You’re born somewhere in Limassol, Larnaca, Paphos, in some village, even in Nicosia. Even in Agios Dometios or Pyrgos Tillirías that touch the Green Line.
Across from you, you see a mountain with a flag carved into its middle. You go to school and on the outside of your notebook it says “I Don’t Forget”.
The same appears on posters made by children of previous generations hanging in the corridors. But what shouldn’t you forget? Not to forget the invasion that happened in ’74.
Not to forget that half your homeland is occupied. Not to forget that your mother’s or grandmother’s village is behind that mountain and washed by the sea.
Don’t forget… But quickly you get used to the image of the mountain with the flag that, as you’ve learned, is Turkish and was carved there by the conquerors, contributing to the “I Don’t Forget,” to remind us of their presence.
You get so used to the image that you no longer see it. You become accustomed to always moving southward with your back turned to the other side. You go on holiday with your parents to Ayia Napa and Paphos. You go on excursions to Kourion and learn of the existence of Salamis.
You go to Troodos and learn about the other mountain, which is Pentadaktylos. But if you never approach it, you’ll never learn how beautiful it is. If you don’t climb up to Kantara Castle, to let your gaze wander from end to end, you cannot comprehend exactly what you shouldn’t forget.
If you don’t walk through the narrow streets of Kyrenia, enter the castle, listen to history through Bellapais Abbey, the slogan (outdated anyway) “Our borders are in Kyrenia” will be nothing but a phrase you’ve parroted.
If you don’t see Lapithos, Akanthou, Karmi, Kythrea, Rizokarpaso, Kormakitis, in a few years—perhaps it has already happened—you won’t recognise which is which because other names will have prevailed. If you don’t travel even once during spring among the orchards of Morphou, you’ll never be able to understand what the Morphite describes.
If you don’t see how beautiful the other half of Cyprus is, you might forget its existence, getting used to living in half a piece.
If you don’t continue to walk it, perhaps your footprints will be permanently erased and your place will become foreign. If you don’t get to know the people, perhaps you’ll continue to fear and hate.
It’s not a solution, it’s hope.