Out or in?

Strange, but the realization that I was actually in another country (continent!), living side by side with people of a different culture, didn’t really settle in until weeks after my arrival in Greece.

Perhaps this is because Athens, like Toronto, is a cosmopolitan city; most everyone speaks English, the cityscape, at first glance looks much like any other and the people seemed to wear the same type of clothes and do the same type of things. Learning Greek is not a prerequisite to live in Athens and neither does one need to make any drastic cultural or social adjustments in order to adapt to life here. At least, that is what my first impression was.

But the Mediterranean lifestyle is one that creeps up softly and settles inside your mindset. One usually cannot resist its charm (busy mornings, silent afternoons, late meals on loud patios, life at night), but those who do (i.e. silly tourists who insist on visiting the city in the stifling heat of mid-afternoon, when all the locals are comfortably napping) risk being always an outsider – a visitor of Greece. Athenians have two ways of dealing with these outsiders: the first is by exaggerated but disingenuous flattery and friendliness, in order to extract as much money out of them as possible. The second is by complete and utter indifference, and perhaps even rudeness. But the same rude Athenian will transform into a true and honest friend if they see that you yourself want to share in their world. Somewhere in the process of this transformation, you become a part of their ‘family’. And once you are, food, drink, laughs…everything is shared.

Photo Journal

This is all that is left of the once monumental Temple of Apollo in the ancient city of Corinth.






The city of Athens is so rich of monuments and archaeological sites that on my first day here, I stumbled across Hadrian's Arch.






Walked a marathon to get to Marathon. Saw the beautiful lake and the marble dam that contained the water. Met true village Grecians, were welcomed into their midst and experienced their wonderful hospitality.



Sounion was a more intense experience.
We went to see the Temple of Poseidon, but got distracted by the spectacular vista from the top of the cliffs.

However, the Temple itself, at sunset, is not a sight to be easily forgotten.

Defining my culture:

Often, in our determination to understand what a particular culture constitutes of, we forget that the very nature of a culture is paradoxical. I can say, for instance, that I am a Sri Lankan, I speak Tamil and that I have faith in Hinduism. At the same time, I would not be contradicting myself when I say also that I am a Canadian, I speak English and French and I am an atheist. As a child of the Diaspora generation (i.e. uprooted from our native lands in order to relocate), I have been acutely aware of this increasingly glaring aspect of culture for the most part of my life.

Let me explain. Perhaps I can show you what I mean.
As a Tamil-Sri Lankan, my claim to this culture has united me with my fellow Tamil-Sri Lankans. Through common language, values such as modesty in dress, respect towards elders and teachers, childhood memories of communal upbringing, playing cricket, big families, loud dinners, high tempers, etc. etc. There is also something less easy to define that unites us: an instinctive kinship.
On the other hand, this same culture has divided us: socially from Sinhalese-Sri Lankans, to the point of a bloody civil war, physically from our native land and remaining families and politically from each other as we form factions according to our beliefs.
My culture is something I share with those interested in knowing more about it. I have helped my Chinese friends pick out sarees and take pleasure in inviting them to eat Tamil food. But it is also something I guard and protect from those I consider outsiders: I do not like the idea, for instance, of taking someone of a different ethnicity to my favorite Temple. It is a place too personal, too my own to be shared.
My culture inspires pride. I am proud to say that my maternal language is Tamil or that I can eat a bowl of raw chili without flinching, while others would probably spontaneously combust. Unfortunately, it also sometimes inspires shame. Especially when I read in the newspaper or see on television the recent behavior of Tamil youth, who seem to think that gang-violence is a justified outlet to express the frustration they feel towards the situation in Sri Lanka.

My culture defines me, I know it’s inside me, and I feel it clinging to the outside of me. But it is also something I sometimes feel the need to escape from, to shed or grow into.

What then is the result of all these contradicting forces of culture that has shaped me?
I have no clue.
Perhaps I’ll find out one day.
Or maybe, if you ever meet me and get to know me, you’ll be good enough to tell me.