Author: Jaël Stähli

Author: Leah Didisheim

So, I’m sitting at my desk, looking at the blank page, right. I’ve waited all week for this. The house is clean. I’ve finished my readings for next week. I’ve done all the chores I could possibly think of, just to have this additional hour to finally, finally write. It’s my passion. What I want to do with my life. I shouldn’t struggle so much to do it, right? And it’s not like I don’t have the ideas. I have them. I’ve been on the second draft of my novel for forever. And then. Then there’s this other novel I’ve put on the side for so many years. This one novel that makes me want to cry. Because I’d stopped doing it purposely. She could never leave me if I didn’t finish it right? Because she was eternal. That’s right. You heard it. And it’s not like I believe in this stuff you know. I’m quite realistic. But she was supposed to be eternal. So it didn’t matter if I didn’t finish interviewing her about her incredible, no, extraordinary life and did my other book in between. Because she’d still be here after. Except she’s not. She left me before I could finish it. I mean I have enough stuff to keep going, but can I? I haven’t even been able to talk at her funeral. For god’s sake she was supposed to have ten more years. Her mum died at 105 years old. And she was only 95. And still living alone in a house with stairs. Why did she want to go? Of course I understand, Grandma. Yes, I get it. Grandpa hasn’t been here for a while. Your siblings left before you. And you hate dependence. I get that there wasn’t really any other option but to leave those still here. But I guess I am mad. Because I wanted her to see more. I wanted her to be there at my wedding. And see my first child. She saw my cousins’ children. Why not mine? It’s unfair. But to be honest, that’s not even what I’m mad at. I guess I’m mad because she didn’t realise it was hurting us. I guess I’m mad because she didn’t realise we loved her. Maybe she couldn’t. She just expected we’d feel like she felt towards her parents and her grandparents. But it’s your fault if we didn’t, grandma. I guess you shouldn’t have created this family if you didn’t want us to care.

So, no. I can’t bring myself to write. Because there are always more important things to do. There are always things that need to be done. I’m sick of being an adult I guess. Everything else makes me put my one passion to the side. Maybe I do it on purpose you know. Self-sabotaging. It’s easier than to fail right? Bullshit I know. But if it’s not compulsory, I don’t know what to write. And I know I write well. Discipline sucks. My brain sucks. I can’t get to stop overthinking everything. Like I cannot take a break without thinking about everything else I have to do. And you know, it’s not like I don’t have other stuff. I have uni. Theatre. Associative work. Laundry. Feeding myself. Sleep. Giving classes. Sports. Where am I supposed to find the time to write 500 words a day?

Look at that. 569 words. I guess I just did.

“Exit but Make It at a Five-Star Hotel”

Author: Leah Didisheim

I sigh, pull my suitcase and open the door of the five-star hotel. I still don’t understand why we’re doing this. Does she even want to be here? Oh, but yes, I know about our dear traditions. More important than life, apparently. Every year we come here. It’s always the same. To use our heritage together. As a united big happy family. How true it is this year is unreal.

“Hi! So good to see you. How are you? Oh, you know…, fine…”, we basically all say at the same time after checking in at the reception desk. It all started with a phone call from my dad not even two weeks ago. I think in some ways, I knew it was going to happen eventually. Yes it was a shock. But I can’t say I was surprised to learn about it. What I was surprised at however, is that the plan to come here hadn’t been cancelled. That it was still an option – and a wished-for option at that – to come here. With her. For the last time.

My cousin is already in the room when I open the door. It is nice to be together in some ways. To share our sadness together. I can’t think of what the staff is going to think seeing us cry together every day in the lounge though. “I cried a lot when I learnt about it. Now I’m ok… it depends on the days I guess,” I answer my cousin. I didn’t know yet that I was going to cry every day. Seeing the others cry or hurt won’t help. Or you could say that in some ways it will. She hasn’t cried once. But she wants to. She feels her body wants to, she tells me while I unpack.

We talk a bit while we get ready for the evening. Am I happy with who I drew for our Secret Santa? Not really. She’s fine with hers. “Imagine the person who got her though? How horrible is that? I thought about it last week,” I tell her. We ponder on this while we finish getting ready. Our room is beautiful, as always. Outside, it had started to snow. And it won’t stop for the next two days.

I look at the mirror in the lift. My cousin went downstairs already. You know what, I’m sick of being sad. When someone dies, you’re sad because they’re dead, because you didn’t know it was going to happen. You couldn’t plan it and act accordingly. But when someone lives with an expiration date, you’re sad because they’re still alive. And everything they do. And everything you see them do. Well, you can’t shake the feeling that it’s the last time. Yes it’s great. We’re all here together. As this big family. But every picture taken isn’t taken because of that. It’s taken because, deep down, we know it’s the last one. I sigh, wipe the tear on my cheek, glue a smile on my face, and the elevator opens on to the first lively evening of our stay.