A veiled evening atop the Acropolis in Athens, Greece
Athens holds a dear spot in my heart. Not only because of the story of the marathon, which captured the sportsperson in me, I also admired the works of Socrates, not Aristotle mind you, but the master himself. Socrates’ words, Know thyself, guided me through my teenage years of self discovery. I felt the need to visit the agora, the marketplace where he often walked and spoke about philosophy, to say a silent thank you to him.
That evening was our last day in Athens before taking the ferry out to Santorini. Elsie was just about bored out of her brains following me from one historical site to another. It was the last time she would have to do that. I told her that by hook or by crook, I had to partake in the night view of Athens from atop the Acropolis once, or my trip would be incomplete. Being the giving soul that she is, she obliged me with much amusement, as if entertaining a young child.
We slowly climbed up the makeshift metal steps of the Acropolis. It was past 8pm and we managed to get on top of the hill after a leisurely 10 minute walk. The lights were out but the moonlight cast a soft glow on the rocks, highlighting the edges just enough for us to find our footing. A surprising number of tourists were still lounging around, sitting in groups and talking in hushed tones. Even though we were in an exposed area on the highest hilltop in Athens, the evening winds muffled out everyone's voices, giving a sense of privacy and containment. Elsie was uneasy about the dark despite the cosy atmosphere but we felt tentatively safe in numbers. One person concerned us though; a big and tall lone man sitting not too far away at the corner. We could hardly see what he looked like except his shape. Being on top of the highest landmark of Athens looking out at the city lights generally turns one’s focus inwards, however, this lone man seemed to be shifting his attention around and about him. He seemed shifty to say the least.
After sufficiently soaking in the atmosphere and enjoying a nice long chat, we decided it was time to leave. I reluctantly plucked myself off the still warm rocks and said a silent goodbye to the city, passing the lone man. Being my usual carefree self, I paid him no heed and casually walked past him without any suspicion. Just as soon as we rounded the bend, giggling to ourselves about something silly we said, Elsie noticed a sudden shadow behind us. It was the lone man. A glint flashed in the dark. Was it a knife? Alarm bells started ringing inside her and she nudged my hand in worry. I think I must have my amygdala damaged because even at this stage, I still brushed off her concern as being overly cautious.
Thinking back, we were in a pretty precarious situation. Somehow the thing that always saves me in danger, isn’t my courage, strength or bravado. In fact, it is the most contradictory of things. To this date, I still don’t know how my very openness is the same thing that gets me in trouble, as it is the thing that saves me.
I grabbed Elsie’s hand and turned to face the man smiling; both openly acknowledging and making way for him to pass at the same time. In that split second of eye contact, I could sense his mounting tension and sudden confusion. Why did she turn to face me with a smile? I don’t think he expected to be called out like this. He was caught in between two choices; to stab us with his pocket knife, steal our money and DSLR camera, or to run away like an exposed animal. He decided to run and run fast did he, for thank our lucky stars, the police just happened to be patrolling the car park below us.
It all happened so fast that I didn’t make sense of it until I saw him sprinting into the nearby forest. That was when it all clicked into place—I had just narrowly escaped being mugged! We both looked at each other in utter astonishment—hovering between surprise and shock—all the while walking without missing a step until we were safely back in our hotel room.
People have told me that I am too open and often invite danger because of my trusting nature, but I wonder if this very same openness is what protects me. By openly facing people with veiled intentions and questioning them—whether with actual words or with just a simple eye contact—I meet them in the very way that they are avoiding. My honesty unintentionally compels them to strip away their hidden layers, revealing their cloaked intentions. It is a torchlight for deception, shining light on darkness and exposing truth for all to see.
Perhaps the saying that opposites attract is true but surely they missed out the reason; that we only discover the deepest truths about ourselves by dancing with our opposite nature. Light exists because of darkness, joy because of sorrow and love because of pain. The greater the darkness, the brighter the light. The deeper the pain, the greater the capacity to love. Contrast highlights and deepens perception and therefore awareness.
And so on that dark, veiled and windy night, on top of the Acropolis in Athens, I cast away my doubts and took one more tiny step forwards in confidence, trust and openness.