Mesarthim
| Sujet: Fragment #11 - Nouvel Air 04.01.09 20:52 | |
| Saturday, December 22nd 2007 in Prestwick I still feel hangover from last night. And standing there, waiting for checking in, is killing me. I have a look at the sheet of paper in my passport, a return ticket for Paris Beauvais Airport. A return ticket: I remember the two last times I went to an airport: I was running away. A single ticket in my pocket, I was hoping for a new life. This is a bit different today. I’m going to visit people I love, but I know that I want to come back. This is all about where I can be happy. I tried coming back and living the French way, and I know this not me anymore. Leaving a place is always the opportunity to think about where you want to be. I love airports and this feeling you can do anything you want, go anywhere you feel like. I love this freedom feeling. I love this crossroad’s impression, life in front and behind you. But I should stop thinking too much about things. My damn overthinking habit, the only thing I can’t leave at the airport. It’s always coming with me. But sometimes, the first days I spend in a new place, I’m too busy for thinking. And I can enjoy some peace, and my mind can rest. I need some fresh air…
“Hey you’re moving on or what?”
I come back to reality, and turn around to see who is talking to me. Such kindness, let me guess, he must be French…
“Anthony?”
“How do you know my name?” he looks genuinely surprised. I know I remember things quite well but what, he doesn’t remember me?
“Oh yes, you’re the French girl, the one who was coming back… I actually thought you would have left already. Are you going back?”
“No, I’m settling in. I’m just visiting friends, for Christmas”
“Good for you!” He is smiling now. Is he accepting me as fellow, the French one who prefers Glasgow to France, just like he does? “So, what have you been doing, back in Bonnie Scotland?” And there we are, talking in English about our Scottish lives. First time ever I don’t mind speaking English with a French man. But we aren’t that much French anymore. There is the place you were born in, and the one you choose as your homeplace. | |
|