In this post I’d like to talk about something that is mine. Just to not be boring in other words. Two things mainly: the power of dreams and the value of promises.
Promises and dreams are cynically baloney. They are projected into the future and the future, it’s known, changes more quickly than one can imagine. But in my case there are some small but clear exceptions.
To be more clear, I have to take another paper from that folder that holds the essays from my middle and high school. If in the previous post I was already 15 years old now I’ll transcribe an essay written when I was still 12, 8 years ago. I was attending the last year of middle school, and like this year, I was intended to big changes in my life. Let’s see what I was writing (no corrections will be made in the transcription ).
Project yourself in the future and imagine you are now an adult. It’s the night of 20th, Dec 2025 and you, after a busy day, take a break to reflect writing your journal, as you do ever single night since you were 12.
I am sorry if it’s a long time since I wrote to you, but -you know- in the christmas period there is a lot of work to do and like always the most difficult tasks are assigned to me. Today I saw about 20 people who had broken their computer and were trying to convince me that it broke by itself. Then, on my way back, I had to go to Ottawa for a meeting with the french president of the local IT and after he offered me lunch in a chinese restaurant. I ordered only a glass of water because I didn’t like the food choices on the menu. I came back to Sidney and my boss told me to go home. On my way home I hear a faint whistle and then a bang. In five minutes I changed the flat tire; so I was obligated to go to the body shop mechanic. Finally I am home. My wife is in the kitchen cooking and my daughter hasn’t come back from school yet. After the shower my wife tells me that that night we will have guests and that they will arrive at 19:00. I look at my watch and I noticed that it’s 17:00. My wife hasn’t started cooking yet. So I have to help her cooking, peeling potatoes, beating eggs and other boring chores.
Came While I put the pasta in the oven my daughter gets home and I kindly tell him her to tidy up her room that is usually messy. Finally the guests arrive and after dinner I tell them about my day. I yelled at my daughter 3 times because she didn’t want to eat that I actually didn’t like either. I started talking that wit with the coming of Christmas, kids should behave better but instead they turn even more into brats and instead [unintelligible, probably “have lots of demands to”] their parents. All of this makes me think when I was little. Do you remember when I was moving to Canada and the suitcase was too heavy? then I decided to leave behind my favorite soccer ball. Or when I received a bicycle too big for me. Then when I had to go to Milan I had to take the ferry to cross the Messina strait and now there is a long bridge instead. Well!
Thinking back, I have had everything in my life since I was a child until now and I think that like I promised I will go back to Modica (this time without taking the ferry) to see again after many years my city and first of all my mother. I think this will be the last page of my diary because I don’t have anymore time and I have achieved everything and I don’t have any wish and without wishes there is no need of a diary.
See you soon
The original post, written in May 2011 (here: http://www.minciati.eu/2011/05/senza-desideri-non-ce-bisogno-di-un-diario/), keeps going with some more memories of when I was 12, the world cup in ’98, my dreams of being a videogame programmer and my dreams of moving to Canada. I am tired tonight so I won’t translate the last part unless asked by the few people who will read this and can’t read it in italian.
The fact that here I am, achieving step by step anything I have ever wanted before they build that bridge I was talking about…well that I think is astonishing. I have 11 years left to find a wife, have a family, have a daughter. Then I’ll stop having a blog. Then I’ll be 35. Then I’ll be happy. Maybe.