The black sheep

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I haven’t seen my family for almost three years now. I blame the Atlantic Ocean, and myself for choosing to live on the other side of it. It’s not easy, especially when Christmas and birthdays come around. It’s funny how the feeling of missing people is equally upsetting even if I’m the one who decided to follow a dream and move really far away.

I try to go back every few years to visit them. With a credit card high score for non-refundable transatlantic airfare I phone them up to share the happy news. That was a bad idea. They had been planning to book a vacation at the same time, and although nothing had been booked yet the intent was, for various reasons, to proceed with that plan. Looks like I’ll be spending less time with my family than I had imagined. Good time for this black sheep of the family to adjust my expectations once again. I’m starting to get used to the fact that the only constant is change, but despite that some things never do.

Blood makes you related, it does not make you family. Loving someone and standing by their side are the real things that make you family. Besides, I do enjoy being the black sheep of the family. Black sheep are the prettiest and show the dirt much less than the white ones do. I might go to Paris instead. Or Barcelona. I’ve always wanted to go to Barcelona. In the end those you consider family are not just those who are blood related, but those who connect to you in friendship, love and respect.

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