I've been free this entire 2 weeks. I've been free to do my own grocery shopping, my own laundry, make my own meals, plan my own day around me and not around a neurotic German witch. I will admit, I missed quite a few classes these past two weeks; some because of legitimate migraines, others because, well, the thought of waking up at 7:30am to go to a 2 hour German History lecture made absolutely no sense to me at 5am when I woke up, thirsty and groggy.
It's been absolute bliss.
I'm now 22 years old, and yet if she thinks I'm not awake yet at 9:30am on a Monday morning (because she doesn't hear me running around upstairs), she will honestly start hollering up the stairs, demanding for me to bring down my laundry so she can wash it, ask-yelling why I'm not up yet. This past Monday, I turned off my alarm, and fell back to sleep for another 2 hours. Bliss.
I had my moments of boredom, but I have those all the time. I had my moments of loneliness, but again, I have those all the time. I have also had my moments of fear, when it's 2am and the house rumbles and it takes me a solid 30 minutes to reassure myself that it was just the snowplow going by outside that did it, and not some hooligan breaking in.
But it was freedom. Safe freedom. "Safe" because in the end I only had to pay for my food, not any other bills. "Safe" because my mom and sister came down on the weekend to abate some of the loneliness. "Safe" because I knew that I could take those 2 weeks to relax without any real, dangerous consequences. I could sit in the back room and eat popcorn while watching X-Men at 1 in the morning on a Friday and not care if the volume was turned up too much or if I had left the window open in the kitchen too long because I didn't even open the window this time (whenever I make popcorn, she claims that the smell is going to kill her [like how cold water will kill you, or walking outside without a wool hat on in slightly below freezing temperatures will kill you], so I have to make sure the door to her room is closed, and the kitchen door is closed, and the other kitchen door (the one that leads to the front room) is closed, and that the window is open. It's too much hassle, so I just don't eat popcorn anymore), and I don't have to groan at the knowledge that the next morning I'll be asked the same question every time I eat popcorn: "What? Can't you go to the toilet after you eat that?!" because she's freakishly obsessed with my bowel movements.
It was a safe and re-affirming freedom.
And now it's over.
I think this is one of the most depressing nights every year: the night before I know she'll be home.
And as soon as she get's home, it will be time for "Stories from Cuba!" or "Complaints from Cuba that I Hear Every Single Year".
- The airport was horrible. She hates the airport. She's never going again.
- The plane was horrible. It was too loud, too cold, too stuffy. She hates the plane. She's never going again.
- They didn't give them food |or| the food they gave was horrible, she didn't eat it. She's never going again.
- The airport in Cuba was a mess. She hates airports. She's never going again.
- They had to go to the farm. She had to eat their food. She doesn't trust "poor people" food. She only ate tomatoes and drank no water. They had a skinny dog. They're poor, she hates it. Why do they always have to go? She hates it. She's never going again.
- They went to mass. Only good part of the trip.
- There were so many Germans at the resort. She almost sounds like she hates her own "people".
- There were not enough chairs. They played bingo. She hates bingo. She's never going again.
- They always wanted to go for walks - she can't walk far anymore, so it was horrible |or| No one wanted to walk with her, so they just sat around. It was boring. She's never going again.
- She burnt in the sun and doesn't understand why. It's not her fault. Nope, even though she doesn't put any sunblock on and sits in the sun, roasting like a lobster for the entire time. Her lips burnt, again. She hate's it. She's never going again.
- She ate omelets and mango's and had "strong coffee" (espresso, she just doesn't want to admit it, but my great-aunt and uncle who go with her will gladly say it was espresso). She only liked the food. The eggs the eggs the eggs and the omelets...over and over and over again.
- German people German people German people...over and over and over again.
- The flight back was horrible. They didn't give them food |or| the food they gave was horrible, she didn't eat it. She's never going again.
- The eggs omelets and mango's.
- The farm and poor people. She hates it.
- Germans.
Aaaaand repeat.
Summary: She's never going again.
And yet, every year, she goes. And every year, I have to hear ALL about it.
And then, in the span of one, maybe two days, the entire house reeks of onion and cabbage again. And I awaken to the sound of her marching around at 7 in the morning.
Leaving here is the one upside to the end of this chaotic year.
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