Every year, my mum stops at the door, glances at me and asks me one last time: "Are you absolutely sure that you don’t want to come with us? It’s only a week and a half!" "Yes, Mum. I’ll be alright. Don’t worry", I always answer robotically. Every year, she tries to convince me to go to Italy, but every year she fails. She sighs, closes the door behind her and there is silence. Finally.
