Ti regalerò una rosa
Una rosa rossa per dipingere ogni cosa
Una rosa per ogni tua lacrima da consolare
E una rosa per poterti amare
Ti regalerò una rosaIf I asked you, straightforwardly: "DO YOU BELIEVE IN SIGNS?"
What would you say?
I'd tell you that I didn't. I stubbornly avoided it. I consistently tried not to see. I called it random. I called it coincidences. I called it serendipity.
Now I'm not too sure anymore. Maybe they are there for us to see. Supernatural hint? Or maybe a not-too-intrusive way of telling us "hello? can't you see? it's right in front of you!"
There are signs everywhere...
[f.r.i.]
Open your eyes...
i see my memories in black and white
they are neglected by space and time
i stored all my days in boxes
i left my wishes so far behind
i find my only salvation
in playin' hide and seek in this labyrinth
and my sense of connection
is lost like the sound of my steps
[elisa]
"There are as many paths to love as there are people to love.
Barriers to understanding melt when you receive someone in this light."
Flying home has its good and bad parts. It reminds me of how much I used to love airports, the only place (I always thought) where people of all nationalities come in contact without conflict, without the need to eliminate each other. If only the outside world could be as civilized as the airport terminals... It reminded me of how nice it is to walk to the windows at the very back of the aircraft, and enjoy the sight of approaching land, after flying over Greenland and that patch of Atlantic Ocean that separates it from the British Isles. Today, passing over Wales, I could see the sea below, flat and apparently still, gently rippled by the wind even if it seem carved in bluish stone. There were tiny white stripes on it, where small boats were passing. and again white lines at the coast, where the waves crash on the sand. A bit more inland, the sun reflected on the lakes and rivers, transforming them into a gently shimmering silver web of lines and puddles decorating the green surface. And what about the sight of the clouds below, looking a vast display of chunks of whip cream? (unfortunately I did not have my camera, and regretted it). It was a bit past 9 pm local time when we approached the airport in Italy (MIL) and the sunset was leaving its last strands of orange/pinkish sky, drawing gorgeous colorful borders on the few clouds.
But being at home also carries a bittersweet taste. Don't get me wrong, I love to see my family, but the poetry of the trip is best left for the flight and the magical sights it unveils. Every time I come home, I can't help but feel out of place. I spend 10 months out of 12 living somewhere else, and I think (fear) that after a while I started becoming someone else as well, at least as far as part of my "italianness" is concerned. I can't quite put my finger on the reason, but as a special person once told me, every time I come here I feel like a foreigner in my own country.
I'll just make the best of it for the next two months. I'll have the chance to see friends I haven't seen in a while, meet friends coming from overseas, visit relatives, bike through town (yes, I will take pics, I promised I would!), and eat lots of mommy-food. It will be good, I know it will. But all it's positiveness will not erase that tingling feeling of not belonging anymore.
Of not belonging anywhere.
C'est pas que j'ai le cœur à rire
Je l'aurais plutôt à mourir
De les voir si joyeux
De les voir si heureux
Moi qu'aucune homme ne regardera jamais dans les yeux
De les voir convoler
De les voir s'envoler
Au milieu des étoiles sous la voûte des cieux
Toutes les cloches que je sonne
Kyrie Eleison
Hosanna alléluia dies irae dies illa
Toutes ces cloches de malheur
Toutes ces cloches de bonheur
Toutes ces cloches qui n'ont jamais encore sonné pour moi
