This page should be regarded as a sentimental contribution to one's personal growth taking for granted that deep in the heart lies your home wherever or whatever you are going through.

My home, as strange that might be, is still kept in my memories because reality endangers its existence. Imvros is the name of the island I was born on. "PEPALOESSA" Imvros as it has been called since ancient times when conditions -- historical mostly -- allowed it to embrace its children tenderly and help them in their achievements.

One can look up in the bibliography as well as in other sites to find the reasons for the outrageous situation it finds itself in today. It is not our aim though. It is mentioned above. A burst of anger, a decision not to forget, a dedication which goes for my childhood -- as if time had something to say -- when all the years are filled with tears both of joy and happiness.

In a few years since 1964 a history of millennia has been erased, a home has vanished. Pepaloessa is replaced with Gioktseada.

Nowadays in spite of the increasing terrorism Imvros is inhabited by 300 people of Greek descent, the majority of whom are over 65 years old. They insist on living among 7000 Turks under unbearable pressure. They persist in remaining Greek (Hellines), they keep the churches open, their houses hospitable and their yards full of fresh flowers.

Gioktseada are the malicious soldiers from the East, many of whom have destroyed the island by raping its history and civilization. Imvros will NEVER accept them. They will always be strangers in our country without a home, poor and miserable. Because happiness is not merely a possession but mostly a relationship.