The Special Registry Office of Athens is where the deaths, births, and marriages of the Greek diaspora are registered.
It is also where I spent my fifty-second birthday.
Waiting
I waited patiently all day. From memory, I was number fifty-eight.
I didn’t even get up to go to the restroom, for fear of missing my turn.
A Mission
I was there on a mission. I wanted to submit my mother’s death certificate.
After all, it was only right.
She was born in Greece, so Greece had to know she was no longer on this earth. The cycle had finished, and I, as her only child, had to tie up all the loose ends of her life.
The Advice
The lovely woman at the Greek Consulate in Melbourne who translated the Australian-issued death certificate into Greek congratulated me on having everything in order.
She suggested that since I would be travelling to Greece the following month, I should lodge the document myself.
“Go early,” she said.
“Around 7 a.m. They only give out sixty numbers a day. Miss out, and you have to come back tomorrow.”
A Birthday at the Registry
Going to the registry on the day of my birthday felt fitting, don’t you think?
Instead of getting uptight and angry about waiting so long
(don’t go at 7 a.m.—go at 6 a.m. and wait)
I took a philosophical approach.
It was the fifty-second anniversary of my mother being in labour with her only child—me.
She had a long wait that day.
I had a long wait fifty-two years later.
Observations
That day, I learned many things.
I learned that Hellenes from all over the diaspora react exactly the same way in certain situations.
We do not like to wait.
We do not like to stay quiet.
We want to know everything that is going on, and we like to comment on it.
We are also claustrophobic. Sitting somewhere for more than thirty minutes gives us the heebie-jeebies.
Yet I was strangely calm that day, resigned to my fate.
Perhaps the Anglo influence.
Old Guard, New Guard
I pitied the old man working there, signing certificates.
He was very much old guard—rude, limping, tired-looking, and angry. His whole demeanour said, I should not be here.
And perhaps he shouldn’t have been.
When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
Not this guy.
Once my number was called and I stepped up to the counter, the customer service was excellent.
The woman helped me obtain copies of my birth certificate, submitted my mother’s death certificate, and asked if there was anything else I needed.
She was professional and knowledgeable—clearly part of the new guard.
What Mattered
I don’t remember what I did for my birthday that night.
It’s not important.
What I did during the day is what mattered.
It was the sense of accomplishment I felt—not only for my late mother, but for my late father as well.
My parents may not have been perfect, but their moral compass was.
This belief in doing what is morally right—so that amid life’s chaos there is order—is something I remember vividly in both.
They would have congratulated me on putting our affairs in order.
Ari Talantis 