A weird title, indeed!
Let me explain.
This morning, I happened to pass through the airport on my way back home. I was in a car, I wasn’t flying. And as I was passing next to the various buildings, the parking space of the planes caught my eye.
Even though I have never traveled by plane (yet), I’ve always had, have and will have a special connection with them. When I saw them this morning, and almost every time I see one I feel some kind of warmth, some kind of nostalgia.
Because, planes actually run in my blood. My maternal great grandfather and his brother were both pilots. My great grandfather was a man I never met, but I have heard so many stories about him that it’s like I’ve met him. His piloting license was no.5 in the country (Greece). And his brother was a war hero, who died fighting, during the WWI.
Flying was always part of the family history and many family stories. And I think of it as part of myself as well.
Actually learning how to fly a plane is on my bucket list.
So, later this morning, doing housework, I found some photos, and between them was this one….
My great grandfather is the one in the middle.
I stayed looking at the photo for some minutes, combining the scene with my morning scene at the airport.
Thinking about all the things that after all are a part of who we are. They may be in the past, but there’s a way that they keep living next to us, and be part of our history and our family’s.
For me, it’s the stories, the photos, the things that still exist in my home, my grandmother’s home, my mother’s home, that I know that came from him, used by him. It’s the flat I’m living in, which was once his family’s house. It’s the trees that I can see from my balcony, that were planted by him and they’re still here, two floors tall now (and still growing I think).
All these are, in a way, part of my DNA, part of myself, running through my vains.