Friday 2 February 2007

The Candy House

My grandma died old... My grandpa not so old... Both exhausted physically by the time they had spent in exile... Those days communists were the enemies of the state and they spent their time on tour to the greek islands, staying in miserable, moist dungeons...

My grandma was so much in love with grandpa all this time, in spite of the situation. She made close friends to whom she wrote letters with lemon juice (poetic, aromatic, mystic letters) after they were released and with whom she played chess, a chess she had made of wood when in exile. My grandma was an excellent cook, and she designed and made clothes like no one in her time and she was such a tender mother, and grandmother later on.

She always talked about the importance of freedom in everything we do -freedom of speech, freedom to feel, freedom in relationships. My grandma had never lost her freedom; she had always the heart of a free bird and the eyes of wolf. Torture was what she got for that but never regretted for a single moment in her life.

I'm sitting now in my desk writing these lines. There's a camera across the street and policemen are guarding the building two blocks away from here. My mobile phone is next to me. My two credit cards are in my wallet. I'm getting phone calls from people I've never heard of but who seem to know me quite well; what my name is, how old I am, where I live... But they're just calling to make my life better, to offer me fast internet connection or more credit cards or free stuff....

Oh, how beautiful is this exile we've constructed! But we're getting candy for it. Sugar affects memory...

Industrial Daisies


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