Israele: what you have to know before I go!

Let me tell you a story …

Indeed, my Christmas fairy tale!

8 years ago after returning exhausted by a bad life experience in England, I decided to offer me a trip and in the same occasion to introduce my beloved New York City to my bro. My brother is a strange type, like all the components of my family, by the way (!!!). We had a fight and then decide to spend our last days and evenings alone. In my super busy to do list, I still had to meet Marina Abramovic who was performing at Moma and sat in front of her and stand her intense gaze, and some other cool and unmissable happenings that I had jealously selected.

The penultimate evening, I was wandering around Soho. The evening air was cool; it was May. New York in May is ideal. I had no plans, and when you have no destination, you can be sure that something unique is going to happen! I step in front of a brick house and hear distant jazz notes. The house was not a house but an old black Jazz venue, as only you can find in New York. I felt it was my lucky day. No plans and I find myself catapulted into a pure and hard Jazz club in the New York underground. If I was waiting for that to happen, it would never happened! I sat at a table, order a Cosmos, and started to enjoy everything: the cocktail, the sound, the atmosphere, and the life. Two “Caucasian type” males popped up in the place, they certainly were not Americans. They sat at another table. One of them was sooooooooooooooo hot and awesome. I do not remember exactly how things went to make us meet, how this wonderful feeling to like each other started, but whatever: at the end of the concert we find ourselves chatting all together. They were two Israeli boys, and also them were wandering around the city. One of them went back to the hotel leaving me the friend, the cutest one! “Damn! It’s just my lucky day today” I thought to myself. We drank 3 more cocktails. We chatted, laughed, as do the thoughtless “young” people 5000km away from home. We left the place staggering and laughing a lot. The brave guy stopped in the middle of the street, looked at me, caught my languid and tacit consent, split me on the wall like a mosquito in a July’s night, and kissed me like they do on movies, those kisses that I can still feel today the sensation. At his hotel there was a friend, at mine there was my brother, but the streets of New York were all ours. We were not giving a damn about the world! I think we stayed 3 hours kissing on the street. Before I left in the almost early morning, I told him I’d go to the Moma later, scheduled a rendezvous at 2pm without even waiting for his answer, and disappeared into the waking up city. I went back at the hotel. Slept several hours, woke up and took a shower. I remember that maybe I had an appointment! I ran towards the Moma already thinking to myself “surely he will not come!!!” (It’s better to be pessimistic in these cases, which if he shows up, that centuplicate your happiness, while the opposite is difficult…) I finally arrived in a tree-lined, marbled and crowded courtyard, glancing shyly around, with the fear and the shame to be blown-offed. I was pretending to wait for no one, walking straight and proud through the entrance and who comes out from nowhere? My Israeli man, daily version: fresh, laid and shy. We greeted each other almost shaking our hands. How embarrassed we were. We went in, saw a lot of beautiful things and I finally lined up to challenge the amazing gaze of the great Abramovic. I sat in front of her, and she was already staring at me with her cold black pearls, and I felt invaded by her power straightway. I smiled at her, looked down and left. He was waiting for me outside that room full of an aura that I imagine as magnetic as his land. Mamma mia what a day! We said goodbye. He stepped away. I stepped away too. Back in Italy, we stayed in touch through Skype. Social networks were not our prerogative. We wrote each other sometimes. Than I found a boyfriend so I stopped writing him. Then I broke up with my boyfriend so I wrote him again. Then he’s got a girlfriend so he stopped writing me, then he broke up too. Like this a couple of years. Then I discovered the “magic” world of Facebook. I was still having his aftertaste in the antechamber of my brain, and that curiosity that grows when you left each other halfway, in the beautiful halfway of our lives, the halfway between reality and fantasy, in the middle of what is possible, surrounded by that feeling that you have to reach something unfinished you left behind. He accepted my request on FB, so we exchanged our phone numbers and started a saga of 3 long years messaging on whatsapp. We never stopped writing each other. Never. There were not those sticky lovely messages, of course no, neither promises to be one day together, no flattery, just constancy, the intimate desire to maintain a contact and imagine what it remains “there”, in that piece of us that we stole from each other, leaving us halfway, years ago. That curiosity hanged by a thread and the almost vanished hope to see each other again one day. The desire never left us; I can feel that in the most banal and simple words of our messages. We laugh. We provoke. We disappear. We reappear suddenly, but with that constancy that keeps us alive for each other in the invisible. Look, it’s difficult to keep whatever kind of long distance relationship for 8 years with a perfect unknown.

But here we are, after these 8 long years. I’m about to get on this plane that will bring me to Tel Aviv. I did not book that trip to see him, even if I’m dying to meet him. I do not know if we’ll see each other or not; we still don’t have an appointment, but we both know that our hearts will beat stronger in a few hours, in that next nearness. I want to leave everything to the usual destiny. The only thing I’m sure of is that at this moment I laugh out loud about my life and what I can feed inside of me. I laugh at how much we can nourish ourselves with our imagination, with our desires, and how life always manages to surprise us, to surprise me.

It will not be a fairy tale with a happy ending, of course not, but it reminds me how time and its duration can create strange relationships that not even distances can erase. That time that expands and creates pleasure, that creates expectations, dreams, imagination, desire, magic, that accelerates the beats.

Merry Christmas to me. Merry Christmas to you. Good morning, Israel! And who will live will see!

 

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