Holidaying We Go

And so I am going on the first holiday this year, shoved in-between endless hours at work, and costing half a month’s wage for five days.

I feel ungrateful, beaten into me with those lovely words of long past, that I am not more excited about it.

Correction. I cannot wait for this holiday, but at the same time, I had these ungrateful, forbidden, nasty thoughts, that I wish it was with someone else… That I wish I had this holiday in the company of another.

No, I wasn’t thinking of him. Not really. Only insofar as I thought about what he might say, if he knew – would he be jealous? I hope, I wish… at the same time, he discarded me, shelved me, pushed me under the carpet for a whole month, so 5 days… that’s really nothing.

Still, I told him and I sent him pictures, live updates as I made my way around the greenery and the ponds, naively waiting for him to say “wish I was there with you too”. He never did. He was happy I got to go on a holiday… but he never asked who I was with, where I spent the nights.

And the other, the one who takes me… Takes a nap after lunch, changes into his PJs by 8, not even a pack of cards to add some fun to the day…

I keep looking at the fellow holiday-ers at the hostel (!!), or the many tourists on the streets, the guide reciting his speech, the museum lady charging a steal… And yes, I am ungrateful for not enjoying it all as I should, the chance of a life time, after all, how many times will I be visiting these places again?, and still, I keep glancing at the others, a lady’s hand on her hubby’s thigh, they must be in their fifties, but they have a better love life than I… and I keep glancing at the walking group sharing our accommodation, how they discuss their trip for the day during the hand made breakfast they share, while I look at us, and I see the screens of our phones widening the distance between us.

I imagine this holiday, without counting the pennies, with dining out and not complaining about the place being busy or too expensive, without sleeping on separate beds, or the two edges of the same one, and I ache, and I am jealous, and I am fed up. Like brother and sister we go through the days, and I am upset that what really pisses me off is not this formal charade, I don’t want it to be different after all, but that the other one doesn’t even care enough to ask. And the third who I imagine would be most fun to be visiting these parts of the country with, has gone awol after he had enough of waiting around for a miracle, me being honest and doing what I dream of daring to become.

It is completely my fault that I did not enjoy this holiday, that I did not bring out its full potential. Lessons learnt…  price paid… Next time, I’ll know.

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