White, Berlin 29th January 2012
Fuck distance —- be here.
This is something I keep telling myself.
The point is ‘here’ where?
U-bahn and invisible friends – Berlin, January 2012
The trains of the Berlin metro that I take every day to go to work look like old trams. The seats remind me of rickety, uncomfortable couches and are supported by metal bars that are sticky with thousands of fingerprints. The rickety couches face the central aisle and you find yourself sitting across from your fellow travellers, with knees pretty close to one another, and the occasional opportunity to exchange an awkward smile.
A few nights ago, sitting across from me there is a very big young man, with long hair and a blue woollen hat with a pointy tip. Next to him there is an empty space and besides it two more people. I start looking around and I realise he is engaged in a very serious conversation. With the empty space next to him. Ah, an invisible friend, I reckon. I exchange a complicit smile with the guys sitting next to him. The conversation with the invisible friend continues in a very intense fashion, the big young man smiles wholeheartedly: he has a really happy face. All of a sudden he gets up, gets hold with both hands of the horizontal metal bar hanging from the ceiling and starts swinging. Swing, swing. Back and forth, back and forth. With every swing, his bum is dangerously closer to my face. Swing, swing. I wonder what to do. Swing, swing. Getting up and leaving doesn’t seem to be that kind… And then all of a sudden he bursts into a loud fit of laughter, with a gesture of the hand tells the invisible friend that it is time to stand up, be ready and get off at the next stop.
Yesterday morning I am again on the same metro line with the same old trains. I look, mesmerised, at the city running past me outside the window. It is the first time since I arrived that I can see the sky over Berlin. It is a dangerous city: it is slowly charming me despite all my resistance. I am lost in my thoughts when I realise that a lady with white, uncombed hair and a chequered shopping cart is sitting next to me. She sits comfortably, turns the palm of her hand towards the ceiling and starts a delicate conversation with the little invisible creature that is obviously placed on her hand. It is an intimate conversation made of whispers. And it is a short one: her journey is only one stop long.
one of those walks
today is one of those days in which i would like to receive an unexpected phone call by someone inviting me for a long walk by the sea.
one of those walks where you don’t need to talk, where you are almost alone, but you know there is someone walking next to you.
one of those walks where the rhythm of your breath mingles with that of the water
one of those walks where the waves and the wind carry away heavy thoughts and the backwash may bring new possibilities ashore.
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