Diaspora Diaries Vol. 2 A look back in time.

This past August, I was preparing to leave for my annual trip to Athens. It's a trip I plan, anticipate, and long for all year. Yet again as I packed my suitcases and planned my travels, I was reminded of the fact that I too, like many of my fellow Greek friends am part of a modern diaspora.

" I'm not quite Greek, and not fully American."

We have chosen or were forced to leave. We could have stayed, we weren't escaping war, or famine, or relentless poverty, yet we took a risk and we traveled. We left our homes, our families, our friends. We detached from the comfortable and familiar and journeyed to places that would provide a more stable future, and a different if not always a better life. We went to where the opportunities were, and in most cases with no clear vision of our future. I left because It's something I've always done, I've lived my whole life between Greece and America.  

My existence has been about living in two worlds, with two identities, in two countries, and within two cultures that very often clash, but sometimes complement each other in subtle ways. I love them both equally and for different reasons. They have made me who I am, yet it's always hard to explain my connection to both. Its like living on a bridge between two worlds, sometimes desperately wanting to connect the two, but more often needing to explain myself to the other side. I feel like an ambassador, the resident expert, the one who has to represent the good and explain the bad in both places. I've become a cultural attaché, talking about my Greek upbringing to Americans and my American education to Greeks. 

More often than not, I feel I am stranger to both. I'm not quite Greek, and not fully American. I don't look like a Greek and I don't act like an American. I am a bi-product. I am an amalgam of the cultural references and expressions, that I've grown up with and  chosen to incorporate  into myself over the years. I feel Greek in my heart, yet I don't subscribe to the classical Greek upbringing. I relate to many American cultural references and attitudes, yet I disagree with a lot of what America stands for personally and socially. Sometimes I feel I belong no-where and everywhere, always in a transient state. I travel with two passports, two images of myself, two identities, and the myriad of stories from places I've seen and lived in over the past 20 years.

Every time I go back to Athens and to my home, I see it in a very different light. 
My friends are there and they have changed just as I have changed. New families, children being born, old friendships staying strong, some dissolving and some growing so much stronger over time. I've formed new alliances and new friendships over long distances just as I did when I was 14 years old, when I first traveled to the U.S, replacing long written letters, with emails, messages, phone calls and texts. Its a strange balancing act but also one that makes for incredible stories. 

The old neighborhoods are there but they are forever changed. Businesses and small stores I knew from childhood are thankfully still there, as a testament and a part of a rich history and connection, where others quickly have closed their doors never to be seen again. There is constant flux, not only because of the financial crisis but also because of a social one as well. I feel like there is an identity crisis in Greece, where Greeks are searching once more to find out who they are in this ever changing and challenging environment. 

I can't remember how often I've been asked: "Which do you prefer more, Greece or the U.S?" I can't choose I don't want to, but deep down my soul belongs to one place. 

"Living on a bridge between two worlds."

Athens is a strange place for me now. My life is there... and its not. I have distanced myself from the daily life there, but I am also affected by it in ways that aren't always immediate or apparent. 

I have never spoken about this before as its been a very painful and difficult subject for me and my family, but my home in Athens, and the home I grew up in, is no longer mine to live in. Part of the reason for leaving Greece was being forced to leave my home behind, my memories, my childhood, and my familiar place. When I left I quickly replaced all this with, a nomadic life, moving from apartment to apartment, couch to couch, and letting go of everything I knew and loved. Long before I left I was caught in the middle of a very bitter family feud, and it can never go back to how it was before. I am for all intents and purposes an exile. 

A home in turmoil and its history:

Αγγελα or Anglea says the circular plaque of the house. Built by my great grandfather and dedicated to his wife. Angela Sereti circa 1922

I lived in my family's home, Maison Helene, after my grandmother's death in 2009 until I left for the U.S. in 2013. The house itself was originally built from 1921 to 1922 by my great grandfather Dimitris Seretis. By all accounts a dedicated family man, full of life and many dreams. He had high hopes for his shipping business that kept his family in very comfortable means until it went belly up. His family was in financial ruin, and his bad business dealings almost lost the home he had built to creditors just before World War II broke out.

"I am for all intents and purposes an exile."

Our home (like many well- to- do households at the time) was among many things, a shelter for Armenian refugees after the mass deportation and genocide of Armenians committed by the Ottoman Turks  between 1915- 1917. It was taken over by the German Occupying forces in 1941 , and served as headquarters to three German officers and one Austrian commander of the Nazi Army. My then newly wed grandmother Helen and her dashing husband Vasillis lived in one small room that would later serve as Vassili's study. The home was almost lost to the banks, when my grandmother's wealthy cousin bought back the deed and saved it from the auction block. 

"Every corner of this house has a story, every door whispers to me, every tile has a tale."

In the early 1980's Maison Helene was declared a historical monument and has since been preserved in pristine condition. But  in September 1999, a devastating earthquake destroyed many properties in the northern suburbs of Athens, including my grandmother's home throwing it into yet another crisis. With deep cracks in the walls and in the main structure, a two year repair project spearheaded by my father was underway. We uncovered hidden treasures behind layers and layers of old wallpaper, the garden was made into a sanctuary, and old pictures were used to guide us into bringing back Maison Helene to its former glory.  

This home, my family home, a jewel in the north of Athens, is a place of peace and togetherness,  now overwhelmed by hate, family discord and many lies. It was home to my father, and his brothers,  and was my home, and then my home away from home. Three generations have lived there enjoying countless gatherings, candle-lit dinners, backgammon games on the balcony, cups of strong Greek coffee after a summer afternoon siesta, a glass of ouzo with ice and some meze in the hot summer sun, the smell of freshly baked orange cookies wafting through the hallways, the smell of moth balls protecting my grandmother's perfectly tailored dresses, folded wrapping paper carefully preserved for later use from old gifts found under the couch, births, marriages and deaths. 

Balcony where my grandfather used to play backgammon with his brother for hours. 

Every corner of this house has a story, every door whispers to me, every tile has a tale. I visited on September 9th 2016, for what now seems to be one last time. I said my goodbyes, I kept some pictures and mementos, and above all I kept my memories that no one can possibly take from me. I fought to keep this place alive for my family, for me and for all people to see. There are many who have walked through its doors, and will tell you stories of joy and laughter and togetherness. I shall keep their memories close to my heart and I will never forget. 

Here I share some with you. I hope you enjoy. Cheers! 

My father Yiannis far left with his grandfather Dimitris ( grandmother's farther) and my very young uncle Angelos. Early 1960's 

My Grandfather far left my grandmother Eleni uknown woman in the middle my great grandfather Yiangos and my then teenage dad with his brother at ancient Epidaurous theater late 1950's 

My very cool looking dad far left his aunt Ritsa (his uncle's wife) my grandmother Eleni my uncle Dimitris and my grandfather Vassilis 

My Great Grand parents Angela ( second from left) and Yiangos and Mitsos far right and second from right.

"I travel with two passports, two images and a myriad of stories from the places I've seen and lived in."

1/12/12 My departure from my house and from Athens for New York with dear friends to see me off.

I said my fair well to my house then and now once more. So long Maison Helene. 

Maison Helene at its most beautiful in Spring time May 2014 

The only truth is the horizon ahead. Sunset in Mykonos September 7th 2016

My dearest grandfather Vassilis in the early 80's on a warm summer night playing backgammon with his brother Theodoulos