Three consecutive nights I dreamt such vivid dreams that waking up I had to look around to see where I was, and I had to wait for my heartbeat to subside. The only thing that may have seemed not quite right was the way he looked, and the fact that I should have been fully aware that he should not have been there.



It was not exactly how he decided to buy me the nail polish the shop assistant, a simple but honest girl who said she really wasn't trying to impress anyone painted on my me in such a mess, coating half my finger, not even how he carried six or seven bags full of gifts that were certainly for his girlfriend, but how later he said he was going in a different direction, and how he left with a swirl of exhaust fumes, leaving me behind in three days old snow, his voice a cold echo that lingered in the dark junction, just barely lit by a streetlamp.



The next night I could not see him, but I could tell he was there, all my family was around in the home of my husband's family, everyone invited but noone had ever told me they'd come. I was mad, I was thinking I should be given a choice when and where and how I want to see them, I cannot be forced, not in any way, not to such a degree, anyhow, so I woke, suddenly, the image of my uncle and my paternal grandmother sitting there on the sofa burnt into my memory for good, as though it has happened for real.



Christmas eve I dreamt of poppy seed noodles, the preparation of the fish soup as it used to be done at home, all the buzz, all the warmth in our apartment that surrounded us, the scent of the tree, and how I cried in the afternoon thinking about what family mythology will I have to hand down?