I was lying on the beach thinking about some of the conversations I’d had with a few locals at the tattoo parlour. Haircut. The collapse of the Cypriot economy is always the main theme. And individuals always fare the worst. States are merely fictional creations, and until recently, had not been present in the minds of these people. They all point the finger at the Union. And they say that people are unimaginative. They’re talking about things that don’t exist: roles of responsibility, prosperity and decline. And it’s because of these fictions that they say they mourn and seek change. This is reality. Basic rights, grey, crisis, banks, economy. So why don’t they look for the real reasons? Or even better, take real action? It turns out that the imagination is the best weapon against reality. It’s interesting how the Union has changed people—especially in the south.
They say they used to be welcoming and generous, and now they lurk around and rob tourists. They’ve got sad stories and sad eyes ringed with wrinkles that look only at the floor. Burdens that will be carried by generations to come. They should have protected their joy as an indigenous Cypriot product: Made in the EU. I was trying to comfortably lie on the beach, but I forgot my pillow, towel, and about 70% of the things in my bag. Disaster. The first thing to do in the morning is to freak out. But I’m even too lazy for that. I can’t exactly be satisfied with the fact that the Union is to blame. But I need answers because I want change. I think I’ve gotten a little over my head here.
I should be just doing a little work and having fun. Life shouldn’t be taken so seriously that there’s no time left for fun. It’s like playing a match under so much pressure that you’re stiff on defence and conservative on offence. You annoy yourself and everyone around you by changing up your game plan from the baseline. Where are the volleys or the charges to the net? Am I getting old? Some see wrinkles, I see laziness. Maybe I’m just in a crisis—like Cyprus. A personal haircut? Maybe I needed a lesson from our Vagabond— a lesson on life.
Maybe I’m creating all this on my own and using my imagination to fight against getting old. The lesson is that everything in life can be fun and that sometimes all you need is a change of perspective. And my worst decisions are only a chapter in my life. My life that goes on, with wrinkles on my face, stops along the way and a leg tattoo. The lesson from our Vagabond is you can casually play with the mystical idea of tattoos, because life is too short to be elaborate and lives need stories.
Blogger: Vitomir Maričić
*The opinions expressed are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect those of HRT.