Self-love is as simple as doing something special for yourself. For me that something is shopping… in particular places. I started shopping as a celebration at a young age, very independently. I was only 10 years old when I wandered into Andreas and Eleni’s Lefkara Lace and Silver Jewelry store. Growing up in Cyprus was safe, and my favorite afternoon activity was exploring old town Nicosia, which is now mainly a shopping district. Appropriately, the little Jewelry store is just inside the Venetian Walls once used to protect the city from outside invaders, the star-shaped fortress, now landmarks my favorite treasure trove. Silver of all shapes and sizes surround you when you walk in, broken ever so slightly by mother of pearl in bright blue. Traditionally painted bowls dot the interior with crisp notes of lemon, and deep clay-red.
Eleni is sitting on a wooden chair patiently practicing the dying art of making lace. Above her head Delicately woven tapestries cover the ottoman arches, shielding guests from the Mediterranean sun, blowing ever so slightly in a fleeting breeze. Andreas is a flawless host, and quickly coffee and conversation fill the air. The people are what make this place magic, and I fell in love with it before I defined what the word would mean to me. I saved year-round for summer shopping, which inevitably started with Andreas and Eleni. The end of every school year was something to celebrate, but it also meant half my class wouldn’t be returning. I bought gifts for my closest friends, saving enough to buy one item for myself. It was important to me that I gave the people I loved something I loved. It became a practice I took pride in. Until the day I moved to America, and then it became something I greatly missed. I hadn’t seen Andreas and Eleni for almost a decade when I found my way back to that little shop. Nostalgia and muscle memory guided me over the cobblestones, through the arch delivering me directly to their door. They instantly recognized me, welcomed me home, and started a tradition that defined our next decade together.
As an adult, I travel to Cyprus once a year, and each trip I select one really nice gift for myself, and then I pick out a few for my closest friends. I’m not home until I see Andreas and his family. I’m not home until I drink his coffee. And I’m not home until he opens the drawer of handmade, one-of-a-kind filigree designs. Filigree is the traditional art of weaving silver the way the lace is woven. The silver is spun into detailed patterns that loop back on one another indefinitely. It’s intricate, exquisite, and surprisingly durable. It also shines brighter than gold. I take my time in the shop, picking over every item, asking Andreas to tell me countless stories of their origin. He knows them all. I never buy anything for myself that doesn’t represent my island. I’m partial to the pomegranates because they represent rebirth in ancient mythology. Their daughter Irini joined the family business recently and is winning me over to more modern concepts. Antique pearls perched at the bottom of a drop pin designed to remind me of olives… which incidentally I hate eating. I might be the only Arab-Cypriot who hates olives. On at least one occasion that quality has embarrassingly preceded me at a party. My self-love journey has not made me comfortable being honest about disliking the famed fruit.
However, I love Olive groves. I remember every piece I’ve bought and the conversations that came with them. The Greek Key Of Life that can never be broken reminds me of the sea itself, the silver glistens like the sun when it dances off the crystal surface of the med. One of my first and most favorite picks are peacock earnings with silver-woven feathers that cascade almost to my shoulders. I hold my head a little higher when I wear those earrings, I selected them for a Royal Papal Celebration I was attending in Jordan. Wearing my jewelry reminds me that investing in myself is always worth it. It connects me to family I am painfully far from, their love remembered in every spin of the silver. Each piece reflects a deep sense of pride, a source of strength, and a gentle reminder from my mother to keep my standards high. In this way, self-love is merely a reflection of love itself.