Dreams.

I’ve been thinking of writing, these days. I have tried to do it indeed. I scribbled some words in a piece of paper several times, but all of them landed on the bin. I don’t know what to say, and I’m never satisfied with what I do.

I’ve been alone for some days, because the one who was my teacher went back to Scotland to see his kids. I had a lot of time, and I tried to write. But I couldn’t. Sometimes I am afraid of being too transparent, because I don’t know what he has inside his heart.

Instead of writing, I was putting in order some of my books that were still in the boxes. And there I found some old notebooks where I used to write my thoughts when I was younger. Ten years have past. I started to read them and I suddenly realized I haven’t changed at all. Everything that was in those notebooks is still inside me. I thought I was older, maybe wiser, surely different. It’s so odd to see I’m still the same stupid girl who never knew what she wanted. Perhaps I am not exactly the same. Perhaps then I was a bit more optimistic.

I want to share with you one thing I wrote 8 years ago because, when I read it again some days ago, I was surprised about how much it is related to the last post I wrote here. It is funny how similar they are. I’ll try to translate it into English, because I obviously wrote it in my own language:

‘I dream of wide fields of green grass, with tall trees dancing in the wind. I dream of deep and blue seas, of unachievable horizons, of skies full of light.

I dream of populating my memory with all those happy memories, of storing those little pieces of life in some corner of my mind. I want to store forever the special memories I keep with affection. Memories of moments that will never be erased. Moments when I felt free, happy. Moments, maybe only seconds, that you suddenly know you’ll remember all your life.

I remember to be sitting on a wooden fence, on the top of a hill, and observing in front of me a huge undulant field of fresh green grass, shaked by the breeze. I especially remember the roaming shadow of clouds strolling over it, caressing the grass softly, as an affectionate hand that tenderly brushes what it loves the most. As only the clouds can caress, with their fresh cloak of winding shadows. I remember them, covering the field, alternating with the warm embrace of sun.

I can hardly remember where it was, nor how many years have past. I only know I was a child, in an undetermined day, probably at the end of spring or the first days of summer. I had never been there, and I’ve never gone back. I only know that there, suddenly, sitting on a fence on the top of a hill, a vision appeared in front of me. A vision that discovered for me what beauty, happiness and freedom were. And I knew, in that moment I knew, that I would always remember it.

That’s one of my most valuable moments. It will always be with me. I love that memory with special devotion. Because it fills me not with yearning, but with hope. Hope of finding, through my life, much more moments like that one, much more places like that one. Hope of discovering day after day more beauty around me. Hope of finding that feeling of unequalled peace and freedom, which makes you feel drunk, alienated, and floods your heart and fills you. That feeling, so warm and so dense, that can even be touched.

I want to fill my existence with all those memories of beautiful places, of deep feelings, of loved and smiling faces, of friendly hands over my hands.

I dream.

I am a dreamer, and I dream.’

October 8th, 2000.