We’re tired

Well, I am.

Moving away is exhausting. It feels a little bit like dying, to be honest. I’m not sure I’ve actually written this here before, because I remember thinking that exact thought. You say goodbye to a lot of people, like you do every day… like the woman at the bakery. She has no idea this is the last time she’ll be asking you how the kids are doing… but you know it is.

I went by my high school and I took a picture of the street. I must have walked down that street at least 1000 times before. I went up and down those stairs 1000 times as well… but this time, I knew it was the last time.

It’s weird the things that end up in that one beg you’re able to carry with you and supposedly sum up all your 33 years. Your most comfortable old blue pajamas and the pillow cases that smell like home. I look at my stuffed animals, the ones I’ve had since I was a baby, and I’m thinking “I’m not ready to leave them here”… I’m just… not.

But I am ready to leave. I’ve always been. Ever since I was a teenager translating Hanson or Alanis Morissette songs and trying my best to learn English, so I could leave one day. I’ve been planning this moment, dreaming about this moment for over 20 years. I do not have any doubts. I just wish it was easier on everyone else. And I wish I didn’t feel like leaving this world instead of just leaving this country…

I hope one one hates us -too much- out there. And I hope we can finally find a place to stay… it’s been quite hard. But I owe this to my kids and to myself. I can’t afford to quit my biggest dream…

Letter to my dad

When I was 13, the school therapist said I couldn’t love my dad as much as I did, because he was going to die one day and I wouldn’t be able to go on without him. She also said I’d never get married or leave my parent’s house because I was oh-so-attached to my dad.

Truth is, my dad has been through a lot. And he’s annoying. He’s getting old and I scream at him all the time, but I’ll miss him.

I won’t so much miss him, as I’ll feel bad imagining him passing by my empty room and remembering me. Perhaps even memories from when I was a baby. I was a little girl in his arms, and I was always there. I was born in this house and I know how much he hates changes. I know about how he found his dad dead in their house. I know about the note his dad left him. I know this sh%# must have messed up with his head.

Most of the stuff he says make absolutely no sense. It’s so crazy I’ve actually thought about writing a book about how he says stuff like “the cancer virus likes to eat tomatoes because they’re softer than human muscles”. And MEANS it.

Sometimes I think he’s crazy, or maybe just plain stupid… but he’s really just naive. The most naive, honest person in the world. I’ve kind of adopted my dad. It has always been my mission to take care of him.

I’ve done everything I could. I’ve given him time. A lot of time to understand that I’d leave one day. And I’m leaving… In 2 weeks. I don’t feel bad about leaving anything here. I won’t miss the house I grew up in, I won’t miss the streets, I won’t miss the memories, I’m not even sure I’ll miss my dad most of the time ’cause I’ll be busy taking care of my girls and thinking about finding a job and worried about something else… but sometimes at night I’ll remember him, and think about him passing by my empty room… and I’ll cry.

I wish there was some other way, dad. But our babies need a better chance at life.

Thank you for saying you’ll be with us for Christmas, even though you’ve never been in an airplane before and I KNOW you’re terrified of the idea.

I hope this doesn’t kill you. I cannot go on without you, depending on my faith on a God I’m not sure I believe to be sure you still exist somewhere. I just can’t. And I hope you can come and join us for good when you retire. If I make enough money, the lawyer says I can come and get you.

I’ll do my best, dad, I promise.

But you have to promise me you won’t cry. I never meant to make you cry.

Your daughter.


Haven’t we all had that dream in which our house is on fire or being taken by water and we have a few seconds to grab what’s important and leave?

Many times I dreamt I could fill a bag with my stuff and some other times I could fill the car.

Pictures, documents, my computer… they’ve all been in my dreams. Even my Hanson CD collection. Last time I dreamt the house was sinking, I just grabbed my babies and left.

There’s always my dad, though. Cleaning the stuff before we can put them in the car. I’m screaming at him, desperately, asking him to come with us. Asking him to hurry.

The dream is always the same. I’m leaving, I’m running away and my dad is taking his time and wanting to stay just where he is, ignoring the fire, the water or the mood.

What happens when stuff you’ve dreamt about becomes real? Were those nightmares a preparation for what was yet to come? What do I put on my bag?

It is time to go.

At least I’ve got time to pack… but it feels exactly like it did in the dream. I’ll miss my dad.