Jula
Maja, Mati, forgive me for not devoting any space to you in this post and focusing solely on your sister. I know – you are sad too. However, we have to pull ourselves together and get through this somehow.
I left my family home when I was twenty-two. Dad had been dead for four years, and Mom felt like someone had chopped off her arm when I moved out. It didn't really make sense to me until today.
Jula was born on October 20, 1999. She was a child who was ubiquitous, curious, dynamic, and did not tolerate opposition. She had to touch everything, she had to break everything, she had to enter every nook and cranny, and most of all she liked to disappear from her parents' sight at the least expected moment. Above all, however, she was a laughing and sociable child. The smile never left her face and it has remained so to this day. She also has a great sense of humor, laced with a large dose of sharp irony, inherited from who knows who. She has always had a weakness for our smaller brothers and has loved horses, hamsters, degus, rats, and dogs, and she chose anthropozoology as her field of study to explore the relationships between people and animals. She is crazy about saving the Earth, ecology, and is a vegetarian.
Jula made her first attempt to leave the family nest two years ago. My intuition told me then that it couldn't be serious. And indeed, after three months of living on her own, she returned.
This time, however, everything indicates that this is happening seriously.
I will no longer be woken up by the clatter of pots coming from the kitchen in the morning, no one will bring me a piece of cake or other delicacy after dinner, and shopping at Lindl will no longer be as much fun.
I want you to know, Jula, that if anything happens, your room will be waiting.
