thanksgiving table

By the end of the night, the women have ceded the idea that conversing with men as interesting and naturally migrate to a comforting room to talk amongst themselves rather than argue about trivial things. Garnering biscuits, fruit, water and coffee, or maybe with nothing at all, each women sits at the table and slowly but surely initiates conversation about each families’ past year through inquires, recipes, botox and other good old gossip references. Indeed, it is actually this table that holds upmost importance each holiday (unbeknown by most holiday party-goers). Of course, there are some women that do not relinquish their seats next to their spouses or children hoping to share little and gain the most family gossip; however, let it be known that the women at this table are usually weary of the women who do not join since they seem to always require a crutch to fix their handicap nature. And most importantly, they are never fascinating company. If anything they put a damper on most things, almost like men except they by gender can sit at the table. Some men do try to sit at the table but are usually chased out through ridicule. Some men use another tactic by trying to gain attention for they too realize their handicap and shortcomings without someone by their side.

The nature of the table is like the ocean’s tide, controlled by the moon and emotions and since I have never learned the art of sailing, one should recognize one overarching fact: the table favors mostly no one and tolerates people sparingly. One year you might be the bell of the table and the next you can be cast to the corners trying hard to hear.

The Artist

My father came up to tell my mother that a boy had died in Nestani, my mother’s home town in Greece. Do you know him, my father asked. Sitting in the other room, I felt my whole world solidify into a prayer, please not you. Getting up from bed, my mother’s eyes reached mine and asked if I had remembered him, the man with the photographs. Relief held my hand in that moment but could not tempt my heart and mind from reeling, we don’t have that much time left.

The man who died was someone I had only met for mere moments and yet he was memorable. He had a drug addiction, his father had been the owner of a cafe that closed years back but most importantly, he was an artist. He saw beauty in this world and my soul knew that, recognized him and remembered.

To think that some random girl many miles away can hold his memory dear makes my heart soften.

Rest Peacefully.

Girl with those beautiful eyes

Girl with those beautiful brown eyes

do you know how exceptional you are?

Girl with your clean fresh face

do you understand the joy that is made for you?

Girl with your past

all good await you in the future

Never let the love and light in and around you

fade or dim.

Flow like a crisp fall river

stand tall and grounded like a mountain

let fire burn any uncertainty

and may the wind give and guide you towards your direction.

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11:11 Gateways and Passages

I only have about ten minutes till midnight. Ten minutes until the clock strokes and it will officially be November 12th, 2018. But I want to hold on to today and its lessons, its beauty and most of all its gateway to more understanding and more love.

So let’s do a bit of a recap—talk about this past year and its lessons and insights. A year ago today, I was utterly in unrequited love with this boy and my existence mimicked this. Every song became about him, every moment became something I could tie back to him. A year later…this love has pasted and has been seasoned with many lessons. One of them being that we are where we want to be. Are you struggling? Are you in pain? Are you in a place you don’t want to be in? Are you in second place? Well, you put yourself there and its exactly were you want to be. So elevate. Elevate your life to what you want because you can manifest it.

Another thing that has been brewing in my mind is my not so good escapist tendencies towards most things in my life. Which, I might add has a very warped and Alice the wonderland type of feeling which is cool for about a good ten years but then you wake up and realize you need to change. Mostly because I am haunted. Haunted by people I never met, chances, jobs, men that I didn’t kiss or date because I was too busy in love with this boy, things I didn’t want to do because they made me uncomfortable. You learn pretty quick that this dreamland ain’t so fun when it is ruling your life and truly no matter where you go, your troubles will find you because your troubles are within your mind. And sisters, I am sooooo ready for this pattern to end.

Pattern includes:

-making myself second best

-not making myself a priority

-escaping reality

AND THINKING THAT IF I KEEP ON REPEATING THE SAME THING OVER AND OVER AGAIN, I WILL GARNER DIFFERENT RESULTS….insanity.

It is time to elevate.

I am in first place and I put myself there.

I am not escaping my problems anymore, I will face them and figure it the fuck out.

And most importantly, love for myself because I am number one in my life.

So make yourself the priority, let life flow through that.

Peace,

Demi

Tripoli, Greece

Tripoli is a city 7km away from my father’s village. My first memories of this considered unremarkable city in Greece was my six year old self begging my parents to take me to the plateia to rent a bike and bike circles at night with other kids. Maybe subconsciously from those moments I have come to love Tripoli the best when the coffee shops have closed, local businesses are tucked in for the the night and only a few cars roll past you as you walk the steets way past midnight. Tripoli transforms inky black nights, the darkest hours, into some paradise. This might be because in the daytime, Tripoli exposes all that you are not. People hide beneath a facade of supposed money, coffee, and small talk. At night, this facade isn’t needed.

I made a habit of walking alone at night and even though I grew up in Chicago, and have been wandering abroad for a couple years now , there was a tension in the air like a reprimand that scolds “you shouldn’t be out at night, especially a girl like you”. This “dangerous” quality to my nightly walks served to awaken my rebellious teenage heart, feeding my want to be anything or anyone here in the dark. In some ways, the night stole away the daylights harsh critique and washed away the roles. It’s was intoxicating. 

This is why I love the graffiti of Greece. This is the art of the night souls, the ones that hide in the daylight and can only be true when the eyes of society have gone to sleep. A game I like to play consists of imagining the artists behind the spray can. I imagine the “smoke weed” artist is a 19 year old boy stuck between his parents’ expectation of becoming a computer engineer and pursuing his dream of becoming a Greek rapper. The “we walk alone at night to have sex” a 22 year old girl who can’t tell her boyfriend that they aren’t compatible in bed anymore and secretly awaits a more passionate affair.

I’ve imagined tired forty year olds to beautiful Albanians writing their hearts and tears on the blocks of Tripoli. I guess I am a bit of a romantic, dreaming of all the artists and hoping that one day, the truths of the night find space in the daylight. In retrospect, I too wish I had taken a spray can and drawn out my existence that I too need the night to belong.

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The late 90s and the early 2000s: What a time! #favoriteslist

These past few days, I have been looking back on my childhood and reminiscing about the music, movies, and general feeling of the times. I'm reminiscing because I have a decision to make: go back to my hometown or pursue another journey. And every other hour, I changed my mind on which decision would be the best. One moment, I am ready to pack my bags and the next, I think absolutely not.

Side note: I probably should read the Power of Now by Eckart Tolle, I feel like there is a lot to discover about life through that book. However, instead I have been watching Alicia Keys' videos and dreaming about a wardrobe I could never pull off. 

And since we are the wonderful subject of Alicia Keys, I would like to introduce a favorites list.


Demi's Favorites of the late 90s/early 2000s era

1.  The Diary of Alicia Keys (2003)

Source: Wikipedia

Source: Wikipedia

The whole bloody album is brilliant as seen from its many awards. All the tracks are gems. However, my favorites are "You Don't Know My Name" and "Karma".

2. Two Weeks Notice (2002)

Source: WarnerBros. 

Source: WarnerBros. 

As a kid, did I watch this one film about a billion times? Yes. I savored every moment of the Sandra and Hugh dynamic, especially when mixed with some Norah Jones.

3. French Kiss (1995)

Yes, I love a good love-hate relationship, you understand the pattern. But c'mon! Kevin Kline and Meg Ryan really pull it off well in this romantic comedy. 

4. Simply Irresistible (1999) 

Source: Cineplex.com

Source: Cineplex.com

I remember watching this movie and wanting those little caramel puffs with all my whole soul. I still do. 

5. The College Dropout (2004)

Would I be a true Chicagoan if I didn't mention Kanye? Probs not.

6. J. Lo's outfit 

its a shitty screenshot. But, damn. This summer is going to be all about this outfit. 

its a shitty screenshot. But, damn. This summer is going to be all about this outfit. 

That's all folks!

D

In a perfect world

A free verse

May 10, 2017. Thessaloniki, Greece. 

May 10, 2017. Thessaloniki, Greece. 

I write while laying on the ground, trying to sleep. My bed, a bundle of blankets with two pillows, softens the tile floor but since I have a fortune for sleeping on my belly, my back curves upward. By morning, this upward inclination will make me cranky, cantankerous, moody on our drive to the mountains.

I turn over, belly up and ready for a rub like an open cat. Today, my mischief is hidden back by my wisdom teeth.

Whether it's my cat or wisdom, I have a knowing that my role in life is changing.

Tonight, with the full moon overhead I will twist and turn with no comfort, released. I'm shedding. Slinking, growling, mad, and confused. Shedding, I said. But with what?

Reference your Latin grammar to speak about the hammer, the instrument, with which you used to clear your skin. Peeled row to toe, downward strokes like a Tunisian scrub, I am being reborn. I didn't grow hard nor soft, but changed the water like boiled coffee. I love coffee. And I gave it up. Yet again, this skin sheds this too.

Skin, Coffee, moments shed. I am a new material, elementally basic / physically unrestrained. Finger by finger, I pulled gloves off his fabricated lust. But that was yesterday and today, I will be moving forward.