After a 6-day week of work between two countries – Belgium and Italy -, two interpreting modes – simultaneous and consecutive – and 5 languages – Italian, English, French, Slovak and plenty of Croatian – and about 60 km of running, I am stranded at the airport in Linate, waiting to go back to Brussels because tomorrow I have to go to work.
Shit happens, as do delays… and I can’t help being beyond exhausted. But I am with my husband, and we are in this together. We will make it, one way or another. And I am deliberately going to enjoy every minute I can spend with him, especially because Francesco is leaving again tomorrow. Destination: Strasbourg, for the plenary of the Parliament. I won’t be seeing him for five days, as it often happens. Every month, the Parliament holds a plenary session in Strasbourg. When we both have contracts for the Parliament, we both go. Most frequently, Francesco has contracts with the Parliament for Strasbourg and I have contracts with the SCIC in Brussels. So he goes, and I stay. That is the nature of our job, I guess, but I still miss everything of him. Interpreters are required to be nomads. Some leave their spouse behind, some leave their children with a nanny, some have to separate from their dogs, cats, snakes and parrots. I have never been attached to places. I can feel home pretty much anywhere. But I love the people I choose to have in my life fiercely. My mum being an interpreter herself, it was always hard to let her go as a child. That hasn’t changed now that I am married to a wonderful man who also happens to be an incredibly talented interpreter. You might argue that they come back. And they do, but then they leave again. And no, it doesn’t get easier with time.