That day in September

Yesterday was unusually, lullingly warm with us. In the afternoon I caught a bus to get to work for the two classed I was due to give. I felt hot and had to put off my jacket. The bright sun dazzled through the windowpane. I pressed "shuffle" in my iPod to mix the songs. And when that girl got on the bus I was listening to Kirsten Price's "Magic tree" and I even remember the line in the lyrics "Knocking on hard wood like I know you should, You'll be shakin' on the kitchen floor". Okay, there she was and she sat next to me: utterly bad tasted, wearing cheap jeans, dark purple high boots, long black tee shirt, fake leather jacket; on top of that she was poorly made up with Amy Winehouse's worst day thick black eye lining. And in spite of all that she was an absolute goddess with her finely shaped nose and delicate facial features. I wondered if she realized that. I wondered if such thoughts ever came through her mind. When I got out of the bus I remembered it was my friend Kate's birthday. I dialed her number and for the seven minutes I walk from the bus stop to work we were chuckling on how weird it feels that it's her second birthday in a row when we end up in two different parts of the globe. Thank you September 21! It was a good day for us. Hope it was good for you too!

The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things

It is. No matter how pretentious it sounds. It is deceitful. You texted me last Friday saying you'd missed me badly and wanted to see me for a coffee. I worked till 8 pm and couldn't do anything about it. I asked if you'd mind to see me after 8. You didn't know. Our schedules are pretty conflicting this autumn. I wanted to see you. I tried to shift my late class, but in vain. At about half past four the strangest thing happened: the late class canceled itself, quite unpredictably. I phoned you. You said you'd be free in half an hour. We met at five sharp and our casual embrace was probably a fraction of a second longer than usual. You said you'd missed me. You said it felt as if you hadn't seen me at all since I came back. I felt so too. I felt there was a little more tension between us than before. You wanted a scarf. That blue, striped Indian scarf which you'd seen a couple of days before. I said we should go and get it. We did. And dropped for a pizza into a restaurant nearby. It tries its best to come across as Italian. It was raining when we went out. The first proper autumn rain after two weeks of nervous dryness. Quiet, ingratiating. I didn't have my umbrella and we sheltered under yours. We talked and laughed of silly little things and it felt great for the tension had finally disappeared. The damp warmth was blissful. The leaves murmured above our heads. And I kept on thinking of the startling, huge, awkward, fluctuating feeling I've nurtured towards you in the past four years. And I couldn't help admitting to myself how agonizingly in love I am with someone else. I told you, didn't I, the human heart is so deceitful. 

My cousin Paul

That time Paul and I met in one of the cafés around the Duomo. I don't actually like the place for you can hardly have a quiet talk over a cup of coffee there with all the tourists rushing about. Thanks goodness it was not exactly the high season. But Paul is Paul. He adores luxury, he loves posh places and he absolutely despises the industrial outskirts of Milan. In my opinion Milan is far more theatrical than Venice even. It hardly exists behind the small coin of its very dramatic downtown.

One of Paul's favorite spots in the downtown is an elegant café in the Gallery of Vittorio Emmanuelle II – just across from an eloquent sign reading in looped silver letters “Fratelli Prada”.

“My God, Paul!” I exclaimed when he raised from his chair to greet me “have I just seen a McDonald's over the corner?!”

“You're desperate, sweetheart! But don't mock it straightaway! Seen its colors?!” Paul gave me a big kiss on each cheek, “You look fabulous!”

I was waiting for the proverbial “I haven't seen you for ages!” and was even ready to respond he is such a bastard being “that busy all the time”, but he was smart enough not to mention it.

“What shall I order you, darling?”

“Something nice. Actually, you should know better, you live here, don't you?”

“Due macchiati e due cornetti,” he said to the waiter.

“Con la crema o con la marmellata?” the guy must have not noticed how concentrated on each other we were to mind the fillings in the pastry.

“Okay, you tell me now what you are doing in Milan,” Paul began in his usual suave tone.

“Isn't it you who's supposed to begin?”

“I might well do that, if you wish. As you probably know, I bought a flat here. But I can't say I've already managed to figure out what for.”

“Do you really feel like settling down here?”

“Who knows? After all I found something I really like doing in the fashion industry. I tell you, it feels like something I fancy doing!”

“I fancy doing! You sound like a limey!”

“I was a limey once, wasn't I? In fact, we both were! Do you ever think about that time in Oxford?”

“I think a lot about it. It was not that bad at the end of the day.”

“You mean it? Don't you think we all tend to idealize the past no matter how miserable it was?”

“Could be so. The past always seems smoother than the tormented present.”

“Aren't you happy now?”

“Not as I used to be.”

“What happened? It's somehow connected with this escape to Europe, isn't it?”

“I lost a child, Paul.”

“Oh my God, Liz, I didn't know! When?”

“In the spring. I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

“What was the term?”

“Ten weeks. John was really depressed as well. We've been through such hard times. So we decided to take time off.”

“I see. How long are you planning to stay?”

“John's working on some research. Guess we're gonna stay for at least a year. I don't care about it.”

“Are you working on anything?”

“Yeah, I’m doing some writing. At least I’m trying as hard as I can, ‘cos it feels awful to do nothing, apart from leafing over and over my miserable experience. And I’m also working on some lectures, although I still can't bring myself to come back to the university.”

“I think you'd better not rush with that.”

“It's so good seeing you, Paul. I missed you awfully!”

“I missed you too! We should get together more often. Though I’m going away soon.”

“What? A business trip of some sort?”

“Yeah, I’m meeting up some guys in London.”

“Really? Say “hello” to my beloved Soho, will you? You travel a lot?”

“Seems so. Do drop in some time, will you? I'll leave you the address. It's within walking distance from here.”

“Everything is within walking distance in Milan we dwell in. Okay, I will. For sure. Is Thomas here with you? (I stressed letter “a” as usual)”

“Thomas (he stressed letter “o” as usual) is here with me! We're forever together!”

“I bet!” I paused. “Don't you think it feels strange? I mean, I've been here a couple of times before and we stayed at some hotel and now we're staying at that strange flat where I want to change every single thing because it's not mine! It's so not mine!”

“Even John?”

“John's not a thing, he cannot be changed! And why are you forever mocking him? Is it your jealousy speaking?”

“Who wouldn't be jealous of you?”

“C’mon, stop it, Paul!”

“Neither Jane nor I was ever so important for anyone in the family as you were and are and will always be!”

“Stop it, Paul! That's not true! That's not fair! And you shouldn't be telling me all this!”

“Maybe they are just deep-rooted childish frustrations. I should have probably overcome those bats long ago, but you know it's a damn hard thing to do!”

“Paul, have you ever thought what my life's really about? Have you ever put yourself in my shoes? There's nothing fabulously special about my life and you wouldn't be able to survive some of the things I live with! Do you really think that when a late child in the family is pampered by all the kin much to the jealousy of her brother and sister, do you really think it makes the child happy? No way, Paul! No fucking way!”

“Don't go so mad about it!”

“I try my best not to!”

“I’m sorry if I touched a raw nerve with this.”

“You did! Indeed you did!”

“Please,” he took my hand, “can I walk you home now? I really want to!”

I looked at him, at his clear blue eyes and wondered why, in spite of really loving each other we were never ever able to have normal, healthy brother-sister relationships; or, to be more exact, cousin-cousin relationship.

“Thank you, Paul. But I'd rather drop into a couple of places on Via Montenapoleone before going home. You don't fancy carrying my shopping bags, do you?”

“You always had enough money at your disposal to spend it elegantly!” he smiled one of his most charming smiles and I instantly got what he was driving at.

We both stood up and hugged.

“Take care of yourself, Lizzy. I'll see you when I come back from London.”

“Have a safe journey,” I replied somewhat dryly for I still couldn't bring myself to forget Paul's silly attack on me and to be my usual loving self with him.

Needless to say I didn't go shopping then. It was just an excuse not to walk home with Paul. I roamed about Duomo a bit. Had a drink at one of the bars (it was 4 p.m. already and I thought I did have the right to have a drink) and strolled home.

I strolled very slowly the too-short-for-thinking distance and once at home (John was still at work, naturally) I made myself a cup of coffee, settled on the sofa near the window in the so-called living-room, glanced at the neon “Geox” sign just opposite our home and began recollecting my “Oxford period”.

When I'm in a NYC state of mind

In a fortnight I returned to New York.

The morning I flew was chilly and cloudy. The sea was all foaming, sluggish, dull olive, under a delicate haze. Subtle hints here and there of the inevitable change of the season.

Suitcases packed. Grandma and grandpa kissing good-bye. Miles and miles of French countryside from the windows of Sud Express. Paris. Charles de Gaulle. Nine hours among the clouds. La Guardia. Another world.

Indian summer reigned on Manhattan in its ultimate gorgeousness. New Yorkers were coming back to the city from the Hamptons. And I, as never before, enjoyed the merry bustle of the Madison Square and Broadway and Park Avenue. It even seemed at times that my wounds were healing, although I knew that the poison was still in. I went shopping buying new clothes and shoes and in the pleasant fuss of it hardly noticed the arrival of the fall. The cool wind from the coast prompted at times that the season would click soon, until, at last, shy rain at night quietly whispered that a new season had officially begun.

It was my first fall at university then. Paying due tribute to the presence of the itchy French genes I went on studying the Romance languages at the philological department of Cornell. 

An hourglass

Life is like an hourglass. At first it seems that the sand doesn't pour at all, that it pours out at the very last moment when there's no time left to think about it. The present is inevitably stealing. We can never withhold it. There's only the past and the future. Our daily routine never fails to distract us from the pouring sand. So more and more often we do not notice anything else, even the hourglass itself.

Barcelona

It wouldn't do to hide your eyes here. You see someone. They see you. You look straight into their eyes. They look straight into yours. You understand everything about them. They understand everything about you. You keep on walking your way. They keep on walking theirs. Probably, that is why Barcelona, more than two thousand years pierced with these glances, is so impressive.

Barcelona is an open place. As any port it's open to all new and strange. Because all new comes from the sea and goes away by the sea. It accepts everything that the tide would leave. It's never surprised by anything. It looks straight into one's eyes for everyone's equal before the sea – the biggest thing in the world.

Coming back

We hardly spoke on our way back to London. I was looking out of the window at the seemingly endless road, sometimes casting stealthy glances at dad's profile – his eyes were fixed on the road, he looked as serious as never before and it was for the first time that I felt some a sort of estrangement from him, as if suddenly an invisible wall appeared between us. I moved to the back seat. I wanted to sit at the right side of the car. ‘D’you feel like taking a nap?’ dad asked ‘Go ahead! It's a long way to go!’ I didn't say anything in reply, secretly counting the oncoming cars – it's a strange habit, I know, but that's just me. Then, all of a sudden, I remembered a weird dream I had when I was either five or six. It was one of those nearly plotless dreams that leave the unpleasant aftertaste of anxiety rather than visual images. I was in a park, I believe, which looked similar to Berkeley, but as it always is with this kind of nightmares, it wasn't Berkeley. There was snow all around. In reality I've never seen so much snow in London. I’m wearing my cream-colored Bonpoint coat and a striped scarf, the paths around me remind of a labyrinth and I’m scared to get lost for I’m sure I don't know the place. I see dad and mom somewhere at a distance and I think or at least I want to think they see me too. Then I notice a stranger, he is just passing by, not even looking in my direction, but I’m scared to death he will take me with him. My parents don't seem to notice me and I feel the approaching fear of despair seize me and I can't do anything about it. That's all. No outcome. Nothing. Everything just remained suspended and the air around me got as thick as jelly. In the morning I woke up with the rotten felling of being lost and unwanted. It evaporated after some time. Sure it did. But a drop of venom was still in, somewhere deep inside and now it let know of itself again.

October as a diagnosis

French songs are playing again on my iTunes. Still can't help listening to the soundtracks from the films that have struck me recently. October... everything is strange this autumn. My mood changes more often than ever before. What is October to me? October is the second working month after a long summer doingnothingness. October is heaps of fallen leaves all around the city. October is the smell of burnt leaves. I hate it, but on the other hand, nothing can be more precise in describing what this creepy month of October is. It's unusually warm this year, at least so far. Warm and dry, which is such a surprise! At times I'm even anxious about it. What's in store for us after this soothing warmth? I feel like commenting on every single song that's playing now: "Lili, take another walk out of your fake world". "Je vais bien, ne t'en fais pas". Do French films strike you as hard as they strike me? Should I move to France? It seems like my "corner of the Earth" for the time being. Do you know the feeling? When everything just falls into place. I'm too tired of shallow people around me at the moment. I don't mean to say they are so bad, they are just too different from me. So different I can't stand it sometimes. The balance is wrong. I need more soulmates around. I want more complicated people in my life. I hate those "conventional idiots" that time and again poison my life. But, on the contrary, there exists something in my life no one of them has ever dreamed of. No one of them has ever been able to make it up in their traditional minds. Nabokov once said: "A genius is an African who dreams up snow"! That's what it's all about. Being able of dreaming up things you've never ever seen/felt/touched. October is hard. I always feel like going far-far away in October. Do you? I bet I'm not the only one. You know what my idea of paradise is? It's waking up at midday in a house by the seaside. It's dedicating the bigger part of the day to writing. It's dinner out at some nice place with a nice person, with a soulmate. It's a pleasant conversation. It's listening to people's life stories. It's going to bed at the small hours, lulled by reading a book. I'm so scared I might not have time to do this and many other important things I'm planning on doing. Nope, I'm not scared of getting older, but I'm just freaked out I might miss on something beautiful. Gosh, it's October, right? I'm too weird tonight. But it's a good night anyway, 'cause there's a slight hint that you might be the best paint life ever made for me..  

Psychologically, the choice 'to think or not' is the choice 'to focus or not.' Existentially, the choice 'to focus or not' is the choice 'to be conscious or not.' Metaphysically, the choice 'to be conscious or not' is the choice of life or death.

Just a thought. How come when you don't make any arrangements you can run into whoever and wherever just by pure accident. Vice versa, when you're thinking non stop on how badly you need to see someone, you invariably end up in different parts of the globe. Sod's law.