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Raised on Asterisks

This article is part of the #20Again series: in these texts, I do not intend to advise anyone to travel, nor I want to convince people to stay at home. Simply and generally, I will tell my experiences and share my thoughts, without the presumption of wanting to influence those of other people. I firmly believe that everyone can decide for themselves, through their own evaluation parameters. In addition, during my travels, I always respected all local restrictions and rules, on which I constantly tried to inquire beforehand.

From:
Doris Lessing - The Golden Notebook: Preface
Harper Perennial, HarperCollinsPublishers, 2007, ISBN-13: 9780007247202

“Ideally, what should be said to every child, repeatedly, throughout his or her school life is something like this: 'You are in the process of being indoctrinated. We have not yet evolved a system of education that is not a system of indoctrination. We are sorry, but it is the best we can do. What you are being taught here is an amalgam of current prejudice and the choices of this particular culture. The slightest look at history will show how impermanent these must be. You are being taught by people who have been able to accommodate themselves to a regime of thought laid down by their predecessors. It is a self-perpetuating system. Those of you who are more robust and individual than others will be encouraged to leave and find ways of educating yourself — educating your own judgements. Those that stay must remember, always, and all the time, that they are being moulded and patterned to fit into the narrow and particular needs of this particular society.”

When I started traveling in July 2020, I also did it to see if the various cities of Europe had come back to life after the hard previous months. I was expecting shutters down, a sign of people defeated by the lockdown, who had thrown in the towel. However, I hadn't thought about the fact that a tourist usually rarely leaves the central areas of different places. It seemed to me that these have held up, perhaps making do. But not only...

I arrive early in the morning in Trieste, a city famous for its coffee and the many ways of preparing it. They use different names comparing to the ones a Roman is used to, but in the end we understand each other. It is Saturday morning, a day when many people rest, even those who luckily have kept a job. It's only nine o'clock, if I remember correctly, but I already notice some liveliness. People go out, dive into downtown, start occupying the chairs of the various cafes and have breakfast outside. After a night spent on the bus, we decide to do the same.

There is some slowness in our gestures, there is a palpable cataloging of single moments. After months, my wife and I allow ourselves a slice of normality.

If it weren't for the waiters wearing masks, it would almost seem like nothing happened. The sun rose in the east, like every day. The nearby sea continues to roll over itself. And time passes by looking straight ahead, like a beautiful woman who lets all gazes bounce on her. What year are we in? I have lost awareness of it.

In Ljubljana, same thing. Here on the riverside the minutes heat up, they chime echoing the mugs of beer that rise and then return to tap the tables. It is the sound of summer, it is the common breath of many souls who just want to forget. I will find a very similar atmosphere in Innsbruck, a few days later.

Even Luxembourg, albeit more staid and cautious, with a somewhat gruff and threatening sky, welcomes me in its recreational afternoons. I see men in suits who can finally escape from that damn meeting and join the guys who preceded them in the outdoor bars.

I didn't expect it, but I didn't dislike it.

As if nothing had happened, as if anyone had forgotten. A belief? A play to keep the show going? But in Berlin and Potsdam I then found what I was looking for: those signs that in reality I never wanted to find. The wounds, which the Germans had the courage to show me.

It starts with a cafe. I approach it and read this writing on one of the tables:

“We're OPEN – Again”

Everyone can read it the way they want. There are those who will see an obvious announcement, who will feel in resonance with the manager and the staff who have returned to work. But in that "Again" I perceived above all a stinging note of sadness. I drank my coffee, I don't remember if exactly there. I filled it with sugar, but it still remained bitter. And not because it wasn't a quality one. Then I moved on.

I arrive in Potsdam and I find this other writing: "Support your local coffee roaster." Another appeal, a clear call for help. Maybe it was there before, I'll never know. But I feel the blow, it comes to me. And I'm among the most guilty, having not traveled in a "local" way at all.

But the final blow is this. "We will be back." It's a cinema speaking, while it's still closed. There where messages were presented to arouse interest or to invite to enter and forget about the everyday routine for a few hours... There remained only a necessary statement of hope.

I almost started to cry. Yes, there was empathy, but not only that. I thought back to the past months, to everything that had happened. I don't judge if it was right or wrong, but I can say it sure was shocking.

That child, no, he couldn't understand it.

Teacher: “Guys, today we will talk about the fundamental rights of the human being. That in a democratic country like ours are... These rights are inalienable, which means they can't be taken away... Stray, what is it? Did you raise your hand? Tell me."
Little Stray:"Mrs. Teacher, the book is missing an asterisk!"
Teacher: “Which asterisk, Stray?! What do you mean?"
Little Stray:“The asterisk close to inalienable. They didn't put it there!"
Teacher: “There's no need for an asterisk, precisely because it means irrevocable. There can be no reference, no footnotes, because there is nothing to add."

Thanks for the explanation, Mrs. Teacher. But you were wrong. In 2020 I got it. I hid and searched inside my soul: there, in the forced darkness I found all the forgotten asterisks, hidden under the mattress. I slept on it and grew up on it. Today they all flew away together. If they had told me, if only they had told me...

I've always known that accidents happen. And that nature sometimes plays tricks: I was prepared for that too. But I never thought that other men would have destroyed the idea of the world that they themselves had indoctrinated me with, superficially burying all the asterisks, all the disclaimers to explicit the conditions of inapplicability of what they had promised. A promise that was inevitably broken, perhaps even rightly, but which nevertheless revealed a well-told lie.

In the previous post (linked here) I told about how I felt catapulted into a Japanese anime, where I was watching a group of heroes trying to save everyone, no one excluded. Today I realized that, despite the efforts, they didn't succeed in the undertaking. But it couldn't have been otherwise. Basically we are boats that try to take advantage of the winds, but which cannot withstand the whirlwinds of life that are too impetuous. Whirlwinds aren't good or bad, they're just whirlwinds.

In front of that cinema and all those writings, it seemed clear to me that there are many types of death. Not just the one of the body. There is the death of life projects, expectations, efforts to pursue well-being. There is the rupture of relationships. When the blanket is too short - and in this world it barely covers the private parts - one is always forced to make hard choices, which always leave something dying out.

Whirlwinds aren't good or bad, they're just whirlwinds.

Soon, if there are no further restrictions or cancellations, I will travel again. Some friends consider me courageous, given the persistence of the pandemic in progress. Someone else, more or less covertly, considers me a fool, I know. But I am forced to make a choice too: the sense of security or my inner pushes. I can't save both of them.

And there is also one who asked me explicitly: "Why will you go on a journey?" The answer was simple, almost obvious: "Because I'm not afraid." But I know very well that this question hid a subsequent one, which my interlocutor however held back: "But how can you not be afraid?"

I will not reveal the answer. Anyone who guesses right will conquer my tacit applause.