Oh Aruba, How You Haunt Me

When I was a child my father went to Aruba and brought me back a tote. I think I was 8 or 9. I have no idea who he went with or what he did. I stayed with his parents for the week and I was pissed. As an adult I now realize that vacations with kids are just not the same. He also probably went with some lady friend.

A few years later my mother and stepfather started going for poker competitions. They would win their trips. I was invited one year but the idea of going on vacation with my parents as a teenager was cringe worthy. I also kind of have a thing about noises and my mom sounds like a basket of mice the way she grinds her teeth in her sleep. I would probably be pulling my hair out all night and sleeping on the beach all day. Sleeping in public in a strange country? No, my mom would not like that. Very unsafe.

I mostly have wanted to go because my father went that week and apparently I never got over it. In the spring my twin flame gave me a list of his top three favourite vacation spots and it included Aruba. For about 2 seconds I thought it would be sweet to go for his birthday but then I came to reality. This man won’t even go to a concert with me. One day I will take myself and boldly day nap on the beach. Maybe he will see my Instagram post and he can vacation vicariously through me.

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