"Can you believe it? Twelve years since our graduation," Nathan tells me in disbelief.
"And to think you've finally made it to Cornwall," I reply laughing, my response laced with a touch of sarcasm.
Nathan and I are basking in the April sun, sipping on a few beers, enjoying the last evening of our reunion week at my local beach bar.
“Oh, Max, Cornwall is so far! And you? It's been more than a decade since you set foot in London. You’re stuck in the countryside. This isn't the Max I remember. You belong back in the city," he persistently tries to convince me. His words, though repetitive, brim with unwavering enthusiasm, as if he has just uncovered this revelation.
It surprises me he still sees me for who I am, who I used to be. It’s endearing, of course, just not sure I’m that person anymore. I was wild. A bit too wild.
Nathan and I crossed paths during our first year at university, instantly forming a bond of friendship. Freshly liberated from the confines of my deeply Christian upbringing in Romania, I felt as if I could taste the air for the first time. The world seemed brimming with possibilities. I was excited to finally be able to follow my absolute passion and study theatre.
Or so I thought.
The problem was that, I was under the naive impression that theatre was the gateway to film. I have been in love with movies for as long as I can remember. I watched all of them.
Well, most of them. Anything period drama can go fuck itself.
I've always wanted to work in the industry, but let's just say the environment I grew up in wasn't the most supportive of so-called "unrealistic" careers. Someone, who clearly knew what they were talking about, once advised me that the path to filmmaking lay in studying theatre abroad. If I proved myself talented enough, I could make my way onto the screen.
Clueless about the inner workings of the film world, I believed that being an actor was the only way I could be part of this universe and consequently be around like minded people.
"Say no more," I thought, my mind abuzz. I immediately began researching and figuring out how to take the first step to make my dream a reality. My 'everything is possible' 17-year-old mind led me to apply to study theatre at the University of London. I was stunned when I got accepted. It was the first step towards my dream, my safe ticket out of the country. It was my only chance to finally leave the place where I never felt like I belonged and explore a new world.
Of course, the idea of studying abroad didn’t come without the drama. When I told my parents I got accepted to study in the UK, my mother’s instant reaction was to laugh in my face and tell me it’s impossible.
"Who do you think you are?" she exclaimed, her voice seething with anger. "Do you honestly believe we can afford to send you to university in England?" Her words struck me like a tidal wave of shame. I suddenly had the cruel realisation of how audacious it was for me to even think it was possible.
She dismissed the idea outright even when I explained that the course would be covered through a government loan scheme, with additional bursaries and financial assistance available to EU students. She kept picking holes, telling me that I am too young to care for myself, that plane tickets are expensive and so forth.
When I look back over that time, all I can remember is my father’s eyes full of joy and pride.
He has always been the one who always encouraged me to follow my instincts and dreams and who secretly helped me with my application. He is the only reason why I ended up going and why I am where I am now.
Looking at Nathan, after seeing him for the first time in over a decade, I remember how he and my dad instantly hit it off. They met at our graduation and since then they kept in touch.
It’s weird but kind of cute.
“I will come up and visit more, I promise.” I say to Nathan.
“Do you think you’ll ever move back? Man, this is where you belong. The city, the opportunities, I know you still have the acting bug.” He says to me.
“I can’t just leave my husband and come to London, Nathan!” I say laughing. “Are you saying you don’t like where I live?” I say to him, opening my arms, heavily gesticulating towards the beautiful blue ocean and sandy beach next to us.
“No, I love where you live. Does it scare me that it’s all white people? A little bit, I won't lie.”
He says laughing.
“Oh come on, it’s not all …” I pause for a second “Nope, you’re right. It is.” I nod and laugh in agreement.
My eyesight is distracted by a text from my mum. I pick up my phone to check it and it simply says “Hi” . That’s weird, I think.
I don't want to get into the whole “you don’t reply quick enough because you don't care about us” type arguments, so I reply with ‘Hi. You ok?’.
Message read. No reply.
“Don't get me wrong, Max, this is a beautiful place. It just seems a bit .. too quiet for you. You love the nights out, the buzz, the events, the energy of the city. Things to do, people to see. You always had a fire about you and it was contagious. Don’t you miss that?” Nathan’s passionate words reappear in my ears.
“Sometimes.” I respond thoughtfully, a hint of nostalgia coloring my voice. "Maybe this is who I really am. Have you thought about that?”
“What are you talking about?” he asks me confused.
“Maybe I’m meant to have a stable, mellow, reliable foundation and find fire somewhere else. In my hobbies, in my the next job and stuff, but need to always be back to safety. To my calm, chill, not fire in my stomach but security in my heart kind of home. “ I say to him.
“You’re much braver than that!” Nathan says.
I don’t know why it sounds like I'm trying to convince him. I love my life with Daniel, our little home and the beach. There’s nothing to complain about. I work remotely, I get to go swimming every day if I want to, I chill with Daniel. What else could I be missing?
“Are you happy?” He asks, looking me dead in the eyes.
I’m not unhappy, immediately my mind replies to me.
“Why are you asking me that? Is it cos I don't want to move back to London and spend hours on the tube commuting to and from the office?” I ask laughing.
“It’s just a simple question. Are you happy?” He follows with the smirk he always used to have when he felt he had one up on me.
“What, because you don’t think I still have my fire? Maybe I’m not equipped to have the life foundation also on fire.” I say to him getting a little bit upset he doesn’t see how beautiful my life is.
He looks at me with an unamused face. He’s not shocked about my over-explanation, he’s just Nathan. He is not afraid to ask for what he wants and he will always say it like it is. That’s the reason I am so comfortable around him, I can be fully myself. Not worry that what I say might be misunderstood, not scared that I would say or ask a question that will make him mad or want to stop being friends with me. It’s as if we can both show up as our most real selves, discuss our thoughts, sometimes disagree, but when we offer advice, it feels like it’s more valuable, because we both deeply know the other person.
I haven’t had this feeling in over a decade. It’s nice.
“Are you happy?”, he asks again.
“Yessss! It’s all good. I’m happy. It’s not always plain sailing, but I imagine that’s all couples.”
Nathan looks at me a bit confused.
“I am. It’s just … Gosh, It’s so silly,” I carry on a bit flustered. “`Sometimes …” I say dragging out the word “it doesn't seem like my personality fully hits, you know? Don’t get me wrong, we have fun and he’s so supportive of my choices and he doesn’t judge me at all, which is major for me! I just .. feel a little weird.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, you know I love deep conversations. And I love debates. Make them silly, make them profound. Challenge me emotionally, intellectually or spiritually. I come alive and do my part to make it a good game. You know how loud and passionate I get when I get into it.”
He nods at me smiling in approval. He knows this too well.
“It’s just that … he sees that as being aggressive and negating his points.“ I clock how his smile turned into a slightly worried face and I follow up quickly “We always work it out, I just … sometimes worry that I will end up losing my spark because I don’t want to upset him.”
Nathan looks at me in silence for a few seconds. That’s so unlike him. He’s usually so quick to give his opinion.
“People are wired differently, you know that.” he finally says, “But, there’s a fine line between thinking differently and resisting someone because you might feel threatened or defensive.”
Damn, I forget he gets quite deep two beers in. I don’t think he got it. Still, I love his profound take on things.
We gulp down the last of our pints and make our way to the beach. With the sand between our toes, we stroll and shoot the breeze, going from one end to the other. Feeling the need to cool off, we take a spontaneous dip in the water, laughing and splashing around like kids. Barefoot and with sand in our hair, we head back to the bar, lured by the heavenly scent of pizza and the promise of another round. The place is buzzing with energy, filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and good vibes, creating the perfect backdrop for our last night together.
I wake up the next day with a sense of dread. Sundays always give me a knot in my stomach because I know the weekend is almost over. My job is not the chillest one there is. While I love my job, the company and its politics can get a bit too much for me. I try to remind myself that I'm still growing and learning. I believe that if I excel and meet their expectations, the experience will improve.
I pick up my phone to find a text from mum, sent an hour ago.
Your grandad has died.
Maybe if you bothered
to call every once in a while
and pretend like you care
then your grandma wouldn’t
feel like she has no love from
her grandchildren.
My heart stops. I feel too many things at once and remain frozen with the phone in my hand.
Pure rage builds inside of me.
A random memory pops into my head for just a split second. It's the day I found out I have failed my English Cambridge exam. I was 15. I studied hard, for years. I had private English lessons, bought all the official books and did all the exercises. I was as prepared as I could have ever been. Despite all that, I have failed the exam whilst all of my classmates have passed. I was devastated.
I came home from school, crawled into bed and cried my eyes out. I felt like such a failure.
When my mum came home, I told her immediately, hoping she would see how sad I was and would make me feel better. Her response shocked me to the core. She started shouting at me that I’m stupid, that she cannot comprehend how it could be that her kid is the only one in the entire class to fail after everything she has done for me. And on top of that, how dare I be in bed crying, seeking attention from her. I should be ashamed of myself.
That was the day when I thought for the first time, What would happen if I jumped out of my bedroom window? Would the three-story height kill me or just put me in a wheelchair?
The same person who came from work that day texted me an hour ago. But now, I’m an adult. I’m allowed to be angry. And I am definitely allowed to tell her.
I pick up the phone again and ring her.
“Hi!” I say with a surprisingly dry mouth. I could feel my heart beating in my throat, and the panic rising from my toes up. “How dare you send me that text? I call you every Sunday. We speak e-v-e-r-y week. I asked you about Grandad last week and you said there were no change. I told you to keep me posted if anything changes. What else can I do?”
I can feel the tears building up behind my eyes because now I also remember what she said to me last week “I’m so glad you've gone and left us here to take care of ourselves. Hospitals here kill you, but at least you don't have to struggle like we do.”
I won't show her, she will not see how much she’s hurt me.
“I tell you your grandad died and this is what you called me to say?” she spits back at me. “Speak to your father, he’s just lost his father. Pretend to care for his sake, you always seemed to love him more.”
“That is not what happened! That’s not true!” I feel myself reverting to the 10 year old me pleading for one second of kindness from her. At the same time, a million thoughts and feelings want to come out, all at once, but I only have one mouth so things are not going exactly to plan. I wish I could have a way to download my thoughts onto her so she can see it all, first hand. Maybe she’ll understand then.
“Listen dear, it’s fine. I just wish I can be like you, selfish and putting myself first! I simply can’t do that! My family needs me. I can’t turn my back on them.” She says and hangs up the phone.
My body freezes. Is that what I’ve been doing? I didn't think I did, I surely didn’t have the intention. I care about them, of course I do, I just don’t know what to do. I don’t want to move back. I was dying there, this is my life and I want them in it, I just don’t know how to be more present.
Fuck! I have made it about myself again. Why can’t I just take a second and think before I react? It’s always been my problem. I would react explosively demanding vindication and ignoring the rest of the issue.
Now I feel a bit awkward calling my dad. Partly because of what just happened and I have no idea what I can do to help, but mostly because he will be sad.
Seeing my dad sad is the most heartbreaking thing I have ever experienced. He’s the kind of person that when you see angry, nervous or afraid you know shit is real because he never overreacts to anything. He’s the most calm, chilled, logical person I have ever met. Kind of like Daniel.
I FaceTime him.
“Hey! I’ve just heard the news. I’m so sorry. How are you feeling? It’s a stupid question, I know.” I word vomit at him, hoping he will see my face and understand the message. Hopefully he won’t pick too much on my words.
“Hi!” He says quietly. “I’m okay! It is what it is.”
I look at him, he looks at me. We both smile at each other.
We’ve always had this thing where we don't have to say or do much to let the other person know we’re thinking about them or that we support them. He lost his baby brother over 20 years ago, and the anniversary of his death is always a sad day for him. I think about him every year too and wish I could let my dad know that I love him but I don't feel comfortable actually saying anything. So, instead, I’ve started sending him a heart emoji. He sends one back. And so, we know.
“I’m looking at flights, I’ll come home for the funeral, Dude.” I say to him.
“No, please don’t. You’re coming home next month for Easter. Don’t worry, I’m okay. We all are. It’s just one of those things.”
“Are you sure? It’s no biggie.”
“I am. I promise.”
“Ok, I say. Is there anything I can do to help? Can I send you some money for a flower arrangement and to contribute to the funeral costs? It’s the least I can do.”
“Ok.” He says. I love that he allows me to be part of it, even if our family dynamics are not the most traditional. With me living abroad and barely visiting home that is.
“Ok, I’ll do that now. Give my love to grandma and please let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be on the next plane out.” I say.
We hung up the phone. I check the clock. Fuck it’s only 10am.
“Glenda I love you, you are my number-one pick …”
“… But every time I call you, you say that you’re sick” Daniel sings back at me, effortlessly joining in the rhythm, as if we were performing a well-rehearsed duet.
I don’t realise I’m out loud singing Sick Glenda until I hear him joining my impromptu concert. I was in my own head, apparently rewatching Popstar, as I make my way into the kitchen. Daniel has already started dinner.
We look at each other and burst out laughing.
“She was always sick tho!” I say pointing at him, just like Andy Samberg does in the scene.
“Glenda, are you dying or just avoiding me?” we sign at each other laughing.
“I can’t believe you recognised the song!” I say as laughing as I pick up the budbong, still giddy with amusement.
“SPORTS!” he replies laughing.
I laugh back and pass the weed pipe to him. “Hypotenuse?” I ask.
“Hypotenuse” he agrees taking the weed loaded pipe. “Did you enjoy your time with Nathan?” he asks me as he exhales, holding in a cough.
“Yeah! It was awesome! I forget how we can spend hours just drinking and talking.” I say laughing.
“Did he like Cornwall?”
“Yeah, he loved it. We went to St Ives yesterday. He couldn’t believe we were still in England.”
“My nightmare. Crowded and full of tourists!” he says grabbing a beer out of the fridge.
“Wasn’t too bad. We should go on a day out to St Ives out! I realised how much I missed it!”
I say with excitement.
“Ugh! Do I really have to?” he says with a sad face. “It’s too touristy! Locals don’t do St Ives.”
“Of course we don’t have to. You’re right actually, it’s always nice in theory but a pain once you’re there!” I say in agreement.
A sense of embarrassment washes over me. I secretly love St Ives. The views are crazy beautiful and there’s so much to do and eat. I love the buzz! Even though Daniel calls it a total tourist trap, I've always had this burning desire to hop on one of those speed boat rides. They look like so much fun. Every time I bring it up, he can't resist teasing me, saying that the day I stop falling for these traps is the day I become a true local. Being married to one definitely doesn't count.
"Can I put some SNL sketches on in the background? I want to dumb laugh." I ask as I go over to the sofa and pick up the remote. That's the beauty of our new home. Not only are we now within walking distance of the sea, but the open plan layout is also much nicer, especially when we’re cooking dinner.
“Sure!” he says as he takes the burgers and chips out of the oven.
I pick up the remote and start scrolling through Youtube to see what are they suggesting us to watch. Before I select anything, a little loop of a monologue starts playing.
“Ohh, apparently he’s gonna be the next Bond.” I say conspicuously pointing at the clip showing Rege Jean.
“Oh really?” he says with a surprised tone. “I think it has to be reinvented for it to work. The world has moved on since the 60s.” he says laughing.
“Yeah! Like a Nolan type reinvention. Wouldn’t that be cool?”
“Naa, you don’t want Nolan’s realism, it’s too dark. You want something like Russo brothers or … what’s his name .. Gunn …”
“James Gunn! That would be cool! Would make for a sick soundtrack” I reply with so much excitement you think I am the first person to have discovered movies.
“You want that old Bond glam but make it modern. You want a world where spies can do what he does and no one questions it.”
“Yeah, you want to believe in the gadget watch and not question how can it fire lasers.” I say laughing, then take a second to think. Damn, Nolan’s brain on James Bond would absolutely fire. The depths he would reach.
“I reckon Nolan is still the man for that. His brain will be fucking amazing! Think of how much depth he will bring to the whole shallow bad boy, kissing girls and taking names attitude.” I follow up with so much fire and passion as I can almost just see the badass intro, Nolan style.
“Alright, don’t get so aggressive! It was just an opinion. Why can’t I have opinions?” Daniel asks me visibly frustrated.
Fuck! Got carried away again.
“Of course, you can have opinions. I just fucking love Nolan and got carried away.”
I love our little chats about movies and all things pop culture. They can sometimes turn into a mini argument because I always get carried away and forget it’s not life and death, but I still love them.
“What do you want to watch tonight?” Daniel asks me as he dishes out the food masking his annoyed voice.
“Hmm, I don’t know. I feel a bit funny in my tummy.”
“You grandad thing?” he asks turning to look at me. I swear he did a little eyeroll in between.
“Yeah. My grandad dead, my dick mother, my sad dad.” I say sinking onto the sofa.
He comes over and gives me a hug.
“I know it sucks. Just don’t rise up to it. Let her say whatever she wants.” He tells me with a caring tone. “You should go back and visit them more often. Will make them feel more part of your life.” He continues letting go of the hug.
My shoulders tense. Yuk! I really don’t want to. Seems like my mind and body has an automatic reaction to the thought. I instantly feel terribly guilty. I have a loving family who always took care of me. However, I feel like I'm standing in my own way when it comes to visiting them. The worst part is that I feel protected behind this version of myself.
“I know,” I say unconvincingly.
Daniel is giving me one of his “you know it’s the right thing to do” looks.
“I’m not saying she’s right, I don’t think she is” he continues looking at my sad face “I just think she misses you and she’s acting out. You should keep in touch more frequently. You’re their only child. Think about it from their perspective.”
Damn, he’s right.
“I know. I try. I spoke to them last week” I say in an attempt to defend myself. “I will make things better. It’s just, work had really brought me down in the last couple of months.”
“I know!” He said as he gives me a kiss. “Should we watch a Max film?” he continues in a voice a parent would use to cheer up an upset toddler.
“Maybe … “ I say mischievously, now fully leaning into it.
“Is it an Expendables kinda sad?” He asks, holding my face in his arms.
I nod. I now have sparks in my eyes. “Second one, please! I wanna see the Van Damme kick!”
He looks confused.
“You know the rotating kick?” I say trying to do a demo but lose balance. “I was obsessed with it. My dad had to twist me so I can do it.”
Daniel looks at me and laughs with a mix of amusement and adoration.
“What is your obsession with Expendables? You’ve seen them a million times!” he asks as we sit down on the sofa with the plates on our laps.
“It’s when I can’t decide which action film to watch and I want them all. I miss seeing my dads.”
“What was before Expendables?” He asks.
“Tango and Cash. And Rocky!” I say without even giving it a second to think. “Or Universal Soldier!” I follow up a bit louder. “Actually, it depends.”
“On??” He asks me confused.
“If I need a reminder that everything is possible - Sly” I say with a wink “Or just want to watch cool fight scenes - Van Damme and Dolph” I say as a gesture with my hands as if to say “obviously”.
I wake up at five minutes to nine, roll out of bed, and go to my office to turn on my laptop. Once I'm online, I go make my morning coffee and bring it back with me. I check my schedule and see that my first meeting isn't until 11, so I don't bother changing or washing my face for a while.
I sip my coffee and scroll through my phone. I usually allow myself a few minutes to let the caffeine take effect before I check my emails and find the pile of work that came my way over the weekend. It's one of the "perks" of having a boss who is a workaholic.
I see a message from Valerie, which doesn't surprise me. It's been about three weeks since we last spoke, and she usually checks in around this time. I've been meaning to reach out, I really have. Lately, I've been feeling overwhelmed, like everything is piling up on me, and whenever we talk, I end up sharing what's been on my mind. To be honest, I just didn't have the energy, as I've been using it all to keep things under control.
Valerie is my mum’s younger sister. I don’t remember her being around when I was a kid, I just remember one day she just showed up and took interest in me. At first I thought it was because I am an only child and she didn’t have a kid of her own. The further I got into my teens, the more I started to see her like a big sister. At first I thought it was because there’s only a 17 year old age gap between us but now I think it was more because we both give the same type of energy.
Back then, she was the only person who made me feel at ease and truly comfortable. She was the one who would ask me questions, and when I responded, she would show genuine interest and even agree with me. That was a completely new experience. My teenage years were filled with loneliness and challenges.
My dad, in an attempt to avoid getting caught in the arguments between my mother and me, began choosing his battles. He would either stay out of them or try to keep the peace by agreeing with both of us. Strangely enough, this only ended up frustrating both of us, but for different reasons.
Whenever I receive a message from her after a long time, I can't help but feel awful. The crazy thing is, she never judges me when I go quiet. She simply sends a message saying, "Hi! How are you?" And even when we start chatting, there's never a hint of any resentment.
I’m okay. About to start work.
How are you? , I reply.
Good! Leo just told me he
wants to drop out of economics
university and apply to study
sports management.
Wow! Boy’s got some balls!
The cousin apple doesn’t fall
far from the cousin tree 😮💨
How do you feel about it?
I feel fine. It’s his life.
He wants to study in London.
If he can get in and get the
funding, I will support him as
much as I can.
Oh!!! In London!! Amazing!
He’ll be so close to me. If he
gets in the funding is guaranteed,
he will just need to apply for it.
Oh good on him following his dreams!
Yeah I’m proud of him ❤️
I stare at the phone. I want to tell her about yesterday and the incident with mum. I feel there’s too much to say and I won’t be able to express it correctly.
Poor Valerie, she’s always the punching bag whenever my mum and I go at it. To be fair, she does the same. Which I love. We have some shared experiences and it’s nice to have someone to vent to when you literally feel like someone has just walked up to and spat in your mouth for no reason at all.
Everything else ok?
Heard about your grandpa 🙁, she followed.
Yeah! It didn’t come without
its drama. I just don’t get
this woman. I feel I have
fundamentally been different
all my life and not different
in a cute kinda way, but
different in the way I
process things and in the
way I see the world. And I
feel I am being crucified for
this by my own mother. It
makes me sad and angry all
the time.
Oh yeah, believe me,
I know the feeling.
This is why I left.
You left?? Where did you go??
When?
😏 I did. I lived in
Belgium for about 5 years.
😱What? How? And most
importantly why did you come
back?
I’ll tell you over Easter. It’s a long
story. Let’s just say it
wasn’t what you think 🫣
but don’t worry, there’s
nothing wrong with you.
Plus, I was the first black
sheep of the family! No one
can do any worse.
Ha! I think I’m joining your
herd. Do sheep hang out in
herds?
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