Chapter 1
1093 Words
** Title: The return of the prodigal son*
After years of study abroad, I finally returned to the country. I had left the youth house, with the idea of pursuing brilliant management studies at one of the most prestigious universities in the world, Harvard Business School (United States).
Today, I am no longer a shy teenager, but an accomplished man, ready to take the reins of the family business, an empire built by my father with a fierce determination. I knew that my return was expected, but the emotion I felt exceeded everything I imagined.
Going down the plane, a warm and familiar wind gives me. As soon as I set foot on the tarmac of the airport, a mixture of excitement and nostalgia rose in me. The air felt hot earth, spices, and this distinctive scent of the country I had seen being born. I remembered my departure, my eyes filled with dreams and promises of grandeur, and now it was a triumphant return, a heart full of pride.
Inside the airport, the noisy and colorful atmosphere, filled with playful conversations and warm, contrasting with the sanitized atmosphere of international airports that I had attended during my studies. I smile when I saw children running in the corridors, families gathered around their loved ones. Here, I was no longer an anonymous student among others, but, the son of the earth, who returned home.
My driver was waiting for me at the exit with a large smile. "Welcome, Mr. Gabriel. Everyone is impatient to see you again." He said delighted
The journey to the family home was a real rediscovery. By crossing the streets lined with palm trees and the animated markets, I felt a wave of happiness overwhelmed me suddenly. Each corner of the street evoked a childhood memory. The flashing of neon lights, the hubbub of itinerant sellers and the sweet rumble of old cars were part of the landscape of my childhood.
The car then took a road lined with green hills. I remembered the excursions that I made in adolescence, when I explored these same hills with my friends, with a light heart. The golden light of the setting sun gave the landscape an almost magical glow, and it allowed itself to be invaded by this gentle warmth. I realized how much I missed my country.
Finally arriving in front of the large family home, I felt a puff in intense joy. There, on the threshold, my parents stood, eyes shiny with emotion. My father, still as imposing despite the age, held out my arms to me, and I rushed to embrace him. My mother, the tears in my eyes, caressed my cheek tenderly before I took me in her arms.
Everything I had accomplished made sense right now.
I was at home.
The smell of family cuisine, the laughter, the heat of the reunion ... Everything was bathed in an atmosphere of joy. I felt in each gesture, each look exchanged, a deep and unconditional love. It was much more than a physical return. It was a reconciliation with my roots, with my story. More than ever, I felt ready to assume my role, to walk in the footsteps of my father, but also to trace my own path. The happiness that filled my heart knew no limits.
I was back home and everything was in his place.
The comforting smell of my childhood meals had missed more than anything.
That evening, the table was erected as I had not seen it for a long time. The meal, simple but tasty, reflected everyone's tastes: a veal boiling, melting potatoes, a fresh salad with a homemade vinaigrette that my mother knew how to prepare for perfection. There was also well -refined cheese and a golden apple pie at will for dessert. My mother had prepared everything with love to celebrate my return.
Sitting at the table, I felt invaded by a sweet nostalgia, but also immense joy. My mother, Monique, looked at me with shiny eyes of emotion, while wondering if I had eaten well during my trip. My father, usually more reserved Philippe, kept asking me questions about my adventures in Asia and South America. My little sister, Clara was fascinated by my anecdotes, my unexpected meetings, my stories of breathtaking landscapes.
-"So, tell us, how was Peru food?" Monique asked with a smile.
Me, Gabriel, I leaned slightly forward, my eyes shiny of excitement.
- "It was incredible, mom! The ceviches were so fresh, the corn so different from what we have here ... But what marked me was their local drink, the chicha morada. They do violet corn. I said laughing.
Philippe, my father who loved everything that touched gastronomy, was immediately interested in this detail.
-"Interesting corn? Interesting! And you tasted other local drinks there?"
"Yes, in Japan, I tried lots of different sakes. It is crazy as the tastes vary according to the region. Some varieties are so delicate, almost floral, while others are much more robust."
Clara, who was barely seventeen years old and already dreamed of traveling, looked at me with admiration.
-"And people? Was they welcoming wherever you went?" she asked, curious.
I smile slowly.
- "Yes, Clara. There are places where people do not have many means, but they give you everything they have. In Indonesia, for example, I was hosted by a family who lived in A small wooden house.
Monique gently placed her hand on mine, with love and admiration
-"It changed you, right?" she said in a tender voice.
I nodded.
- "Yes, mom. It made me realize how lucky we are. We have everything here. And tonight, this meal with you all ... It's the best gift I could receive."
The conversation continued, punctuated by laughter and stories, between two pieces of pie. I was talking about my nights under the stars in the Sahara desert, the feeling of freedom by crossing endless plains on horseback in Argentina, or of my ascent of Mount Fuji. With each story, my parents and my sister were suspended from my lips, as if they were traveling with me, discovering through my words a world that they had never seen.
This dinner, around this familiar table, was not only a shared meal. It was a meeting, a reconnection. Family love was expressed in each gesture, each word, each laugh. My trip had been extraordinary, but nothing was worth this moment. Because, finally, even after seeing the world, I knew that my real home was here, among mine.
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- Writer
