I Used to Hate Sundays
Now I love them
Oil-over-canvas of two children playing under a bay window. Generated with Adobe Express
I’m sitting at my dining room table. We have a huge window that faces our backyard.
Fall is in full bloom, and I love fall colors. I can see light through some of the brownish and reddish leaves still hanging from a few branches.
There’s a playmat under the window, with a handful of toys for the kids to play with.
Also a few books.
They are eating strawberries, reading, and running around. I’m going to cook breakfast in a few minutes.
I love this quiet time with them, to have a place that we call home and unlimited access to hugs and snuggles.
It’s Sunday.
But I used to hate Sundays. Not anymore.
When I lived back home in Europe, no matter what, I would make an effort to go have lunch with my parents on Sundays. It was warm, it was familiar.
We sometimes fought, we sometimes laughed, but we were together.
Then, I moved to Finland for a few months, and before I was back, my dad had left my mom.
There were no more happy Family Sundays. My family didn’t look the same, and the new families that were being created didn’t make me feel the same way anymore.
So I left for Australia to do a PhD.
Every time I went home, I left more and more sad. I wasn’t going home, I was going to the place I was born. There was no home anymore.
I needed to build my family wherever I was.
But first, I needed to accomplish my first dream, completing my PhD research.
But you know what? We can do anything, but not everything.
I prioritized building my future, and put creating a family in the backseat.
But that meant that I was all alone by myself many Sundays. And I knew that taking a flight to my home country was only going to accentuate the feeling, not ease it.
I tried many things to ease that feeling, like going on hikes or planning activities with my friends, but the feeling never got completely away.
