July 23, 2020

I am begging for holidays in the summer. You can’t make me take them in November anymore. I am desperate to go to the beach, whether by the lake or by the sea – it doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s been seven years. Nobody goes to the lake in November. It doesn’t make sense, and it’s probably even rude to suggest it.

Oh, I can’t wait to see what summer looks like in my country after all these years. Is it still the same, is it still the same thing? Will I be able to recognize it? I really need to go for a long swim and feel the sun on my skin afterward. It’s been too long since I’ve done that and believe me, it’s almost an agony. I want to feel young again, I want to feel how it was seven years ago.

So, actually, I would like to go the beach with my dear friend. We used to have lots of fun together back in a day. However, what should I say to my friend after we finally meet? How will I justify seven years without the sun touching my skin, this error to him and to myself when we finally get together. I should say, all that is because…

They were/were they seven years of self-discipline or seven years of freedom?

They were/were they seven years of nostalgia or seven years of adventure?

Seven years of running away, or seven years of growing? How can one grow if one’s roots are somewhere else, though? So, seven years of flourishing or seven years of vanishing? An Odyssey’s voyage home, or Abraham’s journey to Promised Land?

Alternatively, my friend could come and visit me here when summer arrives. That would also be lots of fun at the end. We would travel to the seaside, and I would feel the sun on my skin just the same. If only my friend would come to look for an answer. If only my friend would come to look for an answer with me.