I’m no different to the other thousands of Greek people who left their home country in the recent years. We were unemployed and we made the obvious choice, to get a job, anywhere we could. There was and there is no heroism in this. It was our choice, so complaining about it is just moronic. Read more
As of today, I’ve been living in the UK for 5 years. 60 months. 1,826 days. Did I make each one of them worth it? No. But I did make enough of them.
I don’t intend to write a full retrospection, like I did in my three year anniversary. I just want to write down a few thoughts, scattered and perhaps not that meaningful.
Today it’s been 3 years I’ve been living in the UK; an immigrant, just like my grandparents back in the 50s. The following story is an account of these years, but, at the same time, a confession of things that only few people know about me.
I decided to leave Greece when I started feeling sorry for myself. I was 26 years old, I had just completed my military service, I was living again with my parents and I had spent my whole summer working as a waiter at our family-run restaurant, which we had to close down a year later, unable to cope with the economic crisis and the consequences of all-inclusive tourism.