I don't cry very often. It's been yonks since I last shed a tear.
But I just got off the phone with A. He called to confirm his definite moving to Australia. I would have gone and visited him in Cannes before he moves, but even Cheesy Jet tickets are damn expensive and I really can't afford it right now.

As I said before, A is the closest thing I ever got to a family. He's my blood. The only person on earth who knows me inside out. Even if, nowadays, we only see eachother three times a year at best, at least Cannes was not that far, and just knowing that we could visit eachother "whenever" made things easier.
I'm also sad in a sort of fucked up motherly way, because that means he's "leaving the nest" and will get on with his life. It's going to be virtually impossible to be part of it once he's out there, as much as it will be tough for him to be part of my life.
As long as we've known eachother, every major decision was never taken without consulting the other one. I'm worried that, with the distance, it will no longer be the case. And I need him to be there for me.

Still, I was the one who encouraged him to move, because I knew it would be good for him.
It's what family does. To love is to let go.


If I save 20 pounds a week, I might be able to go to Australia next summer. I'm off to buy a Tesco value pack of rice.