yesterday, while ironing my skirt, it struck me: my parents hardly loved one another. I can’t remember seeing them kiss or hug or anything that would betray love. My dad would make fun of my mom and she would answer back to him and that was that. And now I think this might have affected me one bit… coz when it comes to family, I picture it based on a “life-contract” more than based on love. Although I couldn’t imagine not loving my husband (if I had one).
And I really can’t wait next week when I finally go home. I fear going to Deva because I haven’t been there since April 2003. I cannot remember the house with no furniture, with boxes all over. To me this house is still there. I’m afraid I might be tempted to go…. home. But that “home” no longer exists.