Identity

After a while we learn the difference between holding a hand and falling in love. We begin to learn that kisses don’t always mean something and promises can be broken just as quickly as they are made and sometimes goodbyes really are forever.

Today, as I was trying to make my way through the crowd of a central Athens street, an old creaky door opened that covered the entrance to a small yard and the most intensely luminous creature that I have ever seen appeared.

Her hair – short, almost boyish – had the color of fire, her violet eyes gleamed like diamonds under a surgeon’s light. She was covered with a dark coat and she was escorted by two men. Her height was uncommon for a woman, at first I thought that she must be a model – but her figure wasn’t that thin. She carried herself with very light steps and had the aura of a star. There was something androgynous about her. I would have certainly mistaken her for a man if she wasn’t wearing a dress.

As I stood there stunned by this sight, I doubted myself. Was she really a woman? I started looking for signs such as breast size and an Adam’s apple. None of them were present. There is something insane about a lack of doubt. Doubt, to me anyway, is what makes us human. Without doubt even the righteous lose their grip not only on reality but also on their humanity.

Hearing her very sensual female yet rough voice, and satisfied with the fact that this extraordinary creature did not belong to the “brutal sex,” I kept on walking thinking about identities. I find fascinating the question, “How do we identify ourselves, and how do we settle into other people’s expectations for our identity?” There is such an effort to try and explain people… We need to get out of the box we’ve been raised in, otherwise we will not be able to understand how much bigger the world is.

After walking for a few blocks, me on my noisy heels and firm step – she with her inaudible muffled walk, she stopped, said goodbye to the men next to her and turned around facing me. I tried not to stare, or look interested in her, but apparently she was determined to talk to me. As I was passing next to her, she spoke with a very familiar to me accent. She must have been from the north of Scotland since her speech was heavy and distinct – maybe Inverness. She asked me something completely obsolete about a street name or something and seemed surprised that I could actually understand her. We kept on walking and talking for a while and then suddenly, she stopped, leaned in and gave me a kiss. I think I froze at that moment. Not so much because of shock – I secretly wished that I would have the chance to touch her at some point, but because this signified the end.

She looked at me for a moment, with those intense eyes of hers, as if reading my soul and then turned around and left as if we had never met.