Going back home

Three days before Christmas. Thousands of people heading home to their families; like little ants running through the airport. And I am one of them. So many people live far away from their families. I guess it’s part of globalization. Most of us can’t find a job where we live or can’t find the dream job in their hometown and so we move. Some go 900 km far away, others cross half of the globe to find happiness. But nearly all of us go back home for Christmas.

My family has never really celebrated Christmas. We didn’t have a tree, we offered gifts on New Year’s eve, we didn’t have the obligatory turkey. We just had a small family dinner. Small as it was just my mum, stepdad and me. I am more a New Year person. But as usual, 2007 is different. This year is going to be without my dad. I shouldn’t be a hypocrite. Usually I didn’t see my dad on the 24th. Sometimes I saw him on the 25th but it wasn’t regular.

Strangely when someone dies the meaning of these days changes. I will miss him of course but then I miss him everyday. It’s more the small things that are difficult. Like I said before: the new job, friends, experiences that I cannot share with him. The text message that he did not send this year at 7.45 pm, the exact hour I was born. Those things hurt.

However, it made me think about life in general. About putting things to later. “Oh yeah I should see this and that person”, “I’ll do this when I have a boyfriend”, and so on. I don’t want that anymore. I might become selfish but if I want to do something I will try to do it. There is no sane reason to keep on putting your life on hold. Saving money, yes fair enough but if you have enough why not go to New York for the holidays. Always wanted to work abroad? Do it. Don’t let fear, family or other consideration stop you. You don’t speak the language? You don’t have a job there yet? Does it really matter or are those just excuses to persuade ourselves that if those obstacles disappeared we would do it?

You can always find a job. It can be a shitty one but you can be a waiter in London, work on a farm in Australia, and teach in Africa.

Always wanted to buy an apartment or house? Always wanted to visit a country or city but waiting for mr/mrs right to do it with? What if you never meet that person? Should you exclude yourself from doing what you really want? Should we really live our lives expecting to find that special person to share things with? And worse what if that person hates your dream city? Should you never go then?

I know that things are usually easier when you sharing the experience with another person. Human beings are not made to live on their own. And financially it is easier if you have two incomes, especially when it comes to buy something. But small things like going on holiday by yourself, leaving your hometown for a couple of months to work somewhere else, doesn’t cost that much. It just requires courage. So do it. I am trying anyway.

Verbier

Zermatt

Three months

Three months since Friday that my dad has died, and not one day without thinking about it. Until now I have never really found the words to express what I feel and I am not sure I do now. So why try to lay down my feelings about this today? In a couple of hours I’ll be 29 and this is my first birthday without my dad. I received birthday cards from my mum and step dad and from my grand father. They were so sweet but also a reminder that this year my dad won’t send me one. It will also soon be the first Christmas, the first New Year, his first birthday and before I know it, it will be the first anniversary of his death. A series of “first” then “seconds” etc; days that will never have the same significance as before. Days that will be tainted with a loss.

Coming to Geneva was probably the best thing to do for my mental sanity but it makes it also harder. Brussels would have been business as usual. Geneva is different. Different job, challenges, friends, life style, experience, all of which I wish I could share with him and can’t anymore. I still remember the day I arrived here, Sunday 7th October, sending a text message to my mum to tell her I arrived safely and then nearly sending it to my dad. I also remember not been able to sleep the first month I lived here. Worried about all the stupid paperwork but also because I kept dreaming about him, waking up in sweat convinced it was all a bad dream and that he was still alive. Except he isn’t. I can’t send him text messages about what I am doing here, about the challenges in my new job, the beautiful place I live in, the friends I made. The hardest until now was the week that I was working at the UN. I think he would have been proud of me had he known.

I know that time is a great healer and that over time it will all be easier. My mum, step dad and friends have all been extremely supportive and I wouldn’t have made it without their help. Also, as I said before, it’s the first for everything so the loss is emphasized. Those “special” days will never really be the same anyway. But what if I forget? What if one day, it’s the 14th of September and I completely forget it’s the day my dad died. Or I forget his birthday.

I miss you dad, and I wish you were here.