"I love gays". A phrase that I just can't stand. I don't love them at all. Because homosexuals, as well as bisexuals and heterosexuals, are human beings. And I don't love all the human beings. Human beings are stupid, selfish, superficial. Not everyone, and not everyone at the same level, but they are. And the gays, well, they happen to be human beings, and so also among them there are assholes and unpleasant subjects, as there are in every corner of the earth, regardless of the sex of the person with whom they go to bed. So, phrases like "I love gays!" and "They're all so cute/sweet/funny" and similar are nothing but empty sentences. Actually, they are stereotypes. Positive ones, if there are of this kind, and certainly not terrible as many others around, but stereotypes remain and may be extremely dangerous.
There are those who tell me that these are nuances, details, that the problems, the real ones, are others. But I don't agree. One person alone may can not change the world, but there are little things you can do. For example, you can start paying attention to the words you use. And this, if you will, is not a nuance.
Dec 6, 2013
I thought I understood it, that I could grasp it, but I didn't, not really. Only the smudgeness of it; the pink-slippered, all-containered, semi-precious eagerness of it. I didn't realize it would sometimes be more than whole, that the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea. Because it's the halves that halve you in half. I didn't know, don't know, about the in-between bits; the gory bits of you, and the gory bits of me.
|Most of the stills from issietheshark.tumblr.com|
Dec 3, 2013
Note: the following, it's a very personal post. And I hope that the person who this is about won't mind that I'm sharing these pictures and thoughts with you. Because even if it's highly personal, I want to tell you this story. And I want to do it because often I'm worried. That the girl sitting in front of me in class could have become my best friend, or that the guy who waited with me for the train, sitting on the same bench for half an hour, could have been the love of my life, if only we had ever spoken. In front of us there are so many alternative lives, that the weight of all those I don't know sometimes threatens to overshadow the one I'm really living.
That said, this post is the story of one of that times where the case, or the fate, played on my side. Many things could go wrong, and yet I had the fortune to know this person, and now, after a year and a half after the first email, I cannot imagine how I would do without her.
A year ago I woke up in a hotel room, I prepared myself and packed my suitcase. For about an hour I wandered around in the tube, failing to find the right direction for the Paddington station.
I have tried several times to write about those hours, but the words don't seem to be enough. Scratch that, they seem to be too much. Too much fake for something so real, too much weak to tell an experience I had never lived before. Meet for the first time, face to face, a person who was already so important in my life. A year ago I took a train from London to Oxford to meet R. These are some of the picture taken those 3 and 4 December 2012 and the lines written.
December 03, 2013
9.46 am - Train. Direction: Oxford. I took the wrong tube line this morning, and I was about to fail under the weight of the suitcase, but I'm here. And I'm going to meet R. Unbelievable. These last four days are gone well. I have to admit that I was a bit afraid to travel by my self, and instead I think to have done a good job. [...]
7.44 pm - My imaginary friend is not so imaginary after all. Ok, it was pretty awkward at first, but I'm so happy to be here. R is fantastic. She played to me one of her songs at the piano and... I've no words. While she was playing, it was as if I was able to see her... completely. A natural and unspoiled force as I had never seen before. I wish I had taken a photo of her sitting at the piano, but maybe it's better that I hadn't. Some moments are not meant to be documented. They are made to be left like that, enlightened by the memory alone.
December 04, 2013
I admit that I'm writing this letter in Italian, even if I know that I will have to translate it in English. 'cause when I write in English I need to think about every single word before fixing my thoughts on paper, and now I just want to let the words free to flow through the pen.
I'm in the Victoria Station's McDonald, eating french fries, waiting for the moment to come back home. And I can not help but think about the last two days.
First of all, I promise you that I will exercise my English so the next time we meet I'll know how to tell you what I want to tell you. It's so frustrating, not be able to express my self 100%, but despite the language barrier, the time spent with you could not be better. [...]
How much have been embarrassing the first moment in which we found ourselves face to face, for you? I was so nervous. Not because I thought you were a maniac. As we have already said, if it turned out that you were a maniac, rather than hit you with my bag and run away, I would have congratulated you for not only opened and kept up to date a blog on tumblr, but mostly for creating a character so delicious and consistent, letter by letter. Fortunately, there was no need either to escape nor to congratulate.
For a moment, while I was waiting in front of the station, I thought that you were not coming. That you changed your mind, or that I imagined you. But you are real. [...]
Another fear I had and I have is that I don' correspond to the idea that you were made of me. For me, I didn't think it was possible, but you're exactly like I imagined you, as if you are a character of one of my favorite childhood books finally became real. I'm so sorry that a bit for the language, a bit for the exhaustion, a bit for the situation, I was a bit subdued.
I hope I have been up to expectations (even though I know you're too polite to tell me otherwise). And most of all, I hope to see you again one day. I have no doubt that we will continue to write letter each other for a long time. The experience has taught me that when I care about a person, [...], I continue to write to her. So, keep in mind that you won't easily rid of me!
Thank you for let me met you, to let me come into your life and to discover what a wonderful person you are. I said that already a hundred times, probably, but I want to keep repeating it to do not forget that despite all the mistakes I've made, despite all the people I've lost along the way, despite everything, there is something good. [...]
I'm unfortunate in not having you close, but I'm lucky to have met you. Thus, the fortune far exceeds the bad luck. And we should congratulate each other for being brave enough to overcome the fear of meeting. [...]
In your message, you called me your "new best friend." You don't know how much this made me happy. I would like to write about this more, but it's late and the words don't work anymore. But I hope you know that you are my new best friend too.
Ok, I can no longer connect. You'd be asleep by now. Or are you still working on your essay? I hope not! Sleeping and eating are two fundamental actions for human body, don't forget it! The only tea (or the only white chocolate) is not sufficient. Don't make me worry!
From chronic indecisive to chronic indecisive, good night (or good morning). I'll try to translate this I-don't-know-how-to-define-it-anymore as quickly as possible and to answer your last letter for good, hoping not to make you wait too much.
Hello, my new, adorable, friend, may the sun and the blue sky of these last days always shine on you.
Your new, but I hope for a very long time, best friend,
(few photos developed after a year, finally)
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 24, 2013
I'm tired. And the book of International Economic begins to call me louder and louder. But I don't want to think about it. I don't want let the list (of the things I'm supposed to do) shakes off the concert that still echoing inside me. A relentless and unstoppable beat that throbs in my veins, in my blood, and wears me out. But of an exhaustion that for once makes me feel more alive than I've felt in a long time. Right now I just want to listen music, and dance, and sing, to remain voiceless, to fall on the ground.
|Photos of the Bastille's last night concert in Milan I found on the internet, not mine.|