![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I remember...
An early summer day, I think a year or two ago, when Efrat and I went shopping and after that sat down in a restaurant on Arena Mall in Herzlia and it was early afternoon, and the place was almost empty, and the weather was hot but breezy, and it smelled like real summer, and we ate grilled vegetables and everything was just so perfect at those moments.
The first moment I saw the Barcelona street, emerging from the subway with my suitcase dragging behind me, and I looked around and round the beautiful square, the flow of people and started laughing, out of pure joy and excitement.
Avihu and I, sitting inside the car on the traffic light turning left to Hod Hasharon banging our heads to the "I believe in peace, bitch" chorus in Tori Amos' "The Waitress".
Sitting in a large classroom with a hundred more people looking at our math T.A. throwing chalk from across the room to demonstrate how bad quality that piece of chalk was.
Holding a little cat in my arms and trying not to cry while pepole around me were talking about giving her to someone I knew nothing about. I tried to be reasonable, but I couldn't, and my mom saw it. That cat sleeps in my room every night.
Sitting in a bus station with the brand new book in my hands, after the waiting and almost sleepless night of the army, and reading the first page and beyond even though I was so tired.
The sight of the sea when I was driving down from Asaf and Sofi's house to the shore, becoming visible from behind the mountain, the light and warmth it shone on me until I had to remind myself to breathe so I won't get light-headed.
The first time I opened my eyes underwater in Mesilot Kibutz, training myself for this little achievement while my family was swimming around me. We were visiting Yosef, my aunt's father, who called me "Pilpelet" [Peppery, somewhat of a translation] and continued doing so every time we met since then, whenever he remembered who I was before he died a few months ago.
Sitting on a yellow roller-coaster on the borderline between Navada and California and feeling every bit of air knocked out of my body from the descents and turns around the complex of buildings, watching the ground move closer and further and the hot air that swirrled around my head remind me the speed I was traveling in.
An early summer day, I think a year or two ago, when Efrat and I went shopping and after that sat down in a restaurant on Arena Mall in Herzlia and it was early afternoon, and the place was almost empty, and the weather was hot but breezy, and it smelled like real summer, and we ate grilled vegetables and everything was just so perfect at those moments.
The first moment I saw the Barcelona street, emerging from the subway with my suitcase dragging behind me, and I looked around and round the beautiful square, the flow of people and started laughing, out of pure joy and excitement.
Avihu and I, sitting inside the car on the traffic light turning left to Hod Hasharon banging our heads to the "I believe in peace, bitch" chorus in Tori Amos' "The Waitress".
Sitting in a large classroom with a hundred more people looking at our math T.A. throwing chalk from across the room to demonstrate how bad quality that piece of chalk was.
Holding a little cat in my arms and trying not to cry while pepole around me were talking about giving her to someone I knew nothing about. I tried to be reasonable, but I couldn't, and my mom saw it. That cat sleeps in my room every night.
Sitting in a bus station with the brand new book in my hands, after the waiting and almost sleepless night of the army, and reading the first page and beyond even though I was so tired.
The sight of the sea when I was driving down from Asaf and Sofi's house to the shore, becoming visible from behind the mountain, the light and warmth it shone on me until I had to remind myself to breathe so I won't get light-headed.
The first time I opened my eyes underwater in Mesilot Kibutz, training myself for this little achievement while my family was swimming around me. We were visiting Yosef, my aunt's father, who called me "Pilpelet" [Peppery, somewhat of a translation] and continued doing so every time we met since then, whenever he remembered who I was before he died a few months ago.
Sitting on a yellow roller-coaster on the borderline between Navada and California and feeling every bit of air knocked out of my body from the descents and turns around the complex of buildings, watching the ground move closer and further and the hot air that swirrled around my head remind me the speed I was traveling in.
