Give me that slow knowing smile (slowly)

The familiar: we always love more what we know best.

There is a deep, meaningful comfort and happiness when we are with people we know well, in places we know. When this happens to me, I feel that I am in some deep state of togetherness with my oldest deepest self. The older parts of me, the ones that are deeper, they are the ones that come out when I am with my parents, my family, my cousins. One professor of theatre once compared the characters and the plays oS Shakespeare to onions that have many layers. The comparison is not too new, I know, but i think it's also valid for people in general. We are born and in the beginning there is only the core of our character: nature. Then we grow up and we form our outer layers: nurture. The core always needs to be accessible though, always. And this is when familiarity comes into play: when you are with your family, with the people that know you best, in the places that you were playing as a child, you cannot escape from that core. You cannot pretend you're all layers. The stubborn child that you were once upon a time comes out again, and that's such a relief. No filtering, no nothing, just you and your core.

That's one of the reasons I love being home - it reminds me of who is me.

Not the me who teaches and tries to write papers.
Not the me who goes to nice dinners with colleagues.
Not the me who shops posh clothes.
Not the me who is a sensible, fake-lefty, essentially capitalist adult.

But the me I've left behind in Greece, the child who runs barefoot in the sand eating easter cookies.
And my mothers eyes always give me that knowing smile, when she recognises that child every time I go home... And I am happy because I know that she is still here, that child, underneath all these layers, she is still here, safe, in Greece.