I’ve been thinking about whether to write this or not for a day or two.
I don’t think it’s relevant to this blog, and it’s kind of personal. But here goes.
When I was 21, I moved back from Berlin to my hometown.
Let’s just say it was a complicated time.
One night, I don’t remember how, I ended up with my friend Giuseppe in a tiny bar in the city centre. We had a couple of beers.
The owner was a tiny little elf-like old man. He had puzzles, riddles, brain teasers. I’m always down for a challenge, so was Giuseppe. We played a bit, and chatted some more.
I went back occasionally. I played guitar with the old man sometimes, old Italian and old Greek folk songs. The old elf was Greek. I had some Greek friend in Berlin and could speak a little, had learned some songs. We clicked.
When I was 23, for a few years, I managed and coordinated scientific explainers for the yearly Science Festival of the city. The little bar naturally became one of the few spots everyone gravitated to after a full day of science explaining. We sang, we drank, we solved brain teasers, we spoke about science.
The little old man, his name was Stavros, recognised me, we grew closer. His wife Anna was there sometimes, we’d chat about stuff, we’d share experiences and advice. I’d show up, he’d pour a beer and get some peanuts in a tiny cup for me, without even asking.
Stavros was so proud to show me his inventions. A wind turbine he built with spare furniture parts, some electronic equipment he assembled. I’d tell him about radios and computers, back when the Internet wasn’t so widespread. I taught him how to play some songs. He helped me a few times with somewhat dark stuff. I helped him sometimes with his own tribulations. We were friends.
On new year’s eve of what was probably 2005 or 2006, after we sang almost until morning and we cheered on really cheap fizzy wine together, after he had shut the bar down and only the closest friends remained, he smiled to me and said “I never had a son, but if I did, I wish he was exactly like you”. We hugged.
I moved cities in 2008. Life went on. One evening I walked by the bar, “Ela Stavraki! Ti kanis??” “Non vieni più?” he answered. “Don’t you come here anymore?” “I will! I live near Milan now, I’m not local. But yeah! I’ll come spend an evening! I promise!” “I’m always here, when you want a beer”
I never had the chance to have that beer, I moved to a different country in 2013. I had children. Whenever I was in town, it was a whirlwind of meeting family, long time friends, for a few hours each.
I moved back to Italy last summer. When I walked by the bar, it was shut. For good. I planned to reach out at some point, catch up.
I never did.
Stavros died last Monday. And I suddenly feel so lonely for some reason.
Don’t be an idiot. Reach out to the people that matter to you, even if you’re far away and busy with life.
You never know when time is up.
Kallinikta, Stavraki mou. Pame spiti. S’agapo.