Redux
Every journey circles home
Hippocrates prescribed bitter almonds, the Buddha, breathing. In our age, we follow both: We sip boiling water in the morning, sometimes with ginger, a few drops of lime, chia and flax seeds, colourful salads, yoga, Pilates, and mindful walking. The pursuit of wellness has become our full-time occupation, our modern faith.
Yet this morning in Strovolos, the power went out and we were left fumbling for the fuse box and our underwear in the dark, a “technical fault,” they said. In Limassol, the water was cut off and the laundry machine never finished its cycle. On the highway, getting to work feels like completing the twelve labours of Hercules. And when you finally make it out the door, you take a deep breath and instantly regret it, a pickup truck blows a cloud of diesel straight into your face.
The park offers no refuge: the smell of uncollected garbage mingles with the sharp sting of dog droppings. Around the clothing collection bins, small piles of filth and old ferniture rise like monuments to our better intentions. I swear I’m pushing myself to meditate, one two three four, one two three four, pretending not to see, not to smell, not to think.
The quest for eudaimonia, living well, meets its fiercest enemy in the everyday. Still, at the only village in all of Gaul that still holds out against sanity, we persist. Between blackouts, traffic, and composting failure, we breathe, stretch, and sip our turmeric lattes. We rise again, if not in our chakras, then at least in ever-growing resilience, like cockroaches after the apocalypse. And amid the noise and the heat, we proudly remind the world that Cyprus stands ready to rebuild Gaza and to take on the EU Presidency.