Tomorrow I fly to Spain. There my friends live and we will meet again and I will be whole again. Not completely nor fully, but those tiny abysses that our friends leave inside me when they are gone will be filled, if for a little while. Then I will flight back and I will be home, and I will be… whole… again, sleeping at the side of my love into the depths of the night, as I can’t when she is not at my side.
And again, and again.
As the current meme goes, what is this witchcraft? or perhaps, more appropriate to us migrants, what is this curse? To be closer than ever in history to our people that went far away, or to the ones that stayed in place when we went far away, to be able to hop in a plane and embrace them few hours later… and yet and yet… not being able to ever be complete, always without one or another friend that is… always… somewhere else.
Few days ago I went to receive a friend in the airport. She didn’t expected me, so I caught her at the gates, by surprise. We embraced, perhaps a bit tighter and longer than other times. We walked to the trains together, we hurried here and there, and eventually saw the dutch meadows passing outside the window, approaching our homes together in some sort of silence, in talking about the friends, our friends that she saw back home, the ones she did not see, their parents, her parents. In some other station she jumped in another train and went home, so I walked slowly, fetched my bike and went home too. We texted and we will meet again, soon.
I think again at her telling me about our friends, and I could not avoid the pang of jealousy, at her having seen them, touched them, smiled at them. And in a week I’ll be back from Spain, and I’ll tell how our spanish friends are doing, and some people will look at me, and I will see their pang of jealousy in their eyes. And we all will be missing all of us, again. And again.
I have got the blues for my friends that are not with me right now. I have got the blues and I would not want it any other way anyhow. I suppose that that is what having the blues is. No regrets on my many migrations. I decided to be far away, also from my friends. And yet I miss them and I always will.
But tomorrow I am going to Spain, and I won’t be blue no more.