Poor Amalia

I keep thinking about Amalia. Together with Alexia in that KLM plane. Seatbelt on, disinfecting seats with the wipe the stewardess gave them upon boarding. Her face mask covered her mouth, but she knew she had smiled at her. And the stewardess probably thought ‘oh dear’ about it.

There she had sat, in that plane. For the first time happy with the face mask because who knows it might conceal their identity. For the first time just two girls (sisters? Friends?) who had soaked up the Greek sun and were heading home. Soon they would be home. Just in the kitchen, where their mother had swept away all the newspapers to keep the new normal outside for a while.

That vacation, that hadn’t been a good idea. It was allowed, yes. But smart? Or sympathetic? Maybe not so much. But yes, there were no more tickets and dad and mom also found it a bit much to have the government plane come back again. That would also be frowned upon, of course. Besides: what did they have to do with it at all? And they were grown up. Amalia will be 18 in a year and two months. If you can manage 1.6 million a year soon, those four days alone in Greece can also be managed. ‘Normal’ kids go on vacation alone at that age too. They had that baptism of fire right away. And besides, mom and dad could handle the blows at home. They needed those few days too. And that one party, they had looked forward to it so much. It was a ’oh, come on, dad’ on the left and a ‘no one needs to know, right?’ on the right. There had been exchanged glances and eventually a liberating nod had been given. Alright then. Out of all the bad scenarios, this might be the best idea. Just call every day to see how it’s going. Promised? Promised.

And there stands Princess Amalia masked on the front page of De Telegraaf. That newspaper has immediately stocked up on extra chocolate letters for the occasion. It is the time of year, after all. And when I see her sitting there, I do feel for her. Because she knows what you know what I know: in this newspaper, the fish will not be wrapped tomorrow. This newspaper has magical gifts. It travels with her her whole life.