1:16 Tea time with Mr Blair

I grabbed my laptop, ready to write, switched it on and then sat motionless, glaring at the screen. I am staring at one of my favourite photos that features on my desktop… Effy standing in front of the Houses of Parliament in London. This was taken during the time he came to London, two weeks after we had met in Tel Aviv. The 4-day holiday felt like a whirlwind romance. At the time I took this photo, attempting to fit Parliament into view, I slowly stepped further and further back, with camera in hand, until the point I nearly walked into the front of red double decker bus. Following the photo, Effy kissed me on the lips, put his hands on my shoulders, pulled me closer to his face, and said “Careful now, I don’t wanna lose you that quickly”.

This romance has fortunately continued, up till now, for 1 year and 9 months; the first 10 months involved airplanes, airports, and huge expenses. This unity consisted of short weekend breaks, which felt like seconds compared to the moments when I yearned for him. This time with him was spent over the telephone, e-mail or squashed in front of a tiny camera attached to my computer, in which were barely able to see each other. Every moment felt as if a freshly baked chocolate cake had been placed in front of me and I was told you can smell but you can’t taste … simply put, it was agonizing. Ten months down the line, my life was in need of a makeover; fast-forward another year and I went to live in Israel. Fast forward another year, this week, I will be returning to the world that resides in memories … I will be visiting home for the first time since making Aliyah.

This blog has taken the longest to write than any other, and hence the day dreaming. My thoughts and feelings have been muddled, trying hard to focus on the future, whilst acknowledging that I will return to my past in just a day. Feelings of happiness and satisfaction with my life in Israel finally reached my doorstep. This emotion took a year to develop, and now, like a recovering alcoholic returning to the pub for the first time since their last drink, I am confronting the ghosts in my emotional closet, which have been folded away carefully, so as not to disturb them.

I am confused how to project my thoughts into words. Yes I am scared; and yes, I am concerned that the grass will be greener on the other side, that I will open the closet and not want to close it again. Possibilities of the inevitable are scary. I am terrified that I will have a taste of my past and will not want to stop eating. But as I said, I am happy here, and despite the fact that the primary reasoning behind my dedication to come to Israel has dissolved amongst the tirade of emotions of the last year, this trip may help to reestablish those initial thoughts, and that the decisions behind my new life was correct after all.

Back to the laptop, the reflections on Parliament’s glass windows put me in a hypnotic state. I giggled over the flashback of seeing Effy for the first time in a suit last night in a clothes store. He looked like a young boy who stood stiff wearing his school uniform for the first time. Effy and I are on a mission to purchase his first ever suit. In Israel, there is no distinction here between formal and informal dress. You can go to work in jeans and you can even attend weddings in jeans. If one wears a shirt and tie here, the general public would generally identify you as a waitor, a groom, funeral director or a foreigner. Effy and I are attending a wedding in London on Sunday. The invitation says Black Tie.

“Black tie Nat, what does that involve? Do I go there with a black tie on?” Effy queries in pure innocence.

“Boobala, welcome to the Western culture of for-ma-li-ty. That means, black suit, white shirt and a bow tie … and no jeans,” I responded firmly.

“Oh, I would have preferred just the black tie and jeans,” Effy says with a grin.

Side point: I tell you what I am really looking forward to ... a good cuppa tea.