June 1, 2016
I am a very different person compared to who I was on this day last year. On this very day, I was sitting at English Bay watching the sunset and listening to a drummer, and it was the first time I wrote down that I was going to Europe. Now 365 days later, I am sitting in a rose garden by the Eiffel Tower. The roses are red and yellow and they’re sort of mingled together in the most beautiful way possible.
Four little old ladies are sitting on the bench across from me and they remind me so much of me and my sisters that I smile every time I see them. In 60 years, when we all have white hair, we will have to come to Paris and sit in a rose garden and think about everything we’ve done and laugh about life.
This morning I woke up crying because my grandma has officially sold her house. I went through the mental process of walking through the house when I return and how it will look and smell and be different. Except for maybe the cellar and Opi’s shed — I think those will always smell the same. At least, I hope so.
I know it’s best that she move closer to us — I want her to keep the house purely for selfish reasons. I just very clearly remember running back upstairs right before driving to the airport, taking everything in, and trying to remember everything. I said “good-bye” to it but even so, I never imagined it would be my last goodbye. I guess that’s the thing about goodbyes: there’s always got to be a last one yet you never know exactly which one it will be.