In the past two years, I’ve been coming back to Geneva—my hometown— much more than I used to. My Mother’s passing triggered conflicting feelings about my life abroad—guilt is one I haven’t fully made peace with yet.
While it’s more of a narrative than solid science, moving into new territories—displacement—is in my family’s DNA. Forced or willing emigration has been common place in the last hundred years, both on my Greek and Finn ancestries. This certainly explains why I’m somewhat futilely keep on traveling—futilely as it can’t possibly be tribute. Futilely as in myth-building, some told me. In futility lies an illusion.
But in permanence probably lies a greater illusion. Geneva tricks you into believing in permanence.
No permanence. This was new. No Dark Knight either. It just kept looking at me while I was driving late there. I have no clue why it was up on that building. I ended stopping the car in the middle of the square—it was late, no traffic at all—to solidly look back at it.
I’m using Hi to write the backstory of the random pictures I take and share on Instagram. This is my first full post, written at GVA Airport on December 27, 2013 as I’m waiting for my flight back to LHR. The SWISS lounge is almost full. My latte macchiato needs a refill.
L’histoire vraie de Jordan Belfort, l’escroc porté à l’écran par Leonardo DiCaprio, replonge la Suisse dans les années 90 rugissantes.
Twilight water geyser
The small joy in finding a great cafe