We have to see a lot of people before we leave and finish a lot of things, as if we were going far away and for a long time, as if we'd never see anyone again and everything was about to end. We have to pack sensibly, so we can say, "We don't need so many things to live; we could actually live with what fits in our suitcase." Then we come back with our suitcases even fuller of things we don't need but that we like to have. We feel overwhelmed by the pressure of not forgetting anything, neither here nor there. Because we already lose enough. And as if the weight of the suitcase weren't enough, we add the burden of expectations. We have to have a good time and we have to like it, because we've been looking forward to this trip, these days, these vacations for a long time. But even organized trips have their risks. Because if the plan was for the vacation days to go as we had planned, then the non-vacation days should be like that too. Life can be planned to a certain extent. Insurance ads remind you of this every now and then. If you're going to do it, they might also remind you of the name of that person you meet on the street who wouldn't even come to mind. There are people who justify not going far by saying, "No, I don't go anywhere, I'm just here next door to read, see friends, and unwind a bit." They say this with an embarrassed tone, as if that goal were worth much less than trips to exotic, faraway places, like those acquaintances who do so and tell you that the hotel has practically charged them because they find so many deals that instead of spending money on vacation, they make money. There are people who, if they don't have luck, make it up. They're enviable. But having time and the opportunity to do what you want—to read, to have dinner with friends, to walk, to swim, to lie down, or to play—is a luxury and a journey. Especially since there are millions of people who can't even consider it. Plus, you avoid the cumbersome airport protocol, which is one of the most humiliating situations you can experience as a consumer, where the monopoly does with you what it wants and how it wants. For safety, they say. For their own, of course. But everyone who can choose has the right to choose what they want. Let's talk about vacations. Choosing hate as a way of life shouldn't be allowed. Much less as a form of government. But let's return to this time when we supposedly take a long break and swap the routines of the year for summer routines and forget about governments and the corrupt and the patriots with checking accounts in tax havens and tax havens. Our paradise is good memories, those of us lucky enough to have them and remember them.
Because for most of us, summer is that time of year that takes you back to your childhood, to when you spent it in a village, or on trips with your parents, or at your grandparents' house, or at camp, or in the city, where the days were forever long and you were bored, when being bored was not frowned upon yet and they let you learn, without being hounded by sterile entertainment. From adolescence without cell phones when you started to do things on your own and when the major festivals were the festivals you could afford. We rush to say goodbye to everyone, although we will write to them a WhatsApp in a couple of days, and we'll forget to send you one postal Those that report on the weather and gastronomy of our destination. Vacations should be like the text on a postcard. Simple and happy. Happy summer, and thanks for reading all year.
