The purpose was to communicate or not the existence of not necessarily deplorable conduct, but worthy of being known for what it represented, against simplifying and doing good free at all costs.
âOn the right side of the airheadâ⦠âWhen will you write it down?â Lorenzo kidded, and Alessia knew it. âI will do it soonâ she immediately replied as she played at being a writer all alongâ¦
At fifty-two years old she did not realize she had already written her greatest masterpiece, having given birth to a so special creature⦠Was it a kind of enthusiasm common to all moms and dads? Perhapsâ¦
Federica had just received an award for a poem she had written some time before, and this had puffed up her parents to the nonsense - or almost - but she did not mind at all, in fact, it was perhaps that eternal bliss to make their union so strong.
Of course, there were moments of tension in the family, but it was quite normal. What was not normal was the fact that this creature was equipped with an extraordinary talent, that of being enjoyed and even more to be loved without ever being out of place, without bawdiness or other such attitudes. It was something more, something difficult to define and which was growing stronger⦠over time.
Alessia had exactly this fear; the fear of being fifty-two years old; the fear for the future; the fear of a very difficult period to live in and to classify; just fear, but⦠enough with this fear!!! And if these were the keys to her life? To all the few certainties she had built? Who'd have known⦠It was such a long time she had no more fear of getting lost.
At fifty-two years old, what had cost that serenity, that vague calm! Nevertheless, the fear of getting lost in her youth was so great, really greatâ¦
What will I be? And⦠Will I still be here in a year? And⦠If I'm not here, where will I be? She thought when she looked to her future all alone, locked in the bathroom while smoking another cigarette, waiting for something to change⦠By whom? She did not know.
Only later she would have understood that our way is marked by the presence of someone who, willingly or unwillingly, shapes and moulds our future in his own way; or at least that is what he wants to do; but he does not always succeed, because eventually Alessia had decided what to do with her life, although the fact of having somehow pursued her dream and her passions had cut her off from those prepackaged models characterizing the way of thinking of most people in certain social realities, freezing their brains in clichés and catchphrases, forcing the thought into confined spaces and useless blinders.
Meanwhile, their lives continued to elapse between a shake and a caress, Federica grew and became a woman, a woman born fully grown⦠Alessia thought.
But was she a prize? Yes, she was. Federica was an award, a gift, a safe haven which needs foundations other than stilts. Otherwise, the port collapses during the first storm⦠And so, Federica was certainly a safe haven, which should be strengthened, otherwise it goes down at the first slap⦠Like the mighty wind that blows from North and drags everything with it: trees, plants and whatever is on the way. Like water bombs which are overwhelming now a neighborhood now the other of certain cities with powerful features.
Yes, Federica was an award, because in her lifetime Alessia had never had such a precious gift, so immense⦠Only disappointments, exploitation, maybe some privilege, whose weight was paid in gold to someone who then had turned his back all of a sudden; she was a kind of victim of a still feudal mentality which survives the hypothetical civilization of today.
Could the satisfaction of having won the third place in a competition be considered a privilege? Of course⦠When she got the notification of the award, Alessia thought they were wrong, as often happens in such cases⦠Even if it is just a third place, it implies that at least they have read what I wrote, what I have created from nothing⦠Actually, not really from nothing, because those artists she had written about and of whom she had been following all the âsacredâ colorful journey, they had excited and deeply touched her, that day in that wonderful avenue of that wonderful town, all dressed up, photographing its creative moments. They had given her a moment of true poetry, reminding her of a student youth when those same artists were embroidering the sidewalks of another great city, with their âsacredâ works. A great privilege for her but maybe an absolute normality for people used to be considered for what they are and not for what they represent, for the role they play, and therefore they do not care about the so-called normality and want and expect more⦠Perhaps rightly, perhaps wrongly, but they expect it: vainglory, pride, the showing off, the flaunting what you're not or what you have not. Education, for example, how many people flaunts an education they have not? And in that sultry August evening, Alessia went to accept an award which represented mostly a satisfaction, a prize to a dreaded âinability to get some writing doneâ, that's what false prophets had sentenced. An award that aroused a lot of joy together with a lot of tension⦠In fact, Alessia arrived completely unprepared at the end of that sultry evening in August, rather dazed by what had happened. And while accepting that prize, she ran away muttering just two words into a microphone echoing too much and unnecessarily amplifing all her fears⦠Finally it was all over pretty quickly and all mileage travelled to celebrate that night proved to be a wasted effort⦠Not for Lorenzo, her life partner, her husband, her friend, her sweet groom who occasionally acquired again his title as âsoured bruzioâ thanks to the innate ability to turn the most beautiful reality into an ugliness without any aesthetic and beauty⦠But only later she would have understood that those were just some moments of vague and understandable pessimism, which lasted a few moments: a smile, a coffee, and everything was ended⦠That evening, however, he managed to transform into beauty what she had horribly lived. Or had he done it just for love? Well, sometimes doubt helps more than certainty and it consolidates some situations overwhelmed by unmet expectations, and at the end, we surrender⦠And it's a good thing, at least in this case!
It thundered strong that afternoon, but Alessia, sitting behind Federica, had many thoughts in mind, while she was pasting her reflections on the white page on her laptop and while living her life attached to music and art. Federica was an artist, too. Apart of poetry, she was very fond of music and despite her young age, she knew all about Beatles, Queen and much, much more, and she dreamed of being able to attend the live concert of her favorite band one day, as she dreamed of leaving and going to her cousins' house which she liked so much since the first time, as it was organized in small rooms and small spaces housing the students. âYou already know Let it be?â Alessia asked her daughter âDid the master teach it to you? Or?...â
A glazing of her eyes and Alessia understood. Then the two months of music lessons were not completely useless! âFederica, did you learn it on your own?â âBut yeah, of course!â she answered and her mother felt again like a newborn baby⦠This means that you must continue and mature: the art in you has to be discovered, like when you discover a pretty, beautiful work of art created by a painter or a sculptor, but in this case the author is the Creator; He acted as a painter or a sculptor, ensuring that such a beautiful creature had to come to the world through us parents.
Alessia then realized that the parents' concern and anxiety, that anxiety deriving from everyday life if it is exaggerated, it becomes an end in itself, something useless, unnecessary, sometimes harmful. Some time before she had expressed concern about the poor results she had noticed in this new adventure undertaken by Federica with her musical instrument: the piano was there, abandoned to itself for years, but through her it had begun to live, and with it, the heart of each of them followed new rhythms, which were no longer familiar.
The piano was a great love for Alessia as a teenager, but as much as she tried, she was never able to guess the right teacher. Only once, and with great satisfaction and