Life Blog

I have already written several times about my passion for airports: I find them extraordinary places where people leave, come and meet.

In my opinion, one of its most fascinating environments is the arrivals area, where all the newly landed travelers meet with relatives and friends who have come to greet them. I have confirmed this even today when I waited for an abundant half-hour for Miriam to return from her study holiday: it is always fascinating, and often exciting, to watch passengers pass through the automatic door that opens when they arrive and enjoy of the welcome that friends and acquaintances reserve for them.

Some look around with a bewildered air, doubtful about the direction to take. Others, probably regulars of the place, proceed determinedly towards the exit, regardless of the people around them. Still others, and this is the category that I find most exciting, they are welcomed by hugs and kisses of those who for several minutes eagerly await that blessed door will open wide and the person waiting will peep out.

Like this boy, in his twenties, jeans worn low-waisted and a fashionable t-shirt, which eagerly scrutinizes the area beyond the bar, the one for outgoing passengers. His face suddenly lights up as soon as a girl, about the same age, shows up in his eyes: a thin body and a tanned and shiny skin. When the door opens, the young woman immediately identifies her boyfriend and rushes towards him, almost running. The boy, for his part, opens his arms and welcomes his beloved in a strong embrace that seems to never end. The scene does not go unnoticed and all around is a murmur of appreciation and benevolent comments about the couple.

The two do not seem to melt that arms anymore, as if time had suddenly stopped, as if only the two of them had remained in that large and crowded area of ​​the arrivals area. It happens that skin-to-skin contact is loosened but only to allow an intense kiss, full of passion, warmth, craving and ardor. It looks like a black and white film scene, a show worthy of an Oscar film. It is a tender and exciting scene, of an extraordinary and amazing normality, a small masterpiece of ties and affections.

Who knows how the two young people missed each other, how much nostalgia of the other’s skin will have felt and suffered. And who knows what joy they will have felt in this renewed encounter, in this finding themselves so much awaited and desired.

The two separate, he grabs her suitcase to move towards the exit, but each step is interrupted by a new kiss that unexpectedly hits the girl’s lips.

It is truly fascinating to admire this love that does not tolerate separation, which requires the physical and carnal presence of the other, of his arms and his lips, like that place without which one cannot live. It is like an insatiable hunger, a vital need for air, an existential and unattainable desire for fullness and communion.

How much Life flows beside us, how much Life creeps into our days. How many ties animate us with a breathtaking desire. Almost everywhere … even at the arrivals area of ​​an airport …

Some days I’d like to live in the world of Peanuts, along with Charlie Brown, Snoopy and Lucy. In one of those nice strips invented by Schultz where, between a drama and a dream, life flows with its serenity and a carefree linearity.

The beauty of everything that happens in those little colored panels is that all the “crooked” things find their place in the plot of the story: whether it’s a quarrel, an adventure, a trip to the campsite or a baseball game, Charlie Brown & co. they always find themselves in a world that follows its own order, its own internal consistency and reasonableness. Every variation, every jolt or unexpected is “reabsorbed” in the overall design, integrated into the scheme of things. Nothing is so “strange” or unusual or painful that it cannot be accommodated in those four squares that tell the story. In the end, there is always the possibility of a redemption, of a salvation, of a solution to what appears, at first sight, to be so intolerable or incompatible.

I think that after all Snoopy and his friends fascinate us for this too: whatever happens to the protagonists, there is always the opportunity to be told, to be hosted in a narrative that, in one way or another, can make sense and reasonableness of experience.

In real life, alas, things often go very differently. Sometimes it happens that you have to digest facts that stun you for their violence or unpredictability; you have to metabolize news and events that upset you, destabilize you and upset you with such energy that you struggle to assign a distant sense or a vague sense of meaning to what happened.

In everyday life that “narratability” (which is synonymous with meaning) that animates the pages of the Peanutes seems to disappear to make room for what is incomprehensible, confused, impenetrable, elusive and often painful.

It is precisely in these moments that the enigmatic nature of life knocks on our door and asks to be welcomed as an unwelcome and unpleasant guest.

How long does a hug last? Maybe just a moment, maybe a few seconds, or maybe a few minutes, an hour, a whole day? Or maybe a hug lasts forever?

It may seem an exaggeration but when you experience certain hugs you realize that the duration of that contact lasts much longer than the few moments when the arms cross, the bodies touch and the faces touch. Some hugs it is as if they imprinted a lasting tattoo on the skin, which remains and remains for a long time, perhaps hours, days and months.

Of certain hugs you remember for a long time; of certain hugs you smell the scent for days and days, as if that closeness had left a balsamic fluid on your body that continues to spread its aromas.

The skin has this unique ability to “remember” the things it came into contact with, such as anamnestic traces that mark the epidermis and remain present in the heart and mind.

This is what happens to the hugs: those skins that are touched give the sensitive memory a memory that remains and remains vivid and understood for a long time. When, after a little or a long time, you think back to certain hugs and make them present to the mind and heart, it is as if the skin found a way to revive that emotion, like ancestral reminiscences that emerge after being buried. And so the strength of those arms that have held you, the brilliance of the two eyes you met and the warmth of the skin you touched reappear.

It doesn’t happen often but you immediately recognize when an embrace has such intensity and will leave this imprint on your skin. You immediately feel that that touch will remain imprinted on your body for a long time and that you will have recourse to him every time a sadness, a pain or an unhappiness will threaten your joy.

This morning I had breakfast in the company of a nice turtle-dove: sitting on the terrace in front of my cup of milk, I watched the nice bird that was perched one meter from me on the balcony wall. A long, thin blade of grass was in his mouth. After a few moments the dove took flight landing inside the magnolia, a little further away, where the bird was evidently building its own nest.

It is incredible to think that this object, so solid and compact, capable of accommodating various birds and their young, is born from the interweaving of threads so thin and tiny, from that “engineering” art of the small bird that knows how to build its own house in starting from such poor and elementary material.

La cosa ancora più sorprendente è che ogni nido, di qualunque natura e fattura, sia esso ornitologico o umano, prende forma, potremmo dire, un filo alla volta. Nessun nido nasce già fatto né si realizza nel corso di brevi istanti: serve tempo, pazienza e arte. La stessa pazienza ed arte che la piccola tortora ci stava mettendo stamattina quando ha sostato per qualche secondo sul mio terrazzo. Chissà quanti altri viaggi avrà dovuto fare in giornata per completare la sua costruzione, quanti altri fili avrà cercato e trasportato affinché il suo nido diventasse sicuro ed accogliente.

Non ci sono ricette magiche, nessuna scorciatoia, nessuna via preferenziale: la costruzione del nido, di qualunque nido, richiede questa cura meticolosa e diligente, scrupolosa e minuziosa.

It is only thanks to that repetitive and working movement, done a little with enthusiasm and a little with boredom, sometimes with passion and sometimes with tiredness, that the nest of our life sees the light, that is structured and evolves and becomes sufficiently solid and reliable to withstand even the most intense thunderstorms.

It is true that certain things appear in their evidence when you least expect it: maybe you think about it for days and then, suddenly, without any warning, they show themselves under their eyes in all their evidence, so you can’t do anything but learn from the happened and treasure what you saw.

As it happened to me today: the beach, despite the period, was half empty and even umbrellas and deckchairs were still closed waiting for a wet one. When it happens that a young boy, no more than thirty years old, arrives loaded with merchandise, with a big backpack on his shoulders and a big bag in his hand. They are followed by two nannerattoli, one blond and the other brown, of 7/8 years each, with their backpack, fully loaded and with a lively and curious look. From the few words that the three exchange, I realize that the little family is not Italian, probably German. I confess that the three immediately catch my attention, since it is not usual to see such a young boy walking on the beach with two kids following him. But that’s what happens after I am surprised: the three support the whole load on two beds that they hire and start preparing for the day. You know how German children are: generally quite independent and autonomous. They make their own, without the parents getting lost in too many frills. And yet the young boy shows a particular care towards his two little children: he puts on their swimsuits, beach sandals and makes them wear funny armrests for the sea. Once the preparations are over, the three venture on the rocks to jump off the rocks. Already this would be enough to create some wonder: how many boys of that age have maturity and dedication to take care of two children, satisfying their needs and desires? without the parents getting lost in too many frills. And yet the young boy shows a particular care towards his two little children: he puts on their swimsuits, beach sandals and makes them wear funny armrests for the sea. Once the preparations are over, the three venture on the rocks to jump off the rocks. Already this would be enough to create some wonder: how many boys of that age have maturity and dedication to take care of two children, satisfying their needs and desires? without the parents getting lost in too many frills. And yet the young boy shows a particular care towards his two little children: he puts on their swimsuits, beach sandals and makes them wear funny armrests for the sea. Once the preparations are over, the three venture on the rocks to jump off the rocks. Already this would be enough to create some wonder: how many boys of that age have maturity and dedication to take care of two children, satisfying their needs and desires?

But the story does not end there: after a few minutes, when the three were already launching themselves from the rocks (creating some apprehension for us Italic parents that we are not accustomed to these dexterities …) a girl arrives, just as young, with two children below, a little girl tripping next to her and a boy of a few months sleeping in her arms. The young woman, also a foreigner, goes to settle under the same umbrella … and so the children become four …

It makes a certain impression to contemplate that vigorous youthful vitality destined for caring parental care. The young foreigner, lively and hyperactive like any other boy, dispensed all his energy by doing things with his children: after the launch from the rocks, he moved on to playing on the beach, swimming offshore with his daughter, distributing his snack mid-morning, without missing a cuddle to the youngest child and to what makes the whims. What is surprising is the naturalness with which the young person takes care of children: with loose and casual gestures, not marked by any effort or apparent sacrifice. When he takes the water bottle, he passes it to each family member, worrying that we all have a little to drink.

I confess that when I think of so many young people of his age who still “admire their navel”, I marvel at the natural and joyful care that that thirty year old boy experiences for his four children. There is no lamentation, no murmur, on the contrary, one perceives a cheerful serenity even in those attentions that certainly required not a little commitment to the young man.

And I said to myself: here, perhaps the care, the attention and the dedication, today has the face of this young and sunny German father. At the center of his life there is not him, his needs and requirements, but those four little brats he brought into the world and who now looks after them with unusual solicitude. I am sure: if the care is what distinguishes us parents, that dad, young and inexperienced, gave me a valuable lesson.