:: Purposeful Death Overhead ::

Artists écrivent de
"L'amour, l'amour"
mais que ce - que c'est, cet amour?
Est - ce que c'est un produit de la chimie?
Est - ce que c'est un voix joli?
Est- ce que c'est beauté d'une visage?
Ou
est - il un rêve qui ne quel qu'on comprenniat...

A week of Deuchland, I'm truely glad to be back in the states. I was without internet, daresay a computer for the past seven days. If you hadn't known I was in Germany this past week, its all right, I didn't know I was going until some 2 days before the trip, when an aunt I hadn't seen since I was four invited us to come. Oh my wonderfully sporadic family! My dad reply is basically "pourquoi pas?" since I'm on a French spree of words at the presents moment (though ask me not why, I hadn't spoken a word of French the entire time there.) I did speak/ hear Russian/Hebrew/Italian/German/English, which was wonderfully confusing; I spoke Russian with my Aunt Asya who spoke to her husband in German who's Italian and, since I didn't understand anyway would just start talking to me in Italian. Yeah, Opera is a "0" on the helpful scale in that department.
The trip was wonderful in bringing me closer to my dad's side of the family, of which I really know little about. Old photographs, uncles I hadn't known existed appeared to me, and even photos of my Great Grandparents. I truely wish I knew more about them, wish I had more of an idea where I come from. It's weird too, Asya would turn to a set of photos and remark how she was the only one left alive of these people. Or we saw her niece's wedding, and she would point out relatives that have died since. And I see these people on the screen, in motion, in gaity, and I can't quite fathom that someone can just disappear like that. Just Poof - and gone. I feel like I can never quite reiterate how precious life is. Because it is. You blink, and its gone. My aunt told me her history, how in love she was with a former husband of hers, and how he got run over by a car. Or how she had a six year long affair with a man whom she loved, but whose marriage and family she didn't want to get in the way of. These are all real people, not movies, not fantastical fiction. I got off the airport after the 9 hour flight from Munch, exhausted, but happily seeing my father standing at the gate with a "welcome back" balloon. A small gesture, but so special even so. I realize now, more than ever how much I love him, and how I'm still his little girl. How lucky I am to have someone like that, not to have to walk through the hustle and inconviences of the airport knowing no one is on the other side of the noise to greet me.

:: Alina 9:57 PM Comments: Post a Comment