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| Courtesy of Gündem Kıbrıs |
In the days leading up to and following the first anniversary of the earthquake in which the North Cypriot volleyball teams were killed a number of their family members have posted online or published in the newspapers what are less in memoriam notices than an open wound. As the lines from Les Misérables have it:
There's a grief that can't be spoken
There's a pain goes on and on
Except that the grief is spoken. With a poetic eloquence that survives all attempts of electronic translation to kill it. Gündem Kıbrıs has posted the following as
Heartbreaking post from a grieving mother...
"We used to make jokes, dance, and you would spread laughter to every particle of that house, what about in this hall? Now there is a silent wail here! Don't worry, only me and Burak brother hear it! We play different roles so that our brothers don't hear, where we should be most sincere! We would turn off the lights and say "let's choose a Dream movie". First you started with scary movies, I’d say “I’m scared”. You be like "mom, what are you afraid of? " of trouble. My real mother ... What am I afraid of honestly? I should be afraid of the creatures called humans on earth! I thought my heart couldn't handle the scenes in the movie. But look I'm starring in the greatest horror movie. I'm not afraid of anything anymore, like YOU!”
Less moving, perhaps, but still poetic are tributes and expressions of admiration or sympathy that appear on the Facebook pages of Turkish Cypriot friends of ours. Emotional, poetic, expressive in a way that leaves an Anglo-Saxon marooned in unfamiliar territory. They must think of us as pathetically literal minded, task oriented and unresponsive - and kindly make allowances.
And I’m three quarters Celt married to a hundred percent East European!
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