The Syrian refugees wave that has been crashing over Greece for the past few years is something that moves me. I grew up with the stories of my Grandparents, Pontians who were living on the shores of the black sea when Stalin exiled them with a bunch of kids under their armpits to live in the deserts of Kazakhstan.

Always wondered, how that must feel like. To be uprooted, stripped from your property and relocated despite your will; with kids.

Stories of people loosing their close ones during the relocations. People finding each other decades later in some reality shows up to this day.

When they decided to return to Greece, 16 years later, they were treated as unwanted immigrants. Pontians are Greeks for your information. Greece has changed considerably ever since. I like to think that it’s the memories and stories of the hardship that they’ve been through that makes them so empathetic towards the Syrian refugees.

I am incredibly proud for the Greek activists that aid the refugees.

We are on the third memorandum. My people are on the worst possible state I ever remember them on. Some of them fight tooth and nail to remain in Greece and despite their terrible financial state there is one rare commodity which they demonstrate time and time again.

Compassion.