The doorbell rings. It took me 18 minutes to reach her house, not bad. Probably because I was so excited to arrive. In my bag, a red shirt with the Belgian Red Devils logo on it. A toothbrush, my pluffy sheep I sleep with, clean socks and underwear. Four facemasks, a pyjama, two gifts for the two birthday-piggies. My bikini, but not a towel (oops). Sunglasses. Candy.
All the others have already arrived. My friend said that we could come starting from 4, so I came at 5.15. It's obvious that I'm still in the India-spirit. There are the familiar orange and green cups on the table, as well as candies, soda, gifts.
I know the house of my best friend as well as I know my own house. I've spent nights in a row there. I've sat at their dinner table for breakfast, lunch and dinner, several times. I automatically go upstairs first, to drop my bag in the room. I know where to get another bottle of juice. I know the house as well as mine.
In the kitchen, my friend and I put MNM's in the colors of the Belgian flag in a yellow bowl. We're both over-excited for the match that's on tonight. Belgium to the finals. SNAP, a photo. She's happy, or at least she seems to be.
Three friends take my camera. Apparently, they are bored and need some entertainment. So they take 237 photos on my iPod. They feel really funny, they even pretend to be Usain Bolt. SNAP, a photo. They are happy, or at least they seem to be.
The mother of my best friend comes home, with her son. She comes out, we hug, I see my friend's brother for the first time since I'm back. He still knows my name, I'm happy. Her mother is like a mother to me, always caring, always there. After two holidays together and countless days in her house, we know each other pretty well.
We go for a swim. Of course, the birthday piggies have to go in first. If not volunarily, we'll force them. We force them. It's not even 20 degrees outside, not really pool weather, but in Belgium everything above 15 degrees is pool weather, and it's tradition, we can't just skip it. So all of us jump in, at the same time. It's freezing. Quickly, we get out and cover ourselves in towels. My friend's mother comes. SNAP, a photo. We're happy, or at least we seem to be.
As we're eating the traditional icecream-cake in the shape of a pig, we realize that the football match will almost start. After eating one more macaron, my over-excited football friend takes her make-up. We put the Belgian flag on our faces. We dress up (at least, the two of us do). We're ready. SNAP, a photo. We're happy, or at least we seem to be.
Some of us leave, some others stay. It's pure necessity, I can't opt to leave, I just can't. Tradition is tradition. Not that I want to leave, by the way, not at all. There's no place I'd rather be. The matresses are put, we'll share three with the four of us. It feels good to be at a sleepover again, finally. I've missed this. SNAP, a photo. The fours of us, we're happy, or at least we seem to be.
The next morning, we shortly go to the park. It is so beautiful. We just sit there, and talk. I get a text from my brother. Where are you? I don't have the key.
I have to go, but right before I leave. SNAP, a photo. The day is happy, or at least it seems to be.
July 2014, missing you.
All the others have already arrived. My friend said that we could come starting from 4, so I came at 5.15. It's obvious that I'm still in the India-spirit. There are the familiar orange and green cups on the table, as well as candies, soda, gifts.
I know the house of my best friend as well as I know my own house. I've spent nights in a row there. I've sat at their dinner table for breakfast, lunch and dinner, several times. I automatically go upstairs first, to drop my bag in the room. I know where to get another bottle of juice. I know the house as well as mine.
In the kitchen, my friend and I put MNM's in the colors of the Belgian flag in a yellow bowl. We're both over-excited for the match that's on tonight. Belgium to the finals. SNAP, a photo. She's happy, or at least she seems to be.
Three friends take my camera. Apparently, they are bored and need some entertainment. So they take 237 photos on my iPod. They feel really funny, they even pretend to be Usain Bolt. SNAP, a photo. They are happy, or at least they seem to be.
The mother of my best friend comes home, with her son. She comes out, we hug, I see my friend's brother for the first time since I'm back. He still knows my name, I'm happy. Her mother is like a mother to me, always caring, always there. After two holidays together and countless days in her house, we know each other pretty well.
We go for a swim. Of course, the birthday piggies have to go in first. If not volunarily, we'll force them. We force them. It's not even 20 degrees outside, not really pool weather, but in Belgium everything above 15 degrees is pool weather, and it's tradition, we can't just skip it. So all of us jump in, at the same time. It's freezing. Quickly, we get out and cover ourselves in towels. My friend's mother comes. SNAP, a photo. We're happy, or at least we seem to be.
As we're eating the traditional icecream-cake in the shape of a pig, we realize that the football match will almost start. After eating one more macaron, my over-excited football friend takes her make-up. We put the Belgian flag on our faces. We dress up (at least, the two of us do). We're ready. SNAP, a photo. We're happy, or at least we seem to be.
Some of us leave, some others stay. It's pure necessity, I can't opt to leave, I just can't. Tradition is tradition. Not that I want to leave, by the way, not at all. There's no place I'd rather be. The matresses are put, we'll share three with the four of us. It feels good to be at a sleepover again, finally. I've missed this. SNAP, a photo. The fours of us, we're happy, or at least we seem to be.
The next morning, we shortly go to the park. It is so beautiful. We just sit there, and talk. I get a text from my brother. Where are you? I don't have the key.
I have to go, but right before I leave. SNAP, a photo. The day is happy, or at least it seems to be.
July 2014, missing you.
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