This has been a quiet trip. My mother was sad, surely worried about my grandmothers health, maybe that is why my father wanted me as her companion, so that at least she didnt pass the night alone in Paris. But it doesnt seem that Ive been of any help, because I just couldnt distract her away from the silence, the anguish. Could be the disease of my grandmother the thing that depresses her, or there is something deeper? The relationship between my parents is not going well. Even the strangers notice this. The receptions and dinners at home dont have anymore that warmth and enjoyment from our first days in Prague. Like if the weather influenced, their communication has become extremist: excessively cold or excessively hot, aggressive behavior without contention.
Last night she didnt want to go outside, she barely touched dinner and went to bed. I had to go walk alone in the French streets. Now I just dropped her at the airport, stiff It seems that I left there a mannequin with my mothers face. And when she arrives to Mexico tomorrow, that will be today for her, she is going to sink in the fog that surrounds its streets, its people, my memories. Ill be in Prague soon, and everything will turn with the same rhythm, like neither Paris nor Mexico, or any other city in the world existed. Maybe not even my grandmother or my mother. I decide to visit the famous Muse du Louvre; it seems to be an obligation for the first time visitor. The thing is that Im lost and people here arent of any help.
The Essay on Grandmother Mother Time House
... to the situation. The next day when my mother came to get me my grandmother decided to keep the night before a ... would be closer to help my mother. For the first years of my life my grandmother saw me everyday. She also helped ... financially, making sure my mother had enough money for food, ...
They dont try a little bit to be friendly or helpful. If you try to talk them in English they just ignore you, but why? Do they hate Americans or what? Im loosing my patience. At last I get to the museum, its really impressive. I buy the ticket and go down by the escalators underneath the glass pyramid. The space opens to an enormous hall. Its great size makes me feel lonely.
Just me and my thoughts, no one to talk to I begin to admire the different art pieces, but nothing causes an emotion in my soul. Not even when I admire the Mona Lisa, it just enhances the melancholy about my family, my country, my friends. She looks so much like my mother. I have got to get out of here, and scream to the four winds how bad I feel. I need to escape this monotonous feeling, but how? I wandered with no direction for hours and hours until I found a little restaurant hidden in a dark alley. I realize that I havent eaten a thing since that awful croissant at the airport.
The place looks very old. It resembles the typical restaurants at my hometown, Monterrey. The walls are covered with framed newspapers depicting important events. A gorgeous waitress greets me. She is the only pleasant thing Ive been able to see in this gray city. She is my angel.
Maybe my destiny is here with her, in this new country. She lets me see a new horizon, my problems have a solution, its not that bad. And its not just me in this world; Im not alone anymore. Paris is not as blue as I thought.
