the wonderful stumble of

as i approached the tender old age of 25, my university years were coming to an end. all of the festive, joyous carefree years were suddenly fading, although neither i nor anyone close to me was even faintly noticing. what had been an enclosed vault of sleep and dream, a pigeonholed happiness had started slicing itself in half since the very beginning. every common gesture, every ritual and tradition, even every new occurrence were numbered from the very start. and this freezing, but starry 20th of march was the very finish. nothing would've been the same ever again. and from this moment on, the present became remembrance. life was kicking me out of childhood, into another childhood, but not without a trauma.

i had procrastinated this for at least a month and a half. i always did the same: if i smelled that something had gone wrong i would wait as much as possible to get confirmation, be it going to the doctor, going to check my scores or...going to confront my (ex)girlfriend. march very much still winter in northern italy, the white lilies and spring bulbs mislead only behind heated window panes. outside it was cold, rigid, and unforgiving. i know that this would've not been easy, because no matter what common sense said, and no matter what other people said i had always (and i mean always) been able to tell situations. v. didn't want me anymore and this was as clear as mountain skies. everyone just kept repeating that i should talk to her, that i should try to straighten things out that things weren't always as we thought.

but inevitably, time and this time again, things were exactly as i thought.

i got there after dinner, with pat on the shoulders and grappa shots in the stomach. unfortunately, alcohol it wasn't the only thing that churned in there. i hated the fact that this was a gran finale when in my mind it should've been the bombastic passing through the curtains. strings and winds and percussions would cure my transition from the first to the second act. but again, this wasn't the plot that was layed out that night.

«you don't understand». this was the phrase that was most repeated on each side. i got to her house, just a few meters from mine right on my way to the center: on my way to work, to school, to play, to dance, to mourn. it had always been a creepy house, even when we were there as the happiest people on the planet (at least i was). it was her friend's grandmother's house, so they weren't allowed to put posters up nor paint it, nor change the billion year old furniture. everything smelled like years gone and it was almost as the house waited patiently to be empty and lonely. we decided not to stay inside and walk around, which is pretty much the only thing we agreed on that night. every word that came out of her was angular, fraudolent and yet engraved in the bluntest metal. there was no convincing her, and what i believed to be reality was completely different in her eyes. the battle was over to begin with, but what was worse was that the war was over too, and both our companies had drawn out bayonettes with white flags. it made no sense trying to convince someone to love me back. if i knew something about love and life was that, even if there'll be a certain point where you believe to have them mapped out, they'll prove you wrong in the end, and there's nothing you can do about it.

we walked a total distance of a few hundred meters, in the cutting wind, with the slowest pace possible. i knew it was the end of something greater than just a relationship, but i couldn't quite put my finger on it. but in those moments, the words rebounded in my ears like tiny basketballs, trying to spell out a form, a function, but i just couldn't understand. i just wouldn't understand.
as i slowed my feet, i could only grasp that i wasn't just holding on to a lost relationship, i was also trying to get one last breath of the sweet air of the certainty that my life had had up until that moment. again, the events were kicking me out like a drunk in a pub, i managed to stay up for a few steps out only to fall on the ground. the times that would've come next would be a metaphorical straightening of the jacket, a reassuring "fuck you" and an aftershock burp to bring back internal peace.

we sometimes attribute human characteristics to entire situations. even worse, this time i had condensed everything beautiful, inspiring and soothing there ever was about that dry old northeastern town life into one person. that person was v. and i guess, to continue on, would've meant to marry a town for life. i wasn't born for that, and it was more than clear. so i had to leave, again, i had to pack and head for the border the only difference was this time i hadn't made the call.
what was so special about living in a seaside swamp with a three churches and ten senior-citizen trips a year? why was i–but so was everyone i knew–so attached to that medieval maze of pavement and flaxen walls.


i was born in a small 90º angle town, just south of the capital. no one spoke of mentality because anyone that had one had moved at 18 just as a i did. i guess the beauty of it was the absence of tradition in a nation made up of unspoken ritualistic pagan rules.