#1 'What is the meaning of life'

On the 30^th August 2000 at exactly 18:40 pm the doctor yelled at my mother one last time to “PUSH”, and that’s when I came out kicking and screaming, adamant to let everyone know that I was alive. It was one of those moments that you wish you could remember, you should you could go back to, even just once, just so you can memorise the look on your mother’s face when she held you for the first time, tired and sweating, but so unbelievably happy. I can only hope that mine looked into my squinting eyes, not yet used to light outside the womb, and imagined the strong, independent woman I would become. So here I am, 16 years later, writing about an event I don’t remember being consciously present in.

Isn’t it ironic how nobody questions the meaning of life, just the purpose it. The real question here is what is the meaning of life? Live, live and you’ll find out.

When I was five, my grandmother was my best friend. She taught me to forget the people who treated me wrong and stick to the ones that treated me right. “I promise it will be worth it”, she said to me at an Athens airport departures gate on the eve of my move to London. I was lonely, and scared, and I didn’t like my new home. The skies were grey, the winters were endless and the river was polluted. All I wanted was Greece, to wake up to sunshine and ocean smells, and the noise of my giagia making coffee in the kitchen. The children here were red, and white and loud, so loud I couldn’t shut them out; Speak, SPEAK, why don’t you SAY anything little girl?” “I can’t”, I wanted to say. I’m scared.

Freak.

Foreigner.

You’re waiting for me to say it aren’t you? What saved you? Here goes. It was a boy who saved me. Don’t laugh. It wasn’t like that. He was small, and defiant with a mass of black hair that glistened blue in the sun like my daddy’s. I took a step back.

“Don’t be scared, here you want a sweet? My mamma makes them for me.” I looked down at my shoes. The “yes” I mumbled still English and foreign on my tongue. He held out his hand and dropped a small brown cube onto my opened palm.

“I’m Josh”, he said, “I think we’re neighbours so we may as well be friends don’t you think?”

I smiled, the toothy kind, and some caramel dripped out the corner of my mouth. “Okay”, I said, miraculously having found my voice. “Can I have another one of those though?”

The sweet he offered me is Dulche de Leche. His full name is Joshua Luke Scapin from Rio De Janeiro, Brazil. 11 years later, he is still my best friend. My grandmother was right, it was worth it. Life gets better, always.