Name: Antonia Groh

Date: 20th September 2016

Title:

The Whistle

I walked down the sidewalk of a little street in the heart of Greece. Paros, the little island in the middle of the aegis, which actually is not even that small. Oh my home. It feels like sweet serenity overtime i walk through the dusty old streets of Naoussa, but yet tonight it was different. A night, which was supposed to be like any other. I strolled down the empty streets looking for my friends who were already heading towards the clubs. The sky was pitch black and all that i saw were little dots of light from the houses near by. I was always scared of the dark. I remember my father would always whistle me to sleep saying that whenever i was scared of something i shall whistle so he would come to my rescue. This was I would always be secure. Yet this time, I could not shake my fears, the darkness seemed to overwhelm my soul. The thought of something hiding in the shadows or someone assaulting me sneaked into my brain, but I shall not give into this fear. This task seemed particularly difficult this evening, as a girl had just been rescued the other day. She was found near a beach, stripped naked.

I was praying that I was safe, as I walked down the alley way, praying to my angels and father, who had just passed away. The few feet to my destination felt like miles and the minutes seemed to pass like centuries. I tend to become religious when I am scared, I need noticed this before. As I clenched my first ready to fight anyone or anything that would dare to come close to me, I prayed for a sign that I was safe, I kept on repeating and repeating in my head “Please dad send me a sign that I don’t have to be scared…” Suddenly, I hear a whistle. Normally anyone in this situation would started  shivering full of fright, wondering where this noise may come from, but I was calm. I knew it must have been..No it can’t be. But what if it is? A sign? Immediately all that crossed my mind was the image of me and my dad, how we used to sit on our huge, soft, bright-red cough and my ears ringing as he is whistling “Good people” by Jack Johnson so close to me. My body shook, few moments ago I prayed for a sign that I was safe and hear I am hearing a whistle out of nowhere. I was so filled with joy I felt myself completely forgetting how  terrified I had been of the night and its dangers lurking in the dark. Now all that i could think of is my fathers whistling. (Yet I rushed towards the end of the road, after all, who knew where this whistle could come from. I was not eager to find out.)

The next day, hungover from a long night out filled with greek singing and ouzo, my stomach was growling, craving a meal, which was long overdue. Then again, my ears were ringing, a sound, a whistle. Slowly the corners of my mouth rose higher and higher, until I could feel my dimples appearing. Again, I felt as if I was back at my childhood home, listening to my fathers obnoxiously loud whistling. I turned around, no-one was even close enough for my eyes to see. “How strange..it must have been someone walking by.” I mumble to myself, as I gazed around the kitchen, then outside the window above the stove. Perplexed, my mind wondered how such a small thing could immediately through me back in time, not only once but every time it appeared. It seemed strange to me how such a small mannerism could be associated with a person so strongly, that it is all that one thinks about, as soon as it happens.

After this incident I repeatedly found myself humming and whistling more and more often. It seemed almost as if I had been infected by my father’s behaviour, even though he didn’t even exist in this world anymore. Yet his whistling stayed with me. I kept joking it must be the genes, yet I knew it was something else. Rather unsure of what it was that could have cause my sudden outburst of ‘whistling fever’, I fell into deep thought about what made this so meaningful to me, even more so, why was my dad whistling in the first place. I could not quite put my finger on it. I guess it was due to a feeling of ecstasy, a sudden outburst of happiness. A moment that was so fleeting but so fulfilling at one. I remember often observing his little ‘moments of joy’, as he used to refer to them. The more i thought about it, it seemed as if my whistling immortalised his little quirk, his tiny, seemingly insignificant, yet so notable behaviour. Thus I started whistling more often, every day, one day after the other.

Then something strange but miraculous happened. More and more, dear friends, who knew my dad all to well, would randomly start talking about my him. They would reference him more frequently when in conversation with me, start to refer to objects or situations that reminded them of my father and even start to dwell in the past, when my father used to join us here on Paros. I wondered what could have caused this overwhelming outbreak of reminiscence. Then it came to me, that must be it! The whistling. My constant repetition of my fathers iconic behaviour caused us all to passively take a journey down memory lane. I was charmed by the idea, that it was I, who could actually be the cause of all our dear friends remembering my dad so vividly. Instantly my heart felt flooded by emotions, which led to a short incident of me crying in the bathroom. But these were tears of happiness.

For the remaining days of our holiday, I made sure to whistle all of my days.

Antonia Groh:

‘Growing Pains’

Introduction:

Remembering my youth is strange as it consists of little snippets of memory. Yet I like to dwell in these moments as they give me a sense of euphoria and let me escape every-day madness. Hence I chose to write about these memories, the ones which I wonder about when feeling the need to escape. Who would I be? What would be different? It is important to know where one came from and how recalling seemingly unimportant events can offer insight about current issues. After all ones character is formed by all events one goes throughout their life time, is it not? Therefore, I assembled my earliest memories in order to remember and eternalise these moments by writing them down on paper, calling this piece ‘Growing Pains’ as the mentioned partly physically painful memories helped me to grow up and become the person I am today. It perplexes me to think of the individual I could have been if  any of these events would not have occurred.

The Cold

I am entering a room with wooden ceilings, carried in the arms of my father. He hands me over to my grandfather, who lies me down onto a strange object, naked. I scream. The surface of the objects is ice cold. My grandfather leans over me and i can feel his breath upon my skin. I´m lying on my back and all I see is a white ceiling. As I am being picked up again, held in the arms of my father, I see my grandfather writes something down onto paper. I am wondering what he write and what just happened.

Marble Steps

I am running, racing with my friend to find out who will be the first to arrive at my house door. I am approaching two elongated marble stairs. As I try to jump over the stairs I slip. The next thing I remember, I am sliding over the rough surface of the marble, cutting open my knees.

Little Needle

I am running towards my bed. I jump, stretching out my limbs like a starfish. Suddenly a stinging sensation inside my left toe. A needle piercing through it. I ask my mother ” Shall we call a doctor?” She replies “I will call Wafa”. We ride in the car. I am bored and look onto the stripes on the pavement rushing past. I am lying on a long bed, two doctors operating my toe. After four hours all that is left is a scar on my left toe. I still have the needle.

The Harbour

A pink shoe, made of plastic. It fell, fell into the sea. I look after it as it sinks onto the ground of the harbour. I am sad and walk away, wearing only one shoe. Limping as it was a high heel.

My First Swim

I am at the beach, my father sitting next to me in the sand. I feel the sea caressing my toes. I look at him and he smiles at me. I feel safe, happy. I stand up and start running into the sea. I dive into it. I feel refreshed. I float up upon the surface of the sea. Thank you floaties.

Shadows – My Angst Of The Dark

It is getting dark outside. I am tucked into my bed and tired. I see the trees from our garden casting shadows onto the walls of my room as cars drive by. I am scared and cover my head with my blanket. I hold my breath, then slowly fall asleep.

The Harbour

A pink shoe, made of plastic. It fell, fell into the sea. I look after it as it sinks onto the ground of the harbour. I am sad and walk away, wearing only one shoe. Limping as it was a high heel.

Banana Toys

The elevator is stuck. My grandmother takes me by my hand and we take the stairs. They are made of marble. We arrive on the second floor of the building and a huge door made of wood opens up in front of me. All I see are toys. Toys everywhere. Cars, Stuffed animals, everything I could dream of. I feel euphoric as I approach the section of the shop displaying barbie dolls. As I gaze to my left I see the words “special edition”. I grab the doll and run towards my grandmother. She buys it for me and I kiss her on the cheek. I am filled with joy.

Pferd

Ferrari. The words spelled on the book in front of me. I wonder what it means. I open the book and flick through the pages. Mesmerised by the horse at the front of the car, I continue flipping through the pages. I walk up to my father and say “I want this one” pointing onto a Ferrari car in the book.

Sophie 

Brown eyes, I stare at her big brown eyes. She asks me “can I use that” and points towards a hand sewn dress. I look at the dress and back at Sophie. I find myself torn between resisting my urge not to give her my favourite dress and handing her the dress in order to be kind. I feel conflicted. I hand her another dress. She is silent, looking away disappointedly. My heart aches, yet I do not feel a sense of guilt.

The Pool

Circles, circles, circles. I am swimming in circles together with my father. We start to create a current inside the pool. I let myself drift. I feel one with the water and pretend I am a mermaid. I am so happy.

She sits in a chair

She sits up straight on a big turquoise chair. A blanket wrapped around her, slowly

falling of her left shoulder. I run towards her. “Mama!” I shout, and hug my mothers legs as she sits and reads a magazine called Vogue.

Paint

I sit by the table and watch my father work on his computer. I wait. He closes his computer. I ask him if he can teach me to use it. I crawl onto his lap and he shows me how to draw using “paint”. I feel his hands guiding mine showing me how to create imagery.

Fasching

Glitter and silver mesh is all I see. Mother glues the silver mesh fabric to the little wings she bought at H&M. I try them on and run around her yelling ” I am a fairy! “. Then trip on the mesh on the floor. I laugh. My mother hugs me.

Conclusion:

However often I relive these events, my body experiences joy, allowing me to relax and dwell in the past. Yet there is nothing that stayed the same, except for my mother helping me create costumes. Have these memories influenced my life to a great extend or were they simply a few moments of bliss? It does not matter, as they still allow me to escape my anxiety in situations of stress.