ma vie c’est d’la maaaaarde
Today would have been my grandmother’s 80th birthday.
It’s the second time I’m home since she passed away.. I still feel the void, the emptiness that she’s left.
I didn’t get a chance to see her grave yet… When I come home next summer I promise that I will visit it. She deserves my respect and some beautiful flowers.
My ‘neeki’ was the absolute strongest woman I’ve ever known, both mentally, and physically. She was an old Ukrainian woman, built with sturdy genes. She knew how to make people smile.. she would not bare the thought of any guest going home hungry. Her sweet smile, her silly face she’d make with pursed lips, her gentle sarcasm, her drawer full of chocolate bars… Neeki, I miss you.. I miss you so much.
I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you near the end. The lung cancer spread so fast, and it took you from me, it took you from our family.
One year ago today was the last time I talked to you. My mother still has a photo of you talking to me from your bedside… The last thing we said to each other was “I love you”…
You’re in my thoughts each and everyday. My mom is a spitting image of you, and her personality is a near carbon copy. You will never, ever, be forgotten, and I assure you that your spirit will always live on through every one of us that loved you so much.
Rest In Peace Neeki, I love you.
I miss my family and I miss my friends.
Although I often criticize this place, I must admit that I do miss many thing about it. It’s changed enough over the last five years since I’ve been gone… but it will always have that sense of familiarity and that sense of ‘home’.
My mom, dad, brother, oma, opa, and the rest of my family and friends here are so wonderful that I don’t even have words to describe it. They are so selfless towards me. They just want me to be happy no matter what.
I love you all so much, I hope you feel my sincerity.
laisse-moi t’aimer jusqu’à la mort
Yes, I have a strange love for québécois music sometimes.
montréal, je pense à toi encore..
I’m so tired of people telling me German is an “ugly, angry” language. When my German teacher tells us jokes it’s the sweetest, happiest language in the world. When I teach my father the word for daughter he smiles, repeating “Tochter” to himself until he gets it right, and in that moment German sounds like pride. There’s nothing angry or ugly about a language that never says goodbye, only “until we meet again.”