It’s late in the evening, I’ve packed my bags, stuffed them with gifts and goodies for big and small and can’t wait to head home tomorrow. I say home, although we’ll be staying in an airbnb in Bucharest and not at my parents’ house in Craiova, because home is where your heart is and mine is in Bucharest.
It´s strange how holidays always are a bit tricky when you´re far away from your family, even as a grown-up. It´s like the thread of “the way it´s always been” gets cut. And I like things to be the way they´ve always been, even though I have an ambivalent relationship to traditions. Like it or not, traditions are the glue that keeps together past and present. We can chose to keep some and forget others, but they do define us in a way or another. All these years, I´ve let customs go and embraced others, we´ve created our own traditions as a family of two and we´ve been with the big family sometimes, too. Since my husband was born a Buddhist, Easter never had loud resonances in his family. In Romania however, we celebrate by going to church, meeting family and friends and eating until we end up in a hospital. 😉
Norwegians are said to go skiing on Easter holiday. The paper said it´s more of a myth nowadays, but I still feel it´s the general rule. Since we don´t ski, we go to Romania every now and then, take a city break other times, but mostly stay at home and celebrate an urban Easter. We´ve had amazing weather, we´ve gone on lovely trips, met people for lunch and coffee and still I feel there´s something missing. I´ve been trying not to fall prey to melancholy all this time, but the church bells this morning were too much. Why don´t I go to church or dye some eggs then? Because it wouldn´t be like home anyway. So why even try?