Rapprochement

So I came back from the UK on Sunday - last Sunday - and began work at a newspaper - The Cyprus Mail - on Monday. A bit crazy when you think of it (will there be no lazy pause after the examination period from hell?) but a good choice nonetheless.

One of my first assignments was to cover a talk about education and its importance for rapprochement in Cyprus. Mrs. Androulla Vassiliou (the European Union Commissioner for Education, Culture, Multilingualism and Youth) was guest of honour and the talk also featured representatives by OELMEK (the Greek-Cypriot high school teachers union), POED (the Greek-Cypriot primary school teachers union) and the two Turkish Cypriot teachers' trade unions.

All I heard was the same old recording replayed, European Union-style. Witty word play such as "Education needs peace and peace needs education" and "We must turn the wrongs of yesterday into the rights of today, and not the rights of yesterday into the wrongs of today" covered up the lack of actual substance of the discussion.

In the presence of the EU Commissioner, no Cypriot teacher, Turkish or Greek speaking, would admit to the fact that we've reached a stalemate when it comes to the Cyprus problem, and to the ability of education to stir the sinking ship that is the Cypriot society of today. As pointed out by the Polish Ambassador who was among the audience, we should have had this discussion 15 years ago.

But we probably did, one way or another. We probably have had this discussion 20 years ago, 15 years ago, 10 years ago, 5 years ago, 4, 3, 2, 1 year ago. What were the results? And I don't mean the intellectual, momentary glimpses of ideas that occur to the small number of people attending such events, like myself, that vanish in the thick, humid summer air in Nicosia. I'm talking about results that are tangible and have contributed to some sort of change on the island.

Of course the teachers told us all about the bi-communal events that public schools undertake in Cyprus. The OELMEK person told us about the Ayios Antonios school in Limassol that has both Turkish and Greek Cypriots in the same classes doing the same subjects. I must admit this was encouraging. But what is one school in so many? And how are we to believe that state schools will become like that, when even the English School, a private school with a longstanding bi-communal history, is so often abused by the islnd's nationalists that won't just let it be?

Am I to believe, Mr. OELMEK, that the utopian model that Ayios Antonios represents will become the blueprint for all public schools in Cyprus? You almost got me fooled there. This is a typical maneuver. We want to seem as if we're trying, we want to appear like we want a solution and so we get these conservative teacher representatives at such events that try so hard to seem liberal, willing to help in education reform, when in fact they probably go to bed at night wishing all Turkish Cypriots would vanish from the face of the earth.

Sadly, their performance is weak. The OELMEK guy, an anachronism from the eighties, with gray-tinted glasses and long, sparse hair, ungroomed, recited his little 'education for peace' poem with as much conviction as my baby brother's when he claims to be sorry for eating an entire pot of Nutella. We do not believe you, Mr. OELMEK, when you modify every single 'positive' statement with qualification such as:

"BUT it is a difficult task to bring the two communities together since the new generations of our island have lived apart for 36 years now." What you really want to say is that you don't want to see them living together ever again.

"BUT educational reform will only be achieved if such bicommunal events are carried out by both sides without, of course, each side losing its identity." What you really want to say is that 1. Greek Cypriots organize many many bicomm events whereas Turkish Cypriots don't, hence we're the good guys they're the bad guys and 2. we must remain schizophrenically loyal to the illusion that CYPRUS IS GREECE, and you want our children to continue living with the identity issues that we suffer from, foster prejudice against Turkish Cypriots and subsequently never be able to resolve the Cyprus problem.

Let's be honest. Enough with the shams, already. For the civil servants who don't want to see their ridiculously high salary decrease, and their insanely minimal working hours increase, taking the hypocrite road is the best option, but I think they should just stand up and speak the truth.

Enough with the 'teachers must be the most progressive people' chant, when we know it refers to one of the traditionally most conservative groups of people on the island.

Can we for once say what we think? Or if we MUST continue listening to the lies that civil servants, trade unions and politicians serve us with regards to their supposed willingness to solve the Cyprus problem, let's hope that they will at least experience what Plato considered one of the worst qualities of 'imitation' (the assumption of various roles by actors; mimicking; being something you are not): that they'll gradually lose their nationalistic attributes and that some qualities of the seemingly progressive roles they assume will rub onto them and become true habits.

Edit me

What a tragedy, the shape I'm in

Can you read between the lines? What do you see?

Artists in a London setting

The way he strokes my back, as if he's measuring, by eye; being sensitized; experimenting, discovering and exploring - that's the word - exploring. The body as an unknown territory - a part of the New World - was Donne's little fetish. Sometimes so pretentious, to read these valedictions, thinking you'd be embarrassed if you thought in the same way. But it's genius. And like the wonder of a voyage itself, cannot be fully grasped - not even partly - if not experienced, completely. So here is this man, this used-to-be-boy, with his stubble and his quintessentially male figure, and I feel that he is discovering me. Unfolding every little bit of my flesh and soul like a curious child. The body which is so neglected - a primary miracle, primal, now taken for granted, is apotheosized in those eyes. Penetrating, darting eyes. Dark slits holding two globes of wonder; long eyelashes that could catch fire.

Caledonian

His room was cold so I got under the covers

In a cold shirt; he said it doesn't matter

What if he's right?

Children's book

Once upon a time there was a little duckling, who went to school for the first time carrying a red backpack. She was scared, and so her mummy prepared a delicious lunchbox for her to share with her new friends during break time.

Walking in the classroom, she felt strange, all her classmates looked so afraid too. She sat at the back - although she always preferred the front of the class - as she was late. She settled down, talking out her new pink pencil case with all the colour pens and pencils her mummy treated her with. She organized everything neatly on the desk and waited in silence for the teacher to come in.

She looked around. The classroom was the colour green and all the other ducklings were chattering away, all the same in their school uniform, excited. Then her eyes rested on the little duckling sitting in front of her. She paused.

'That's a strange duckling!' she thought.

It was green and had no feathers. She was curious. She'd never seen a duckling like that before. As she was thinking that, the duckling turned round - he must've felt her staring. He had a big, green nose and his skin was glossy and smooth. She liked the different duckling. He was colourful! She smiled. To her surprise the strange little duckling smiled back, showing his straight white teeth. Our duckling then looked down. She was blushing.

During break time, as she was walking towards a group of ducklings to share her lunch with, she heard some of her classmates talking about a freak. She hadn't heard that word before. She asked them what it meant.

'Haven't you seen it?' Haven't you seen the crocodile?'

The crocodile? She thought for a moment. Of course! The duckling in front of her wasn't a duckling at all - he was a crocodile!

'What a freak!' they said. She thought he was special.

It wasn't long before they became friends, the crocodile and our little ducking. He had liked her red backpack, and they talked. They walked around together during breaks. She enjoyed staring in his deep blue eyes and he liked her beak. He said it was funny, and stroked it. They used to meet in the neighborhood - for they discovered they were also neighbours! - and used to play on the swings at the park. The crocodile was funny, and kind. He liked making the duckling laugh. He thought she made the cutest little quacking sound he'd ever heard.

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The years passed by, and the duckling was turning into a graceful duck. Her crocodile was growing, too. He was now taller than her and the most handsome boy in their year, she thought. He was very good in sports. The crocodile liked football very much - it was his dream, to be a footballer - and so the duckling liked to watch him play. She'd see him run behind the ball and felt a flutter in her wings whenever he'd turn towards her.

One day, after a very special match, the crocodile ran to our duckling and gave her the biggest hug, lifting her off her feet and up in the air. She smiled and giggled.

'I love you,' he said when he put her down.

But her legs felt weak. As if up in the air, still.

'I love you too,' she said, and pecked him on the cheek.

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The years went by again, and full grown - almost - the crocodile and duckling had a fight in the park. She shouted, and cried. He was right. You see, there were other ducklings in their lives right now and it had become confusing. They left the swings earlier than usual that night, and walked in different directions. They were heartbroken.

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Eight years after the day they first met, the duck and crocodile met again. At a bar, this time. They had some drinks. She was tipsy, he was open. Opposite her, telling her everything he hadn't said for so many years. She spoke, shared her news and they felt it again. It was painful and warm and uncomfortable, the feeling that had come back. She heard him talk about his work and all the girls that liked him and she talked about the new country she'd moved to and her new home. At the end of the night, he kissed her goodnight. She cried because it felt like he'd said 'GOODBYE'.

'I love you,' said the crocodile to the duck.

'Me too,' she quacked.

But it was impossible. Physically impossible. He smiled, and she looked at his teeth. They'd grown chiselled, and sharp.

self-preservation

Lie with me

So, like, they were about to have sex, right?

And... she hadn't seen him in a month, right?

And so they're kissing and groping on the bed and suddenly he stops.

'Um...'

'What?"

'You're sure it's okay to have sex?' he mumbled.

'Why wouldn't it be?'

'You haven't done anything while you were away right, anything that would make this unsafe?' Or something along those lines basically he was asking her whether she'd been sleeping around.

'Erm. NO! What the hell are you talking about. Why are you even asking this, NOW?' she protested, and all her appetite for loving was gone. Erased. She froze. It wasn't hot anymore.

'Okay'; nonchalantly continuing to kiss her, as if he hadn't just insulted her two second ago.

'Well...Should I be asking the same question I mean do you want me to ask the same question is this why you've asked I don't -'

'It's fine, it's fine, it's all good,' he said but his eyes flickered upwards away from her face.

When he was done, she couldn't remember any of it. And this was supposed to be one of the good times, like, they'd just seen each other after a month of craving. All she could think about was that flicker, that physical evasion that although minute and short-lived was so telling.

She tried to reassure herself that it was only a sign of nervousness for having asked what he did.

But then, a week later, when he decided she didn't fit in his wonderful life of being permanently stoned and playing online poker, she asked again.

'Did anything happen in -?' coming forward; maybe leaning backwards; yes, I believe she said she leaned back in the chair to counteract the sentiment of aggression.

'No.' and the flicker again. Forwards, feeble, and away from her.

Why didn't she think to ask anything more? Why did she not demand elaboration? Possibly because she knew even then that he'd lie in her face. And she couldn't stand another flicker. Another sign of that male cowardice - the worst kind of cowardice. He was so pathetic when he lied.