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It’s a late-August Tuesday, yet it feels like an early-June Friday. The city is buzzing with excitement as we enjoy a rare burst of summer weather, fully aware that it won’t last long. Autumn is just around the corner, so the sensible adults are taking advantage of the warm night, socializing outdoors (and here I am typing this at 1 a.m.!).
This fleeting moment won’t last, and soon, neither will we.
This is our final week in France, and I find myself torn. On one hand, I’m sad, but on the other, I want to savor every moment, so I can’t let my sadness overwhelm me, or it will ruin everything.
Mark, too, is feeling down. Perhaps even more so than me, and I feel helpless because he has never shown interest in staying. This is the kid who, at four or five years old, once shouted on Copacabana Beach, “I want to go back to Canada!” Even after we promised him Canada was frigid in February with no beach in sight (later I discovered my in-laws were pleading with him over the phone, tempting him with late Christmas gifts…).
Once he grasped geography, seasons, and grown-up concepts, he became stoic, like Feng. Sure, he feels a bit sad when he parts with his bodyboard in Brazil or says goodbye to family, but he doesn’t get overly emotional. I’m the one who struggles with farewells and leaving people. For the past decade or so, I’ve been the one reluctant to return to Canada.
“I don’t want to leave France,” Mark murmured, tears in his eyes, after I repeatedly asked what was wrong because sometimes “nothing” isn’t a sufficient answer.
“But you have friends in Canada! You enjoy school!”
“September is fine as long as I can go to the park. October is bearable with my birthday. Then comes November, all grey and cold, and it feels so lonely… winter drags on, it’s dark, it’s cold, I can’t do anything, THERE’S NOBODY AROUND! FOR MONTHS!”
“I KNOW! But… it’s not that bad.”
Truthfully, it is bad for me, and to some extent, for Mark as well.
Mark can endure the cold and finds comfort in staying home, watching TV, or gaming on his tablet. However, he shares my love for bustling streets, engaging with people, and exploring new places. He enjoys the food in France, relishing his newfound freedom to wander and socialize. Life in the suburbs of Canada feels too quiet, too structured, and too sterile. Sure, it’s safe, but it’s also profoundly dull.
I’ve voiced my reluctance to return countless times, yet for once, I held my tongue.
“Let’s go to the beach,” I suggested. “It’s going to be hot and sunny. You can play football on the sand!”
Consequently, we visited Saint-Gilles on Monday and Les Sables d’Olonne today, indulging in our usual rituals—climbing the lighthouse wall, flipping over rocks in search of little crabs, leaping over seawater puddles, and devouring luscious chocolate crêpes.
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