(even) athens after istanbul, i realized — is not the right order of events / what do i do with this european calm & comfort / when my soul is in love with chaos?
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if istanbul felt like living in the water of the wound - with despair so near that I could taste it, like sugar dissolved in a bitter tea, then in athens, the wound (and all its accompanying secrets) felt old; eroded by time. therefore, distant.
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I climb filappappou hill everyday and remember the first time I climbed up this hill, when I told myself — that when I return to this city, I will climb this hill everyday. now, nearly two years and a pandemic later, I climb up the same hill carrying a different person inside this body. I look inside and find a wearier traveler, my heart held by a darker chamber — its old, violent longings faded into something more subdued, more simple. I only seek stillness. stillness, like a salve for everything.
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the first night I arrived in athens, I climbed filopappou hill to watch the sunset alone, and I found that my heart and soul were missing istanbul. why was I surprised? changing cities is like changing lovers, changing storylines, changing channels on the TV: starting from zero, again, with the fogginess of disorientation, and a faint longing for what came before.
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