Seven months ago, Fernando and i exchanged a couple of text-messages in which he announced me that he was planning to visit Paris some day this year. A wonderful occasion, we thought, for a real coffee really shared, really really enjoyed together. At that point i started thinking that it would also be the perfect occasion for us to reopen the gates of The Bridge. But the weeks came and went and the more i would think of it, the more obvious it would appear to me that doing so would be a very odd thing, not altogether comfortable. Surfing on a wave of enthusiasm and nostalgia, a bright Ephemera, bound to fail just like good old bonfires are known to be of very little endurance. And i didn't want that.
I didn't want to come back here just because The Bridge would have, for a very short and happy moment, become tangible. There are different levels of reality. This very example of Virtual life is one of them, as paradoxical as it may sound. And to be certain that this would have a chance to last, it would have to be the result of a stronger desire than the mere nostalgic wish to dig out the 'good old times'.
Many things remain unmoved, unchanged from what we we'll call 'back then', and many others changed (i.e: i now am an old hag of almost 3o :) ). I still am running after a great job and money, i have even less free time than i used to, but i am perhaps a bit more reliable when it comes to 'holding bonds'. A bit braver, a bit less ostrich-like. It is a quite recent discovery that i made about myself. And there would be no point to be bragging about that without putting it to he test. Give some long craved for evidence, at last, that i do not forget about my friends, no matter how far they are, or how 'virtual'.
Life does not provide as much freedom as it should to do everything that ought to be done. Days are short, rents are tightly packed around the edges of busy months, seasons melt in the depths of a narrow jug more commonly known as 'Year', filled with joys and decay, traps and fast lanes, burn-outs and procrastination.
So... what then?
Give the place new rules?
Take Fernando on a private conversation and decide together what would be the best recipe to put the place back on its limbs?
Maybe we should yes. But maybe we should just think about the fact that the best way to never break rules, to never miss appointments, to never disappoint expectations, is to never set any?
No plans, no backstage work, nothing but feel-like-it-ishness.
I'll leave it to Fernando's discretion.
But i'd be happy to feel legitimate about coming back here, from time to time, and hear the echo of my french accent come back like a boomerang from a smoking coffee mug emblazoned NYC.
love from Paris,