It's 1am and she is packing..

Era unu fix când m-am uitat la ceas ultima dată...
Mama se învârte de nebună prin casă, îşi face bagajul. Mâine pleacă. Gata toţi au plecat, suntem doar noi de noi acasă. Azi am primit cea mai faină replică, un citat care cândva l-am şi postat pe pagină de FB a blogului: "Nu contează cum e casa ci, cine locuieşte acolo." Mereu mă plâng că apartamentul părinţilor mei e demodat şi arată mai mult ca un muzeu părăsit. E 1:10, citesc şi mai arunc un ochi pe FB... Aştept să-mi scrie cineva, oricare din ei. Ignor total, îmi scriu amicii, acum neinteresant cumva. M-am gândit mult la blog, şi ce tare îmi lipseşte laptopul, că nu am unde să-mi vărs droaia de cuvinte şi idei ce nu-mi dau pace. Ne-au vizitat nişte prieteni ai mamei, Silvano, italianul meu preferat din toţi cei cunoscuţi, iar m-a fascinat prin tăcerea şi explicaţia tăcerii. Am uitat italiană complet şi asta m -a stânjenit oribil şi totuşi după un pahar de bere cu tata cuvintele şi-au mai găsit locul. Meditez asupra vieţii constant, însă acasă înconjurată de prietenii vechi ai alor mei (oamenii cu care am crescut, pe care i-am admirat sau judecat copiil fiind) mi am dat seama de galopul vieţii... De cum te schimbi şi de cât de importantă e familia, cazul meu neamul infit de mare şi infinit de divers. Adjudecat, acasă rămâne locul unde amintirile nu încetează să ne nască sau să reînvie. M-am distanţat mult de oraşul natal şi credeam că nu-mi mai oferă nimic, m-am înşelat. Acasă, în cripta mea, în frig şi gălăgie e locul unde mă simt demenţial de liberă. Între oameni care mă ştiu de când eu încă nu mă ştiam.

                                      I was wearing Miss Miss jeans and TerrNova blouse.

Last time I looked at the phone, it was 1am ...My mother spins like crazy around the house, doing her luggage. Tomorrow she leaves. Done, everybody went home, we are finally alone, just us. Today I received a great response, a quote that I once posted on the FB blog's page: "I doesn't matter how the house looks but who lives in it." I always complain that my parent's apartment is dated and looks more like an abandoned museum. It's 1:10am, I read and from time to time I check my FB ...It's like I'm waiting for someone to write me something, any of them, but instead it’s total silence. Maybe some friends are saying "Hi", but in this moment it seems uninteresting. I thought a lot about blogging, and how deeply I miss my laptop. I have lots of ideas in my head, many thoughts and stuff, and I wish I could write them down, just to clear my head a bit. Some friends of my mother, visited us, Silvano, my favorite Italian of all I have known, fascinated me again with his silence and his silence explanation. I completely forgot Italian and that embarrassed me horribly. Yet, after a glass of beer with my dad the words have found their place and I could chat with Silvano a bit. I constantly meditate on life, but home surrounded by old friends of my parent's (people I grew up with, people that I admired and judged as a child) made me realize the gallop of life ... How you change and how important family is, in my case, my huge and infinitely diverse family. For me, home remains the place where memories never ceases to be born or to revive. I distanced my hometown more than I thought, and I was pretty sure it has noting to offer anymore, I was wrong. At home, in my crypt, where it's cold and noisy is where I feel insanely free. Among people who know me since I didn't knew myself.
Today's quote: "When everyone goes home, you're stuck with yourself. "