One of the negative aspects of not living in your hometown is that every time you have a few free days instead of spending them traveling the world, you have to run to the airport and get home.
This was my life this past year and you know what? I loved every minute about it.
I left hating that city and all the people in it. Now, every time I get back I feel that sweet melancholy mixed with the love I feel when I see my friends,my godson and my home. (although it’s sort of too many pink there, why didn’t you tell me I was that cheesy last year?)
I moved out of my parents house when I was sixteen years old and we had the dinner in the family discussing about the economical situation in Bolivia type of relationship since ever. Now, when I get home and I visit them, we smile at each other, and the smile is sincere.
Well, I’m telling you all of this because, predictable, I’m on my way home for Christmas.
I forgot when I started hating this holiday. A long period of time I though that I hate it cause it makes me feel special, but no, that’s not the case. It saddens me deeply and that’s a fact!
But this year will be different! I came out with an evil plan.
First, I’ll throw a monster party at my house on Saturday, the preparations and the outfit, yes, I’m superficial, will take the whole day, so I won’t have time for developing imaginary dramas. A few glasses of prosecco mixed with vodka and on Sunday I be so hungover that I won’t even remember that it’s Christmas.
I’m still thinking how to skip the second day of Christmas. Will keep you posted.
Over and out.