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A man commits suicide in the heart center of Athens: Feelings & thoughts of a Greek girl

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Today I woke up at 9:00 p.m. My usual program. Starting my day with copywriting about New York, imagining how this city can be (since I have never been there) in order to catch the feelings of the potential customer. Tell them a story. And sell. In advertising you touch the feelings of the person in order to sell. Either you speak to a powerful man or to a fisherman you speak to them, through writing about their needs. In an implicit way. Because people, especially the powerful ones, do not realize or haven’t learned to realize that they are humans. And vulnerable. And that there is great beauty in someone with autosarcasm, in someone who admits his vulnerability.

But today I was vulnerable. I woke up, with my hair in a crazy state, I opened my PC, and I sat down with my coffee and my cigarette. As soon as I entered  Yahoo, I was informed  that the very moment I woke up someone committed suicide in Syntagma square. He left this shocking note:

The Tsolakoglou government has annihilated all traces for my survival, which was based on a very dignified pension that I alone paid for 35 years with no help from the state. And since my advanced age does not allow me a way of dynamically reacting (although if a fellow Greek were to grab a Kalashnikov, I would be right behind him), I see no other solution than this dignified end to my life, so I don’t find myself fishing through garbage cans for my sustainance. I believe that young people with no future, will one day take up arms and hang the traitors of this country at Syntagma square, just like the Italians did to Mussolini in 1945″    the note said. (source:

After the initial shock reading this, I tried to forget it. ‘’These things happen, you should not be so sensitive, I told myself’’ and then some time went by and I realized that I was more pissed off than sad.  Anger was burning inside me.

I called my best friend, Anna. She knows me inside out (so lucky for that). She immediately understood and we went for a coffee. I told her that I was shocked.

Her immediate reaction was: “Let’s protest!”

“My dear Anna, I have an interview to write down’’ I answered.

Now, at Syntagma square, there is a peaceful protest taking place. I am not there.

My best friend is. And this is wrong. I used to pass my exams, studying all night after going to demonstrations. I can’t help wondering: Am I becoming more mature? Less idealist?

Or do I fit more in the system as a result of developing a defensive cynicism towards all these happening in my country?

No. Ideas are bulletproof. And no matter what clothes you wear, no matter which people you meet, your mind and soul remain the same. And mine are with the protesters. Now, writing this post.

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