A la recherche du temps perdu

Yesterday I came upon this beautiful article by Marianna Tziatzi in the Sunday edition of Kathimerini. For the unlucky who -due to the inherent complexity, peculiarity and sublime perfection of the greek language- cannot read it, I can only tell you that it talks about the extreme stress of Greek high-school students facing their final exams that can -under conditions of success of course- lead them to the university. And an interesting phenomenon, which might be as complex and uniquely Greek as our language.

It seems like that upon reaching the end of the school year, with spring -the greek spring, which is something like Germany's hot summer- blooming all around them, the students decide to ditch the last days of classes having saved this right throughout the year by attending every single one until late April. Then, as May kicks in and with the finals only a few weeks away, the classes suddenly empty. It would seem natural and upon a first thought it even reminded me of my school years when I simply could not resist taking off for some beach instead of suffering byzantine history or 20th century literature. But there is a catch here, since these poor fellas head for no beach or park, or bar. They simply stay at home studying their arses off! Thinking that they can make a wiser use of their precious time, they spend fifteen(or more)-hour days on their desks, with the blinds shutting out the buzzing of spring and with some neon lamp dimming the bright sunlight of May.

I was startled.

I have always been considered a good student, and yes not exactly the most hard-working one but in no case could I be described as a slacker. I made it to the University having survived this last year in high school as most of my friends of that generation did. And I made it by what I thought was reaching the limit of my strength and stamina. Reading this article made me realize that if I were to be trying now, I would be probably doomed to failure. You see I don't remember being careful not to miss classes so that I can ditch them towards the end of the year. Throughout the whole season I kept going to football practice (and probably reached the peak of my rather mediocre footballistic abilities exactly on that year). I also remember that it was the same year I learned how to play pool, not to mention setting my personal record for attendance of games of Panathinaikos (back in 1995 when we secured the league with a record of 25 straight games unbeaten, those were the days!!!). I may be digressing -and admitting I am getting a bit old- but the point is this. I don't feel I missed much during my final exams year and cannot but feel pity -pity and respect- for this youngsters who choose to skip the springtime of their seventeens only to devote themselves to algebra and ancient greek. It is beyond me.

There is one thing I can hope for them though. I hope they get to make it to the University only to realize all the things they miss now, will still be waiting for them. And perhaps a lot more. You see it may sound almost paradoxical, but the more you study, the more things you miss even when it comes to knowledge. I still remember my high school Greek Literature teacher of that last year. I hope she's well wherever she is, but I can only recall the most profound sense of disgust for both her and her class. I was just 17, interested in getting to study chemistry, getting to win the football school league and getting laid (the last two probably being connected). In any case, I could not care less about Greek poets of the post-war era and so I remember I came to achieve the lowest mark ever -in a 12 year school career- at the final exam (which by the way did not count for the University scores) when I was asked to comment on Kostis Palamas' "Twelve lays of the Gypsy". I scored a disgraceful 3/20 for filling a single page with scorn and mockery about literature and poetry in general.

And I then I went to the University. Only to realize, that the things I have been missing were still right there on the side of what I thought important and that they were probably even more important. At the side of quantum chemistry I started reading literature (you have to trust me I never read anything apart from Jules Verne and some Hemingway books before I was 18) and next to the pile of biochemistry notes I kept books about fascinating Byzantine emperors. Some five years after that legendary 3/20 in literature, already a graduate, while strolling down Panepistimiou Avenue in Athens I happened to glimpse on the bench of a street bookseller a copy of the "Twelve lays of the Gyspsy" by Kostis Palamas. I bought it for a mere 3 euros. Needless to say, I loved it.

Over the next two days (or I should better say nights, since by the time I was busy studying journalism) I completely devoured it, reading parts over and over again, learning passages of it by heart, reading about it on the web and thinking about subtle references spread around the text. Then, having suddenly realized that I was doing on my own, during my precious spare time, what my disgusting teacher had asked me to do for my final exam five years before, I felt I must have been the stupidest person to have ever lived. At the same time I felt I was delivered from some kind of spell that kept me in darkness for so many years. I felt I was finally making amends for the time lost.

And this is my only hope for these poor kids that spent sunny week-ends over their boring books. I can only hope that the spell cast upon them, gets lifted as soon as possible. And that the time that is being stolen from them is not lost forever.

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PS. The photo of this post (an excellent representation of the lost happiness of childhood) was taken by Anaïs Bardet and was kindly provided -upon request- by Sarah Bonnin.