sundays and oranges

“Someone has somewhere commented on the fact that millions long for immortality who don't know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon” Susan Ertz

I used to hate Sundays.

When I was younger, the year my mother died, I used to spend every Sunday alone. I remember the rain, and the gloominess around the house, the gray sky, the emptiness of the chair where mom sat for two months straight with that respirator thing next to her, and me just staring into the television, feeling sorry for myself. My father would go out with friends, taking my brother and my sister with him, but I would refuse to go. I would rather sit on my couch, stare into mom’s empty spot and cry myself for hours, filled with hatred and anger, wanting to scream but having no one there to hear me. Sundays were cruel.

I’d think about the time when my dad was still my hero. I was six or seven, we lived in Paris, and my brother wasn’t born yet. We would have McDonald’s on the Champs Elysees, and then my father would take me to the movies, and it was our special time for just the two of us. My mom would be with my sister, and I’m not sure what they used to do but I didn’t really care, I was the older one and my dad would let me pick whichever movie I wanted, and he always enjoyed it just as much as me. We used to be happy on Sundays.

And then Sundays became all about how empty my family was. Without my mom to hold us together, I could feel it all coming apart. I was sixteen and I had just lost my mother and I was angry and life was as gloomy as those Sunday skies in February.

Then Sundays started changing, with the seasons and the years. When I moved to New York, Sundays became my favorite day of the week. We would wake up late and head down to Soho for brunch, and it is on one of those lovely New York Sundays that I tasted Eggs Benedict for the first time in my life --what became one of my absolute favorite things to eat. 

When I moved back, Sundays turned sour again. I worked for a TV station, which meant that it was open seven days a week, and I worked the Sunday shift. And I did not like my job. And I was stuck behind my computer for seven hours in a gloomy office with no windows, eating Casper and Gambini's Santa Fe salad. The upside? I'd get a message from my entire family who would be gathered for lunch, saying they watched me give the 5 o'clock news. It felt good to know the only reason I went to work on Sundays was for my family to sit around and ouhhh and ahhh at me from 5 to 5.25pm. 

When I finally quit my job, I was so excited to have Sundays back in my life, that having lunch with my family was pure pleasure. I learnt how to actually appreciate it when my uncle and my dad would fight about politics, when my cousins would scream about who broke the computer, and when my aunt would serve us the most delicious meals we would have all week. 

And then, as the catalyst of most changes, the infamous breakup happened. And it was on a weekend. So that started a whole new tradition of me spending every possible minute at the Twins' house. One comforted me with his world-class scrambled-eggs, and the other listened to me whine for weeks. And months. The tradition of Sunday brunch with friends was finally installed. The sound of the Hyper Twin working away in his kitchen always brings a smile to my heart. I walk in and sure enough, there he is, hidden behind pots and pans and cutting boards, one eye on the boiling water, the other making sure he doesn’t chop off his finger along with the tomatoes. I put my bag down, take off my jacket, and before we even say hello, he starts giving me directions. "Start pressing the oranges. There are more of them in the fridge. We need at least thirty."Ah, the oranges. I get the same task every time. 

Now since I started working on a TV Series, Sundays have a whole new meaning. The alarm rings at 6, or even 5am sometimes. Then it's a myriad of things to do, actors who we need to get to the set in time; schedules we ned to follow, the lunch we have to make sure is here on time, the make-up for every actors, oh, and the actually acting...  We go home more tired from the weekend then from the week at work... But it's the kind of Sunday that mixes productivity, good company and fun. And that has to be the best kind of Sundays of all.

Now yesterday was a Sunday. I woke up with a kiss, went to brunch with my friends, talked about different TV opportunities with my TV peeps, had coffee with Classy, had a whatsapp group conversation with 5 friends who are in five different countries for about two hours (felt like we all went out for coffee), then had dinner with my family --finishing it all off with my grandmother's most famous dish and my ultimate favorite: horra2 osba3o. 

I guess I kinda' like Sundays now.