STORY OF A TRIP

I was wondering “I, for example, why did I want to become a writer?
Indeed, for what reason the writer himself? "
I looked for the deep memory that was to be connected to this choice, one of those that embodies the moment of the "crossroads". I remembered my high school literature teacher who said he had to leave a mark or, perhaps, I made up this memory; probably, I was just someone who, like all the deluded kids of my TV generation, had found a job with which to become famous.
At the time, for TV, they were the footballer, the showgirl, the singer, the actor, the actress, the presenter, which was a bit of a sociological thing, indeed, precisely, it was often a real "sociological consequence", such as for those of the generation before ours, that of our parents who, after Apollo 11, all wanted to be an astronaut and the girls, on the other hand, all wanted to become dancers, probably because they saw the first true female freedom on one black and white screen.
Plastic dreams that smell like food until you start biting into them.
Generations and generations of astronauts and dancers, of footballers, of actresses and actors, of volleyball players thanks to Mila and Shiro, of dreams that have often been broken and that have not been realized.
Now there is another screen, full of colors, to always carry with you: now there is the internet, the phenomena of the web, the InstaStars, the TwitterStars, the fashion bloggers, the influencers and us who often do not we don't even have an influence on our life.
I wondered what this dream pursued over time of wanting to be a writer was, I wondered what it had brought in my pocket to follow it until then.
That day I had practically reached the breaking point of my life where it is as if I woke up to look underneath my dream in the drawer and saw that it said IKEA. 
The stimuli to write my first real book, in fact, had been lost, faded over time and, frankly speaking, after this dismissal at the hotel I was no longer even convinced if I had really been cut out to be a writer.
I had written the book “17 years, in the summer” which had sold a good number of copies, it sells some now and then even now. I had published it at 19 only because a publisher had smelled the scent of easy money for the "kids" target, but I am still ashamed of most of the text, since then I have only published articles in music magazines and my very first book , the one heard, the one on which you spit blood and sweat I had not yet written.
That book published as a teenager, on the other hand, was about revenge, drugs, alcohol, identity research at the end of school, but it was only a summer love story with the usual late-adolescent problems; reading it now would perhaps even be a bit ridiculous, perhaps even 12-year-olds wouldn't read it now. Many of those teenage problems, socially speaking, are over now, or at least they want to believe they are, because perhaps it is most of adolescence now that seems over. Now, adolescence seems more like a very early adulthood, there is a too strong gap between childhood and adulthood, or at least much faster, some things, some actions, even some mistakes must be made in the "wrong age" "Right; this was the basis of the book with which I raised some money to round up: "If you smoke a joint at 10 instead of 15, if you already fuck at 12 instead of a few years later, if you don't enjoy some things before you know how to enjoy others, then you skip the steps too much, my friend. "
There was such bullshit about this book published at just nineteen.
It is true that I still think so briefly, but with the maturity and non-pride of thirty, at this moment, I know that I am nobody to tell you how you should live your adolescence or your life, therefore of that book, the I repeat, I am ashamed, even if they are right things they do not reflect respect for others and this is worth much more. However, if a story is written in a certain way, even at seventeen and published at nineteen, it can be enjoyable for those who are going through those problems and emotions and also for those who want to remember them.
However, without the purity of time in recounting the events of the protagonists, that book would certainly not have sold more than copies equal to the number of my aunts who, even if buying it, would still have complained about the fact that I had not given it to them at Christmas.
Maybe it's that I was no longer hungry to write, maybe I worked too many years in that hotel among the rich, maybe I bought too many useless things, maybe I should find a good girl by my side and stop being infatuated with those a little more crazy, but I don't even want one that, as they say, “Where do you leave it”.
Leaving the hotel behind me, I said to myself: “Maybe I should send everything to that country and take a trip. Yes, a trip.

COMING HOME FROM HOLIDAYS

I love coming home after the holidays. Because at home, I will be able to sleep peacefully without neighbors who shout late on their balcony. In my house I can swim without sharing the pool with other people. But above all I will be able to see my treasures, my loves, my wonderful puppies: Valkirya and Spritz. I love coming home from vacation because my home is the most comfortable place for me, the place where I have all my things in their place, and I always find them.
And here we are back home. We look around and see books, exams, school, work, which have been waiting for us all summer long. We went to the beach, we laughed, we ran, we practiced sports that we will never do again, we made new friends, found old ones, found new loves, we had so much fun, so much to forget, we sometimes drank too much, sometimes too little, we slept, we saw the sun rise and we saw the stars fall, we saw village festivals, heard religious choirs and stadium choirs, we listened to music too loud. We made promises we didn’t keep, we went out of windows and balconies because the doors were too loud, we sang and danced. We brought out the best in us !!! But, after having lived all this, with what desire do you sit back in a chair, grab a pen again or put on your tie again? The smile is always on the lips and if the memory is so funny it also happens that you escape a laugh, the distraction is at least in my case it is always lurking. Yet I can not hate the book in front of me and which in theory is separating me from the last days of summer. Oh no, because even if for now this seems a difficult task to face I understand, or rather I force myself to believe that all these efforts will lead to something one day. And then you know, without the bitter, my friend, the sweet is not so sweet.
Every trip is an experience and no experience is ever useless, everything serves to teach you something if you have the patience and the ability to receive the message. Goodbye, sea, until I know how to better appreciate what you have to offer, see you the day when I will be able to enjoy your beauty without looking for it elsewhere and your rhythms without suffering its slowness. The holidays officially end today for me. Ok, I’m lucky that I’ve had several days at home, of course, but tomorrow we go back and say that I don’t have half of starting over even comes close to describing the little desire I have to resume. But you have to. In spite of some colleague objectively, humanly and professionally useless, of the various problems and of everything that concerns working, I am well aware of my luck. Except that experiencing my ideal life, that is the perfect tourist, for two weeks has a negative side: that I get used to it. Netflix, cats, reading, time to do whatever I can think of … in short, the perfect life that I would give myself if I could not have to work. But I’m not rich enough, so we’re always there, back to square one. Tomorrow we start again. Once I got angry and struggled like a fish already caught on a hook that tries anyway and pathetically to free itself. It’s different now. Now I am resigned. The life I want, I can’t have it. Like almost everyone in the world, so shut up.
Two weeks went by like hours, but it took me a lot, it took a lot. I took my mind off everything as it hadn’t happened for some time, I focused on us, on our little holiday, on the holidays and on the family. And I understood many things, I think we have grown on all fronts, first of all the importance of having you by my side and the desire for a life together with you. Because it is true that after all this time a sentence like this seems almost banal, but you are a little bit my compass, you are my point of reference for everything. And no, maybe we won’t be perfect, (I have the big nose, you have the hips, because that’s what really matters!), But I love a little more even in the same since you are here. You made me discover a new world, you made me a child again and at the same time we are growing up together. And beyond everything, my life is perfect, complete since you are here.

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