It is a funny thing, I never realized how happy the sound of tires on a wet road makes me happy. Danes talk about the rain all the time, but they have not seen the rain in Greece. They judge by what they know- of course. And to them, Greece is sunny, scorching hot and a place to go and have fun and drunk, fresh out of school.
But for me it is home. A home that I never felt quite mine, due to the fact I am a woman, and I did not abide by the unwritten law that I am define by my sexuality, and ability to clean babies.
I have not been happy for a long time. I have too much energy, ideas, need to be productive and I recently found out that the deterioration of my figure and lifestyle is intricately linked to my fear to desire something.
What I want, is generally speaking, in contrast and opposite with what my child needs, so in a weird way I buried myself under flesh and depression because desiring and not being able to have, due to motherhood, or even age, would be too painful.
So I am more bitter and angry that I would want to, but then again, anger shows there is still a spark in me thinking I deserve to do more, live more.
I forgot how to be happy, but I remember the times I was, and I think this is why I am so nostalgic of "home". I am not. Not really. I am nostalgic of an era, a younger version of myself, a time I felt relevant, I was respected, heard and loved.
A time I would sleep in my room,
with scooters beeping in the street and wet tires passing by in the dead silence of the night.