The futility of it all…

I am leaving one country to go to another … for Easter.

I find it very strange to leave P. here, I would want him to come with me back home. It’s not like we would have time to actually visit anything, but all the little things that make my life in Romania, I would like to share them with him.

I would want to wake up in the morning in my 2-part room – one a study and one a bedroom – I think he would be surprised at the amount of books I have in there and the old computer that my parents still use to play Solitaire.

And the wooden balcony – we could open the door to it in the morning and let the chilli breeze get into the room or just wear a bathrobe and admire the view – green and brown hills and the forest close by. Would he like any of it? He wouldn't understand anything they are showing on TV - that flob-a-lob language, as he says.

I could take him through my little, tiny, absolutely boring and with nothing special home town. I spent my happiest years there – I could take him to where I used to learn and tell him stories about the mischief that we used to cause, show him all the places we used to spend our summer nights, drinking outside of old women’s balconies and getting them to call the police on us.

I am sure he would not be impressed with any of it – it will look as grey Romanian buildings to him.

My grandma would demand us to visit her and even if she can barely move, she would still clean her house months in advance and plan to feed us with and every little detail. Would he see more than an old lady in a very old fashioned apartment?

We could then return home and just spend the afternoon lying in a hammock, with my dad doing a barbecue, enjoying some drinks and chatting away.

I will still be doing all of these in 2 days – but it is so weird that I would want to share it all with him. P. wouldn’t understand any of it, he would not be able to decipher all the subtle tones in my voice, all the images in front of my eyes, all the thoughts in my head.

Why do I even bother to care? We all know how this is going to end. I keep saying it’s for the journey, but sometimes it strikes me: The futility of it all…