Nureghef once - referring to his memories from his life in Russia, his friends, his family - told me: "Whoever looks back, falls from the ladder." It was one of the phrases that marked me.

The same goes for my father, who read - and made me read to him - the Scripture and the Gospels, and who had underlined many passages that I still remember. Among them: "Let the dead bury their own dead." And today I do not sit and cry for the many dead that I have "lived" - and who are countless due to old age. I believe that if you cry, you cry for yourself and no one else.

I grew up in Greece, in Athens. Every now and then I remember our old religion and I rejoice and mourn. How beautifully our ancestors had thought of everything... Everything in nature was a God. Even the wind, the North Wind. And Hope, they say, the last goddess, at least she remained in Pandora's jar. She remained for humanity. With the difference that today we don't even have her.
And I turn my mind back and think about the wonderful life I lived. Yes, yes... With the death of my father, with the Occupation, with the Movement (that's what we called it back then), when the planes were shooting at us and we were hiding in the ditches. I don't even remember feeling fear.