In little less then 4 weeks from D-day I found myself in Italy, on a mission to rescue the possibility of maintaining my family’s financial security… It was April 5th, and my beautiful Italian girl was at the airport hugging me… I was in a dream, everything was perfect, the memories I had forged as a child where being reconstructed, images I had in my mind suddenly changed… It was a dose of disillusion.
And so, embraced by the old, I fell into my self, searching for answers… It, never the less, was a time of love, joy… It was a honeymoon gone wrong. So, through wine, cigarettes, coffee, great restaurants, nights of passion, and more disillusions, I convinced myself that powerless I was from the begging, and being powerless was my fate.
My return was marked for the 25th of April, but in less then 2 weeks I had decided to stay indefinably.
So, in 4 weeks I had an apartment, and was living alone.
The greatest lesson I failed to learn immediately upon my father’s passing was that one cannot count on any person, regardless of their promises; It is futile, an illusion that once undone, deeply wounds.
So there I was, spending endless hours alone, in that apartment, in the middle of nowhere, waiting for brief moments of joy with my girl. I had thrown everything I had up in the air, my car, business, friends, family, home, college, etc… believing I had found the woman of my life. Ignorance is not bliss, ignorance is ignorance… There is no escaping it, there is no greater truth. Maybe, the wisdom that made my dad what he was, was what propelled him to do what he did… Which raises the question: is knowing too much a curse or did he find himself knowing that he was satisfied with the outcome of his life?
In this case, is death the culmination of one’s life or is it the simple end of it?
So, alone, in the cold, illuminated by the monitor of his computer, I spent dozens of nights thinking… apparently of nothing, for it was a time of much silence, and few conclusions…
3 Months passed from my departure and there I was, getting on a plane, broke, sad, betrayed… Angry.
The world was my enemy, life my torturer and love my executioner.
I got back home in parts… I was a broken man.
My love of Europe had lasted 13 years, based on the memories of a kid that no longer existed.
I had rediscovered my roots, and they had no earth to grow in. I understood that it was not a place, home I mean, but a state of spirit, of mind… They were simply the past.
I was lost, I was alone. I was a blinking cursor on a blank page.
(...)
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From My Book in-the-works
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