#Goodbye

Goodbye. I’ve come to realize that goodbye is the second most frequent thing you learn to say on Erasmus. First one is a smiley hello followed by a straight “I think we never met each other right? I am X by the way…”. God, it’s impressive how easy it gets to make new friends. I mean not even in kindergarten things are this easy. You just grab someone and introduce yourself. Easy as that. And you don’t even realize you’ve been talking for hours like you’ve known each other for like a lifetime?

But, as I said, that’s not the only most-frequent thing you learn on Erasmus. There’s hello, but then, here it comes…the goodbye part. Which honestly, purely kills me.

I hate goodbyes. I really do. I mean I hate that sad feeling they leave inside. I hate that “I-have-no-idea-whether-I-am-gonna-see-you-ever-again-so-please-hug-me-and-don’t-leave-me-until-I-cannot-stand-the-very-sight-of-you” feeling. I hate feeling close to someone and then just loose it. Just like that. All of a sudden he’s/she’s gone. And who knows if you’re ever gonna see him/her again.

Problem is being on Erasmus amplifies every feeling. The idea that everything is so fast and it’s gonna come to an end sooner or later, pushes people into living every relationship at its fullest. You just meet someone new and you don’t wanna miss a thing. You just wanna know everything. Not thinking about the consequences. Regardless that the goodbye is gonna be even more devastating.

And then, well I am a mess of a person. I get depressed even on holiday, after a week or so I’ve been knowing someone. I hate not being the first to leave. Because I really, truly HATE saying that sort of goodbye which is never just a goodbye. It’s always like “I’ll see you again, I’ll talk to you”. No you won’t. And I won’t. Maybe we will at first, but we’ll loose each other.

I’ve been told once by a friend that you always meet a person twice in your life. Great! But what if twice is not enough? What if after the second time you don’t wanna say goodbye again? What if the second time only gives you more things to miss?

I guess I’ll just have to get used to it. In the meantime, I’ll keep saying “Goodbye and see you soon” to those who are leaving, hoping the second time will come. 

#FUCK IT AND MOVE TO LONDON – UK

Woke up in London yesterday. Found myself in the city near Piccadilly. Don’t really know how I got here. I got some pictures on my phone.

New names and numbers that I don’t know. Address to places like Abbey Road. Day turns to night, night turns to whatever we want. We’re young enough to say

Oh, this has gotta be the good life. This has gotta be the good life. This could really be a good life, good life. I say, “Oh, got this feeling that you can’t fight”. Like this city is on fire tonight. This could really be a good life, a good, good life.

LONDON. Hell yes, I’m in London! It’s been two months now. Probably the most intense months of my entire life. I can’t even tell whether they’ve passed by like super fast or it’s taking a life time for days to go by. I have met great people. I have lived the weirdest situations. And I fell in love. Yes, I fell in love. With this city. With its streets. Even with its public transports. I thought Bologna would have been the great love of my life, but London, London is at a whole other level.

London kidnapped me on the 20th of September, 2012. And it’s slowly freeing me up again. Giving me back pieces of me I forgot I had. I am outgoing. I am talkative. I am unbelievably confident. I gained such high rates of self-confidence I am impressed. And the funniest part is that whenever I say I’m actually a really very shy person, people start laughing, thinking I am genuinely making fun of them. Well, actually if someone told me about this outgoing, smiley,  super-active girl a few years ago I would have probably had the same reaction. Guess time and experiences help people grow up…

Anyway, I was talking about London. London is huge. Going out in this city (considering the middle-of-nowhere place where I ended up living) is a continuous trip. Underground, overground, national rail services, DLR, bus, etcetera etcetera… Plenty of choices and each one of them perfectly functioning. Constant engineering interventions, constant provision on alternatives in case your usual means of transports are fucked up and closed for a weekend intervention (yes, weekend; cause they won’t touch transports during the week to let you go wherever you need to go). The shortest “trip” I ehm let’s say enjoyed took me 35 minutes, THIRTY-FIVE! And I was lucky too…

Problem is I live in the middle of nowhere. A quite, nice neighborhood in zone 3, South-East: Forest Hill. Why? Well, I didn’t have much choices. Either that or a comfy accommodation  under a bridge. After all the house is adorable, there’s a lovely living room in which I usually spend my super-busy study days (like today, only I’m wasting time blogging instead…), a huge kitchen all furbished with everything I need to bake once in a while, and a lovely little garden in the back, which would be great if only penguins weren’t around and rain wasn’t a constant element of this city. My room is basically a closet, but in the end, I’m getting used to it.

As I said, these have been the two most-intense months of my life. And time has been passing by sooo weirdly. The more I think about it, the less I understand how my time-passing perception is working. October was long, marked by events with surgical precision. November has gone by in an instant. The only day I remember is my birthday, which is weird cause that is probably the only day I wasn’t properly sober in November. Oh and an afternoon, one of the longest afternoons of my entire life. Then? I have no idea. I can’t connect the dots. I have no memories, everything else is blurry. Out of 30 days I probably remember two, let’s say three days (yeah I don’t think I’ll ever forget my very-first-two-essays-submission). It’s like Halloween and the 1st of December were linked by one night. November was as long as a night. And it’s December already! And it’s cold. Below-zero temperatures. And ice on top of cars at night and early morning. And it’s passing by so fast already. So many people leaving. People that you’ve known for three days and it feels like they’re your lifetime neighbors [as a guy dressed-up-as-life-giving-out-lemons once told me]. People who are easy to talk to. People that no matter how crappy is the place you’re at, are gonna make it worth it.

I can’t really say what these two months have felt like. It doesn’t matter though. After all, I still have a year to find out…

#FUCK IT AND MOVE TO LONDON

Woke up in London yesterday. Found myself in the city near Piccadilly. Don’t really know how I got here. I got some pictures on my phone.

New names and numbers that I don’t know. Address to places like Abbey Road. Day turns to night, night turns to whatever we want. We’re young enough to say

Oh, this has gotta be the good life. This has gotta be the good life. This could really be a good life, good life. I say, “Oh, got this feeling that you can’t fight”. Like this city is on fire tonight. This could really be a good life, a good, good life.

LONDON. Hell yes, I’m in London! Sono qui da due mesi. I mesi più intensi della mia vita probabilmente. Non riesco nemmeno a capire se sono volati o stanno durando un’eternità. Ho conosciuto gente fantastica. Ho vissuto situazioni assurde. E mi sono innamorata. Sì, mi sono innamorata. Di questa città. Delle sue strade. Dei suoi trasporti pubblici daily and by night. Pensavo che Bologna sarebbe stata il grande amore della mia vita, ma Londra, Londra è un altro mondo.

Londra mi ha preso il 20 settembre 2012 e mi sta piano piano restituendo a me stessa. Sta tirando fuori pezzi di me che avevo dimenticato di avere. Sono estroversa. Sono logorroica. Sono, udite udite, sicura di me. Ho raggiunto un livello di sicurezza che ritenevo assolutamente improponibile. E la parte divertente è che chiunque mi abbia conosciuto, al mio “In realtà sono molto timida” è scoppiato nella risata più fragorosa possibile e ha ritenuto che lo stessi candidamente, palesemente prendendo per il culo. In effetti se un paio d’anni fa m’avessero parlato di questa estroversa, sorridente, super-intraprendente me, non c’avrei creduto manco per sbaglio. E invece…

Ma si parlava di Londra. Di me ho parlato pure troppo. Dunque. Londra è immensa. Spostarsi in questa città (considerato il luogo dimenticato da Dio in cui ho il “piacere” di risiedere) è un costante viaggio. Underground, overground, national rail services, DLR, bus e chi più ne ha più ne metta. La scelta è ampia. Ma tutto funziona alla grande. Costante manutenzione e costante provvigione di mezzi alternativi se la tua tratta per qualche motivo è fucked up dalla manutenzione. La tratta più breve mai percorsa è comunque durata ben 35 minuti (e m’è andata di lusso). La questione è perchè sono andata a buttarmi a Forest Hill, South-East, Zone 3. NON avevo alternative. O bere o affogare. Bevi e te lo fai andare a genio. E dopotutto la casa è adorabile, c’è un bel salotto abitabilissimo del quale mi approprio nei giorni di studio intenso (tipo oggi, anche se lo sto passando ad aggiornare il blog), una meravigliosa cucina dotata di tutti i comfort per pasticciare come piace a me e diventare una fornaia coi fiocchi di tanto in tanto, un simpatico giardinetto che se non ci fossero i pinguini e non piovesse quasi un giorno sì e l’altro pure potrebbe dare tante soddisfazioni. La mia stanza è praticamente uno stanzino, ma dopo i primi attimi di panico dopotutto mi ci sono abituata.

Dicevo anche che sono stati due mesi intensi. Che il tempo scorre strano. Più ci penso e meno capisco come funziona la mia percezione del tempo. Ottobre è stato lento, scandito, scadenzato con chirurgica precisione quasi. Novembre è volato. L’unico giorno che ricordo davvero è il mio compleanno. Ed è strano perchè non ero propriamente sobria. Ah, e anche uno dei pomeriggi più lunghi della mia vita. E per il resto? Boh. Non ricordo. Non riesco a connettere i neuroni. La memoria vacilla, è tutto sfocato. Novembre è volato e di 30 giorni ne ricordo solo due, facciamo tre, che ricordo pure il giorno in cui ho consegnato i primi due essays della mia vita. Per me è come se da Halloween al 1 dicembre in realtà fosse passata una notte. Novembre è durato una notte. E dicembre è già qui. Con il freddo. E il termometro che va sotto lo 0. E il ghiacchio sulle macchine nel cuore della notte e a prima mattina. E sta volando. Già lo sento volare. Dicembre. Vanno via così tante persone. Persone che conosci da tre giorni e sembra siate “vicini di casa” da tutta una vita [cit. un tipo travestito da vita che offre limoni].  Persone con cui è facile stare, con cui viene semplicemente naturale passare il proprio tempo. Persone che ti portano in clubs orrendi e alla fine ti fanno ridere comunque.

Dunque, un bilancio di questi mesi londinesi non lo posso ancora fare. Ma ci sto lavorando. Dopotutto ho ancora un anno che mi attende.