Cyprus is a geography where there is a constant and incessant travelling between past and present and future refers to ambiguity. Time has a special meaning for people who reside on this geography. Home, trauma, memory, misery, loss, grief are number of words of an exhaustive word-list illustrating psyche of Cypriots. All stories reverberates the past, hope, peace, old neighborhoods, old neighbors, past lives, present worries, disturbances, discontent.
Cyprus is a land where past dominates the present, and past overshadows the future. Land of despair and dejection. Unhappiness prevails where time stops, re-starts, shuffles and re-defines. Unmasking the sorrows and damage of displacement. In a land where future is never vibrant, unblemished but captured by irreversible destruction of tragedies of people who have never found a way to express, scream out and reconcile.
In a land where stories starts from villages recalling merry and jolly times where they daily commute to their olive groves, agricultural plots to pick up fruits. Stories are sour and bitter. They narrate times of big family gatherings for meals and weekend getaways. They narrate stories where lives in small streets in villages echoes with jovial laughs and incredible bliss. Stories tell the lives in the cobbled streets of Nicosia with Armenian shop owners or neighbors. Kids dwelling in Arasta or Old Nicosia with their mums under the shades of palm trees. No borders, no grief.
Stories talk about our land in those times. People travel in time to envelope those euphoric moments of joy and contentment. Souls travel in Turkish district of Larnaca to Sahin’s Cinema in Limassol. Remembering faces, bodies, names. Thinking in wishful contemplation that those were the days where time has stopped. Those were the days they wish were never spoilt.
In a piece of land where shifting minds souls can never unknot the darkness of the past to sail into a predictable future, people will never unwrap and shake of the sinister spirit of the past traumas. Words will not come out parading for bright feature. Words will express desperation and confined fleshes and souls repressed and cannot CRY OUT to change what future holds.
Our memories are all filled with old, good, peaceful and unadulterated days where Cypriot coffee shops were buzzing with talks, streets were subdued by scents of Spring flowers, children were riding their bikes in narrow yet vibrant streets. Time detains our minds, our memories, our lives, our living rooms, our kitchens. Even our coffee tables in Gloria, Shooters or X place. Past haunts on the present traumatizing our existence, our hopes, our daydreams and our minds. Past assaults our firm existence as human sheltering us into an undeniably turbulent future.
Cyprus is where all these are in constant replication with no hints/drops of mercy and colorful horizon.