I am a thirty-something 'bloke' from the U.K., with a parental heritage from the small island of Cyprus in the Mediterranean.
After the war in Cyprus my folks left, as refugees, to the colonial fatherland - Her Majesty's Isles.
I was born here in the U.K. but as I mentioned before, my parental heritage is Cypriot based - though father's mother was a beautiful English rose who married a hairy Cypriot immigrant, despite her parents protests and her siblings disdain for the ol' boy. Well, to be fair he was certainly a difficult man to be entangled with, especially since he rarely thought with anything other than his penis. I heard later on in life from my aunt that he used to suffer from jealous fits of rage and lay the ungodly smackdown on beautiful, blue-eyed Matilda. She wouldn't suffer that cuntish behavior for long as she died from cancer a year after my father was born - in the late 50's.
Incidentally, this start to life would epitomize the meaning of the phrase 'starting as you mean to go on' for my father. My grandfather re-married a widowed woman from Greece who brought with her a son from her previous marriage. My father and his step brother were best of pals growing up but the difference in the way they were treated was markedly wide - at least according to my mother. To cut an awesome story short, his early days were undoubtedly whack. He was kicked out of home at 16, married his childhood sweetheart at 17, and had a daughter (my half-sister). Three years later he was a criminal of impeccable quality - robbing, selling drugs, and general all round hustlery. Eventually, a strung out pops would meet my innocent, youngest of four (the rest of whom boys), culturally shocked, refugee mother and hit it off like Queen Latifah in 'set it off'.
I was born!
Then at two my father was jailed for robbing a bank with a shotgun. All very casual-like. My mother and my grandmother raised me and my younger sibling in a very shitty area in London.
At 12 years old my dad was released from prison and tried building a new life for himself in the textile industry. He obviously mustn't have liked it because 3 months after his release, and after one visit with his two sons, his body was found in a very shit apartment with heroin paraphernalia all over the gaff, and a needle stuck in his arm. A product of a hegemonic thatcherite environment, my dad was dead in his mid thirties.
Wait a sec, this is supposed to be about me.. instead its mostly been about my dad. I am absolutely baggage-less, obviously.
So I graduated high school (secondary to us Brits), though not before suffering suspension for indecent exposure, stealing, and a couple of fights. I went to college and studied International Development and got a masters in the same field. At 21 I moved to Greece and worked for the United Nations for a year and a half until I realized they didnt do much of nothing at all except meet diplomats and drink frappe at trendy bars and cafes.
I spent the next 2 years of my life living in Senegal and the Gambia teaching young children high school English and Arithmetic (school is free at the elementary level). I also became a soccer coach for a professional soccer club in the Gambia - though I was given the role because of my semi professional background in the leagues of Greece during my UN stint, but mostly because of the inherent funding ability attributed to the color of my skin. Indeed, being a 'tubab' in West Africa had its ups and downs, but mostly ups.
I came back to UK (with an STD) to start an NGO but failed to get it off the ground after unsuccessful attempts at getting funding for project implementations. Eventually, I gave up and with the little amount I had left I moved out of Babylon and settled in a small town in Bosnia. In this small Bosnian town I met so many crazy northern European men and women who would travel to the town from there perspective countries in order to meet and perform new age rituals on top of a hill they aptly dubbed: the Pyramid of the Sun. The locals, who had suffered much war and devastation in times as recent as the 90's, loved these high income spenders visiting their shops and stalls. I had some sexual encounters with some delightfully crazy old Swedish, German, and French ladies. When in Rome and all that jazz.
My money ran out and I eventually moved back to the UK.
Im sure I'm boring you guys by now. So i'll stop, knowing that there are some stories after my move back to the UK pertaining to issues with the law, prestigious universities, broken hearts, and one more bout of the clap. If you are interested I guess I'll reply with the answer to the query.
HELLO STEEMIT WORLD!