I did not make a picture with him. Because I liked talking to him. I liked it so much that I knew picturing would break the reality of it. Everybody else made pictures with him, because he was the star.
-Were you aggressive as a child?
-Me too. Once I broke a hand of a boy who hit my brother… I got almost expelled from school then.
-Me too, – and he smiled with a serious smile.
And I liked how his head looked. When he left the party I could still see the shape of his head.
-Well, you really had good time talking to him,- one of the masters approached me while I was getting a piece of grilled meat and eating it with baguette.
-He is a nice guy.
-Nice guy? Hmm, – he chuckled – this is the first time I hear him called “nice guy”.
-I do not mean nice like people mean it here. I do not like nice people. They are nice on the surface and then they betray you and hurt you.
-Me too. I know what you say. People tell me I am mean, and I know I am mean, but my heart is kind, – and he put a hand on his chest.
I love quietness and peace. I believe in kindness. What I also know is that since child you have to protect these values. You have to defend them. You have to fight for them. You have to fight a lot to keep the peace.
“Happy mothers day! You are the best mo….”. I did not open the email. I looked at the email in my mailbox and deleted it. It was from my ex-husband. It was all fake. Just words.
I was sitting in my bed with an ice-pack over my left foot. My pinkie painfully broken since Friday. All the house chores became slow. I thought that I had to do the laundry and to do the breakfast for the kids. The kids were hungry. I made a list in my head of all the things I had to do. It made me want not to get out of bed at all and I wanted to cry. But I pulled myself out and went to make a coffee. Walking was painful and slow. My parents called and wished me happy mothers day. Then friends texted. Somebody asked for a date on Monday. And I did not reply. I just sighted.
I was absolutely alone with two kids. And people were nice and never helped.
Now I had to make breakfast. To clean the table. To do some work. We had a birthday party in the afternoon and a dinner with friends afterwards. Then we found out that my daughter had fever and I gave her some ibuprofen and told her to stay in bed and read.
By noon I was tired from pain and from this feeling of betrayal. I did not like nice people, they hurt you the most. I wanted to go and train at the dojo. To feel stronger. Not to break down. The dominator. The aggressive one. But I could not train. I knew that. I felt weak. I wished I had a shoulder to lean on. I wished I could hug somebody longer than usual friendship.
I took the laptop and sat in my bed with an ice-pack. And then my son came and lay down next to me. And he felt asleep.
And after all the fighting and pain it felt peaceful.