Sometimes, I don’t feel like going home. I run around a bush a hundred times, or I count all the trees along the avenue once again, or I simply lie down on the grass of the plaza, which is like an enormous green carpet all painted with flowers.
My mother let me sit in the window seat, because the journey would be long and she knew I liked to look out at the landscape, counting sheep, trees, and clouds. The journey lasted six hours. Six hours of thoughts, six hours of anxieties but also six hours of excitement, because we were heading toward a new home, to a new life.