B. What makes you happy?
"Just one more time", I pleaded. My parents rolled their eyes, already wanting to leave, but nodded.
I took off the skis and began to climb; this time, higher than any of the others. My brother didn't join me. He was done with skiing after he had landed on a stranger. Once I reached the desired height, I positioned myself. I looked at the snowed landscape around me, heard the wind drowning every other sound, and let myself fall.
After that, we went home to the city we belong to, where it's summer all day long, where the trees hardly know rain, let alone snow, and where the air is sometimes so suffocating that you have to breathe through your mouth. With everyday that passes our trip seems farer and farer and the snow, the forest, and the fresh air slowly become inconceivable to us again. But when I close my eyes while I am swinging on a swing, or when I run as fast as I can along a downhill road, or when I ride my bicycle in those few and far between moments in which the street in front of our house is empty, none of these things matter anymore. I remember the mountains, and I feel happy.
