Whenever me and mom hang out, a good amount of our interaction is talking about stuff that happened years ago - remember when we went to that restaurant, remember that trip we took, that time dad got us all lost. We’ve told these same stories over and over again but we still come back to these same memories, laughing the same way, saying the same words, together. It feels kinda Darmok And Jelad At Tenagra.
The last day of our trip felt a little weird as we went to the airport and we said goodbye and I put mom on her plane. I was totally ready to go home, after a trip to another country I miss my bed, my friends, my ability to get around my city whenever and however I want. And as fun as it was to spend a lot of quality time with mom, I was pretty much done. But I was also kinda depressed about it, I dunno, it felt like I was losing something. Not to be morbid, but how many more trips like this would we be able to do. This is the first vacation we’ve done since dad died, so duh there’s a bit of sad realization in there. The inflight film is The Hundred Foot Journey, Helen Mirren owns this fancy french restaurant in a small village, and across the road an Indian family start an indian restaurant, and the talented Indian chef son falls in love with the French girl chef so there’s all these cross-cultural hijinks, and the chef son goes to Paris and becomes a Michelin star chef on his own but he’s not happy he misses the traditional food and family in the village so he goes back and reconnects with the French girl, and dame Helen Mirren has started dating the Indian family patriarch and everything is family coming together, of course the cinematography is all warm, golden and glowing, and life is food, and love, and the essential bonds of reunited family, motherfucking family family family and I start bawling and the people sitting next to me are wondering who’s the weirdo with tears streaming down his face.
Any trip that ends with sobbing emotional catharsis is a winner in my book.