Those remembrances we live with

by Ana Kolorizos González (Mexico)

Making a local connection Greece

I used to enjoy my summers in Greece ̶̶̶still do, but in a different way ̶̶̶the idea of leaving Mexico to visit my grandparents; people full of unconditional love with whom you share an afternoon of baking a cake, anecdotes from the past, cooking shows on television, money hidden from my parents, evenings in my grandfather´s candy store accommodating ̶̶̶or eating ̶̶̶ traditional sweets, or the afternoons in the tavern drying the cutlery after a crowded day of customers. I enjoyed being at the best time of the year in my father's village, Makrinitsa, surrounded by the nature of the mount, the white houses with wooden windows, the wise and still strong trees after hundreds of years covering the main square ̶̶̶we call them platania ̶̶̶and all the scenic wonders of this picturesque town, commonly known as “Pilio´s balcony. My grandmothers ̶̶̶my father´s mother and her sister ̶̶̶grew up in a town called Karditsia (two hours from Makrinitsa); strong women, accustomed to work hard at home and to follow their parents orders. They strove to be the “good” women that the community and family hoped they would be. Katerina, my grandmother, was an apprehensive but calm person, with an exemplary attitude, that daughter who, perhaps, feels the responsibility of setting the example for her younger sister. She was the type of grandmother who sounded happy when she talked to her granddaughters every Sunday on the phone, but as soon as she hung up, she would cry because she couldn't bear the distance that separated us (since we lived in Mexico). On the contrary, my great-aunt was more stubborn, able to defend her loved ones with nails and teeth, she had a more challenging attitude when she disagreed with the decisions of her parents. There were times that she even fight with his brother in law to defend her sister. When they were between 17 and 19 years old, their parents had decided that the time had come to marry them with the ideal “candidates” for them; that greek, assiduous, hard working man, with the economic capacity to support a family. Without wanting to, my grandmother married my grandfather, Panos, in Makrinitsa, while my aunt, Thomai, at only 17 years old and without having left her town before, had to take a ship to Australia, endure the trip for days, when the time came ̶̶̶scared and not knowing what to do ̶̶̶get off the boat and scream with all her strength, ̶̶̶Theophilus!, to find and meet her future husband. Years later, they would have a son, who died in Australia when he was a child due to a car accident, later, in Athens, she would suffer the loss of another son, Christos, staying with her, the beloved Maria, her third child, and the bitter memories from the past embodied in the black of the everyday clothes. On a trip that I made to Greece in 2018, my 74 year old aunt, shared with me, fragments of her story in an hour, a day, a week, I don´t know, the time was not running because it stopped in her stories and her experiences of life. Sitting in the living room, with the afternoon news in the background, I stared at my aunt and listened carefully, I did not want to miss a detail of her facial expression and her memories, because she and my grandmother ̶̶̶whom I stopped seeing years ago ̶̶̶ were in those moving remembrances. I didn't want to miss any detail because I knew that moment would not be repeated. In 2018 I said goodbye to my aunt, but as with my grandmother, her memory goes with me anywhere. People, like travels, transcend beyond our conception and perception of time; childhood memories, the encounter or loss of a loved one, planned trips or not, the details of a story or a place, experiences turned into memories ̶̶̶ happy or sad ̶̶̶ are hardly forgotten and we take them with us in this journey called life.