, I knew I was going to enjoy the audiovisual treat (and I absolutely did). And because I'm easily moved, I can count on any movie to have some moments that will tear me up (I am a sucker for emotions), even if I recognize at the same time they did it in a rather cheap way (compartmentalization FTW). What was really up for grabs was whether the whole project would stand intellectually, philosophically. The main debate people have about this movie ιs probably the standard disagreement of “romantics” and “cynics”. Romantics were moved, cynics found it “preachy”. As usual, my view is more complicated.

Tomorroland.

The movie has a wonderful premise: Imagine what would happen if the most intelligent and creative people in the world got together and devoted their time exclusively to making the world better, free of politics and power games. It’s something I've thought of many times, and I always come up with “That would be absolutely amazing”.

The movie, however, completely fails to see that idea through. It begins with that large group of people, which we see for less than ten minutes, and then one single invention by one person is seemingly enough to destroy everything, and then everybody simply gives up, except, apparently from a stubbornly programmed robot, and a teenage girl. Together, they drag back from the precipice of cynicism a former dreamer, and thus the typical trio of heroes is complete.

They “save the day”, not by hard work or perseverance, but by thinking positively and having a couple of ideas on their feet. “Let’s go there”, “Let’s destroy it”, “Use my self-destruction”, and that’s pretty much it.

And, thus, the entire premise of the movie is neatly negated. A quick fix from a handful of people over the hard work of many people, that’s how you save the entire world.

What is the character of our most recent “savior”? It’s a teenage girl, self-proclaimed “optimist”, who understands “how things work”. This includes a wide variety of technological stuff. She moves a diode a little and fixes something her father is building, her father being a full-grown NASA mechanic. We don’t have any background as to how she has developed her tech skills. There is no mention of her having spent a significant time studying and trying and practicing. It’s safe to assume, though, having been raised by a NASA mechanic has given her a head start, an early exposure to mechanics and electronics, but for all we know, she just popped out into the world having engineering superpowers.

As per usual, we are asked to accept she’s just “special” for some reason, and that “being herself” will save the world.
Oops, the "sarcasm" brain module took control for a second.
Please, scroll down. Thanks. 

The former-dreamer, on the other hand, is presented to us as someone “self-made” in that he didn’t have his father’s support. But again we’re not given any insight as to how this small boy has learned so much. He is given to us ready-made, an “unexpected” talent. Though, why exactly he's an “unexpected” talent, is not really clear. If a pre-teen showed up with that contraption, even if it's not entirely functional, any proper engineer would be impressed. That little sequence was an unexplained bit of “unfairness”, only to set up the consequent gratefulness that someone vouches for him, against the panel's better judgement.

It's all very superficial. But putting our heroes aside for a moment, the whole movie came down to... positive thinking. And I have very mixed feelings (pun intended) about positive thinking.

I don’t find positive thinking negative (well, obviously). I don’t find it irrelevant, either. But I also don’t consider it enough or even the most important factor. Negative thinking can act like an anchor, dragging us down and away from our potential. However, we cannot safely reverse this sentence. Positive thinking isn’t enough for us to meet that potential. Hard work and dedication and patience is what will make us reach our potential, and the “positivity” or not of our thinking is secondary. An easy proof for that is how many creative people who have offered a lot to the world, were, in fact, quite cynical and how many positive thinkers don’t manage to make much difference. Positive thinking is useful, but not enough, and it can also be a problem.

In his book, “The Antidote: Happiness For People Who Can't Stand Positive Thinking”, journalist and author Oliver Burkeman, argues that we're putting way too much pressure on people to avoid “negativity” at all costs, which leaves them unprepared for and in constant fear for failure. His proposed antidote is to learn how to enjoy uncertainty, accept the possibility of negative outcomes, and embrace insecurity:



Writing this reminded me of The Lego Movie, where the eternal positive-thinker Princess Unikitty tries and tries to keep being positive in spite of the all the bad things that are happening, and in the end she just gets really angry and single-handedly defeats the bad guys. She was probably my favourite character in that movie (well, she is a unicorn/cat hybrid) and this short compilation of her funniest moments - including the unavoidable epic meltdown - is guaranteed to make you smile:



Inside Out also had a similar twist, with Joy realizing that Sadness has its purpose and necessity, too. Vanessa Hill, a science communicator behind the psychology and neuroscience YouTube programme “BrainCraft”, made an episode about it, where she explains how research shows that people who try to suppress their negative emotions end up experiencing them more often:



Through our cynical times, it is actually not uncommon to see hope and positive thinking served up as the ultimate answer. As usual, the two extremes coexist so as to keep a social balance. But positive thinking alone is not very relevant. The world, mostly, does not evolve by a few geniuses that have single strokes of inspiration born out of hope. It evolves through hard, hard, hard work of many, many, many nameless people and lots and lots and lots of time. Many – most – of them are not “incredibly” intelligent or “incredibly” talented. They’re just regular people who have spent a lot of time learning a craft. The top is a small place and most of the work is not realized there.

The movie attempted to capture this at the end, with a beautiful scene that, I shamelessly share, brought me to tears. But it has that inherent flaw. It shows how we go out there and pick those who are ready-made; those who are already “optimistic”, “talented”, “dreamers”. Again, no relevant solution is offered. How do we make more people like that? How do we bring out the potential of greatness in all people? How do we teach, how do we guide? The movie implies that this will happen along the way, and I’m willing to accept that, but that doesn’t distract me from the fact that the movie-makers avoided to make the hard work themselves. I’m supposed to take the optimism and accept that everything will follow from there, but this is simply not how life works most of the time, especially when we’re dealing with something as massive as the impending extinction of the species.

We love quick fixes. We love inherent “talent”, prodigies and geniuses. And, of course, all those things are fascinating and I wouldn’t discount their value. However…
a) By default, there are very few of them, they are the exceptions,
b) Therefore we can’t count on them exclusively for the betterment of the species, and
c) It is wasteful to fail to focus on the contribution of all the “ordinary” people which, unlike “inherent” characteristics, can be influenced by our interventions.

Apparently, you're not allowed to Google "teamwork" or "cooperation", or you get bombarded
by nauseating business and marketing "motivational" nonsense. This was the best I could find.

To summarize, the movie had an incredibly profound premise (and that's why romantics were moved), but didn't do it justice at all (and that's why cynics were unimpressed).

So, let’s celebrate those rare, incredible people. But let’s celebrate just as much hard work and dedication, even when it can’t get us to excellence. Let’s celebrate perseverance even if we can’t be better than mediocre at something. We can’t all be first. We can’t all be best. We can't all be “special”. We can’t all “save the world”.

But what we can all do is add just a very small, ordinary, mediocre even, piece towards building a better tomorrow. That view paints a very positive picture, as well, but one that is free of naivete, arrogance, and delusion.

For the lovers, and the dreamers, and me...

10.8.15

My medical story

I was born very flexible. The OBG who delivered me laughed when he examined me and saw how elastic I was. The first profession I ever said I wanted to have was “a ballerina of the stars”, because I loved dancing and I loved the universe and wanted to combine them somehow.

By the time I was 14, I had tried all sorts of things; artistic gymnastics, acrobatics, ballet, flamenco, and, eventually, I found myself in rhythmic gymnastics. I loved them all, but that couple of years I did rhythmics I was happier than I’ve ever been in my life. The problem was, we had a splits exercise called “double bench”, basically doing the splits with each leg on a foot-high bench to achieve more than 180 degrees flexibility. I’d always been quite patient with flexibility exercises, though they can be quite painful, so when I started complaining that my knee hurt, my instructor should have realized that I wasn’t just “whining”. Instead, she kept pushing me, telling me I was lazy. So, I kept going, enduring the pain.

After a few months, I had developed a permanent pain in both knees. After my instructor’s advice, I saw a sports doctor. He basically didn’t offer much. He just dismissed the problem as a passing one and gave me an analgesic pill, a thermal topical cream, and told me to wear braces while I practice. I followed his advice, but I didn’t really see any difference. I stopped doing anything that made my knees hurt, which meant I couldn’t really do anything in class.

The pain was getting worse and worse and, eventually, I couldn’t dance at all. In fact, I couldn’t do pretty much anything. I couldn’t climb stairs, couldn’t sit on the floor because I couldn’t get up, I couldn’t sit for too long, or walk for more than ten minutes without needing to stop because of the pain. I couldn’t find a position to sleep, and the pain was always bad when I woke up because my legs were stationary for too long.

A. Normal alignment B. Decreased Q angle (genu varum)
C. Increased Q angle (genu valgum)
We forgot the sports doctors and went to an orthopedics, instead. The verdict was chondropathy for both knees, a disease of the cartilage of the knee, following it’s grinding against the bone, due to a condition called genu valgum (more commonly known as "knock-knee"), in which the knees angle in and touch each other when the legs are straightened. The abnormal angle between the upper and the lower leg leads to the bone biting into the cartilage of the knee, causing the pain. Genu valgum is also often accompanied by pes planus, i.e. flat feet. At least we had a diagnosis. He proposed full rest and avoiding any movement that causes pain. He forbade me to bend the knee more than 90 degrees or straightening it, sitting cross-legged etc. Doing all these things, I stopped getting worse, which was very welcome, but I wasn’t getting better. After a few months we went back and he basically didn’t have anything else to propose. I went through a few different doctors after that, but nobody had anything to add.

Finally, someone proposed I went to a podiatrist to make me insoles to keep my arch elevated. It was very high tech, he made me walk on a pad and showed me the pressure footprint onscreen. Most of it was red, which meant the pressure was above normal and, also, the footprint had no curves since I didn’t have an arch, it was just amorphous. He made me the insoles, and they actually did make me feel better while I was walking. However, they only fit with trainers, so I could really only wear trainers for months. I got a bit better because of the insoles, at least I could move around a bit more, but I still wasn’t very functional.

They also proposed physical therapy. I went to a place recommended by a friend. I spent months doing several physical therapies, including ultrasounds and electrotherapy. Nothing was happening, and if nothing else electrotherapy was actually making my knees feel weirder, more unstable. I kept bugging them that I’m not feeling better, but they didn’t try anything else. I was becoming more and more depressed.

After a year and a half since the pain started, I had very little improvement, big bills, and little hope that something would actually help me. Additionally, I was suddenly stationary for too long which, in combination to my bad psychological state, lead to me taking on 45 pounds. The additional weight only made my medical condition and my mental state even worse. Being a gymnast all my life, I loathed my new body, I couldn’t recognize myself in it. I was only 15, my future in dancing was stolen from me, my self-image had suffered a huge blow, and I had little hope anything could happen to change that.

That’s when Maria came into my life. She had already helped my sister’s friend after a car accident had damaged her knee so much that she needed several surgeries to rebuild it. And, she was a dancer, too. She knew exactly how I felt and I promised me Maria would help. Maria was a Pilates instructor, one of the first in my country, Greece. She had traveled all over the world, trained by the best of the field. She was collaborating with orthopedic surgeons and specialized on injury rehabilitation. We went to see her and she made me walk around to see how I moved. She had trouble hiding her concern. She said we’d have a lot of work to do and that I’d have to work with her. She was quite expensive, but she told me to come in for ten half hour sessions, two per week, and that if she managed to help me, I’d be already better by then. We had a specific goal, not just an open-ended "keep coming and you'll feel better some day". She asked for my x-rays and told me she’d take a few days to think of the best exercises for my case.

This chair is a common Pilates apparatus.
This is one of the exercises I had on it.
It was the most intense, focused exercise I’ve ever had. Maria wasn’t about jumping up and down like a goat, or trying so hard you huff and puff and hurt. She was about very precise, contained movements that focused on specific muscles and protected the joints. I had to keep breathing steadily and be very mindful about where every part of my body was. She kept a steady commentary of corrections “tummy in, don’t relax the butt, you’re clenching your shoulders, don’t forget to breathe” and I followed her instructions as best as I could. She made me discover muscles I didn’t know I have, and the sessions, though short and seemingly simple, left my muscles trembling from the effort, and it was almost as challenging for my brain as it was for my body.

The difference was amazing. After only the first two sessions, my legs felt stronger. Forget about insoles, I was holding my arch with my own muscles, training my body to stand differently. My muscles were getting stronger and stronger, the pain was getting less and less, and my confidence raised its head timidly. After only a month the pain was practically gone. I could walk, I could climb stairs, I didn’t have to wear trainers all the time; I could even stay barefoot, which was impossible before. I thanked Maria from the bottom of my heart and she was very pleased we made it. It was truly a miracle for me. In only a month I got my future back. That future didn’t involve my being an athlete, but it was a future free of pain, and a future that didn’t exclude dancing completely. And that was more than I had dared hope.

29.7.15

Just another nightmare

Once upon a time, there was a family of fairies. They were living in a beautiful meadow overlooking a human city built on a set of hills. The princess fairy (a.k.a. me) was bored of the fairy ways and dreamed of mingling with the humans, but her kind was adamant: You must never, ever go through the fairy portal to the human city. So, she lived her days attaching glitter glue to the tops of the hills with her fairy magic from far away (seriously).


Until one day she did it. She went through the shiny, oval portal and wondered into the human city; and she loved it. She met a human boy there, and it was love at first sight. But soon she figured out that there was another, more sinister reason than just humans, why fairies never went to the human city. A clan of dark witches and warlocks had infiltrated the city and had been waiting for her. As the heir of the fairy throne, her magic was very potent. The girl and the boy barely escaped with her lives, thanks to her fairy powers, but that also blew her cover with the boy; he now knew what she was. They went through the portal, and it closed behind them just in time for the evil ones to be left behind. But they now knew where the portal was, and they’d be waiting.


Her father was unhappy she had disobeyed, bringing a human back on top of anything else, but he was an understanding king. He kept the boy safe, and thought for a few days what would be best for everyone. He finally sat both of them down and gave them their options. Once a year until she came of age the fairy had to go through the portal for her magic to remain, but at least he could create a place for them, hidden by magic, where nobody would be able to find them the rest of the time. They’d hide there, until she would come of age and would be able to take the throne, and after that moment the dark ones wouldn’t be able to harm anyone in the fairy land. But the boy was in danger, so he’d have to decide if he wanted to go with her, and the two sisters of the fairy would go with them as additional protect them, as well.

They all agreed quite enthusiastically, and they went into hiding. And that was how the following years passed, they lived happily together somewhere safe, and once a year they raced to the portal. The evil ones were always there, but never managed to get them in time, and the fairies would just laugh and stick their tongues out to them through the portal that was closing between them.

A little before the fairy came of age, sad news came to them. A good fairy friend had died, Cinderella (roll your eyes with me). The sisters had to pay their homage, so, as the fairy custom was, went outside her house and sat down in the garden, silently communicating with the remnants of the deceased fairy’s magic.

And, out of nowhere, a black diamond the size of a basketball came hurling in the air and hit the one sister, who was rooted to the spot, unable to move. I (yes, I have to change POV now, because it’s a dream and sometimes you watch from the outside and sometimes from the inside :P ) whirled around in time to dodge another black diamond that shuttered into millions pieces on the ground next to me. I saw the attacker, a witch dressed in a majestic black lace dress, walking towards us and speaking the language of magic while readying another diamond. I dodged that, too, but it hit my other sister and at that moment I heard a voice yell “Run to me!”

A white which was advancing behind the dark one, and I sprinted toward her. Black diamond after black diamond came flying my way, but one by one were met and crashed by white ones midair, white and black shreds of glass flying everywhere and cutting my arms and face. The dark witch roared with anger, but I was already out of her reach. As I levelled up with her, the white witch shouted at me: “Hide in the city, we’ll find you later!”

I nodded as I run past her, a panicked expression on my face and a retched fear gripping my insides. Would she be alright? Would my sisters, the fairy land be alright? But there was no time to think, so I just kept running, until I couldn’t breathe. I cowered behind a truck full of debris, thinking which way to go, but something felt terribly off.

And then I heard it; a deep rumble, the most horrifying groan, worse than any spell or monster. It was coming from deep beneath me feet. And before I could react, the ground started to shake violently. Stuck between a truck and an abandoned building, I looked up and saw to my terror parts of the building falling apart and flying towards me. I ran between the truck and the building, heart pounding frantically, evading bricks and rocks and glass, waiting for the inevitable impact. I made it round the end of the truck, only to be met with dust and bits of concrete dancing off its back, and as I finally made it to the open street, the sight made my heart clench painfully.

An avalanche of debris was coming down the street, taking cars and bits of the buildings with it, like a solid tsunami. I was trying to avoid things and find a safe passage to higher ground, when, inconceivably, something even more terrifying happened. With a loud groan, a huge piece of the ground behind me, ten yards in diameter, sank into the Earth. The chasm that it left behind was so deep I could not see a bottom. Terrified beyond words, I struggled towards the other direction, ignoring the things still flying at me. A blow to the head was far more welcome than getting sucked into the void.

Suddenly, the ground stopped moving and things settled down. Then I heard a narrator’s voice in my head: “And then the ground stopped shaking, but she kept running, wishing to get as far away as possible from that cursed place, not daring to hope she was finally safe”. And all of that was true; I could feel the hope, unwelcome, rise inside of me. Maybe it’s over! And as I tried to work my way up a pile of debris to get to the other side of the street, the narrator continued: “But then the ground opened up again”.

I tensed up and, sure enough, another big chunk of ground right next to me gave way and disappeared from sight. Waves of renewed panic arose in me, but I’ve barely made it a few strides before the narrator gave his final prophecy: “And , again, she thought she was spared, but…” And that comment froze me still. I gave up, my shoulders hunched, and I knew what was going to happen. It was pointless.

And the ground caved in beneath my feet and I was free falling into nothingness. The pit of my stomach dropped, like when you miss a step going downstairs, but it was ongoing and petrifying. I wished I would just lose consciousness, but I kept falling and falling, and surely I would die. From far away, I could hear the narrator: “She was scared, but didn’t realize that it was not the end, but only a test to take her to the next level of magic”.

But I didn’t care, I needed it to stop. I had to wake up, because the falling was torturous and terrifying. I tried to create a floor with my mind, something to crush onto, die, and wake up. But even though I made one, I went right through it. I started to cry and knew I’d lose my mind if I didn’t wake up soon. I closed my eyes and concentrated really hard. I wasn’t falling. I wasn’t there. The dream wasn't real; the dread was not real; I was asleep and about to wake up. I heard the narrator sigh in disappointed disapproval… and I woke up with a start, panting and sweating and positively freaked out.