And here we are, living in our own home. Nothing more than one room, with a hallway and a kitchen, all plastered. We have another room on the side, with bricks still, half-finished. We also have a small garden. Our home was built in a jumble, in secret, in the night, without permission, illegally. The builders only worked at night, fearing being chased the police. Only with bricks and cement blocks, without pillars. That’s how most people built their homes at the time. Our home is poor, compared to the houses of Athens, but rich compared to the one we had on the island. For me, that’s more than enough; to me, it looks like a palace. The most important thing for me is that it belongs to us alone, not to a boss. It is also important that my soul is somewhat sweeter. Is it because only love h
