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To meet R. you must also meet the mountains. And the bus helps you up to a certain point. That is, it leaves you on the main street, next to the beautiful panorama below. The thick vegetation, the thermal waters, everything that Taiwan does not lack. And the mountains, needless to say. But then you have to take a secondary road and walk uphill, if you don't have a car. There are stairs if you want to shorten a bit: you can cut a couple of small hairpin turns. But you risk increasing sweat and fatigue. And I'm not sure I want to present myself that way in front of R. However, after a half-hour by bus and about fifteen minutes of walking, I arrive where I can find him. Downstairs I wave to the lady, quite surprised to see a westerner there. I tell her I don't need her help because I know the way. And finally I find myself in front of R.

"Hi!" I tell him.

And then I stop for a few moments, there with him. In silence. Maybe for a couple of minutes, maybe just one. Then I leave. In silence.

Like that, every time.

After all, this is how cemeteries work, right?

R. has found a nice place to let his ashes rest. Not that he had planned it. And he hadn't even planned to die in his thirties, I suppose.

But this article basically does not even talk about R., but about the connection that I had with him. Which was great: never a fight, never a misunderstanding. Well, we didn't have time to have it, since he passed away less than six months after I met him. How many times had I met him in person? Only one. But we continually planned to do it in the future.

And all this is important, extremely important. I had time to know only its qualities. R. probably had many flaws too, but I have never found them out. On the contrary, I can say that he was a very patient person: for example, he used to tolerate talking to me in Chinese, although the conversation would have been much smoother if we had used Italian.

Maybe because he was more Italian than I can define myself. And I think he also wanted to officially become one, sooner or later.

It's in Italy that I met him. I had a friend in common with him: this person has been fundamental for me. She allowed me to meet him, first of all. Then she did even more. In summary, that's how it went.

One evening this girl, also from Taiwan, was in Rome with her acquaintances. R., his friend from university days, was also there. This girl is quite introvert, she doesn't look for me every time she gets to Rome. But that evening she wanted to introduce me to R., because she knew that we would have got along well. My wife had another appointment and therefore she couldn't have the opportunity to meet him. She would have liked R. and she was very curious to meet him. So, we all found ourselves in a simple pizzeria, an Italian and four Taiwanese. All of them were able to speak basic Italian or English, but I had to manage all the conversations with my barely decent Chinese. Fortunately, R. was there to help me whenever my tongue jammed. Whenever I didn't understand, he provided help with his outstanding Italian. I happened to be in the same position, reader. I have to say that an entire evening as a translator is quite exhausting, especially if it is during an occasion of leisure. In his case, it didn't seem so, though. In fact, he seemed to do everything he could to make me feel at ease, almost pleased with the effort I was putting into expressing myself in a very difficult language.

After dinner, I accompanied him and the girls to the bus stop they were supposed to go. I exchanged contacts with R. and we said that we would meet again soon. It never happened, despite the fact that he lived in Italy at the time. But we chatted very often. I later discovered many curious things about him: he was an Italian coffee expert, for example. He also had some kind of official certificate. He collaborated with an important Taiwanese company, even if he was in Italy: a part-time commitment to help to support himself, since he was in Italy to master his studies. He also had a girlfriend, who however had remained in Taiwan.

And suddenly one day R. informed me that he would return to his country. But not like someone who leaves with his tail between his legs: he had received an interesting job offer and accepted it. So, our promises to meet had moved thousands of kilometers away, but that hadn't bothered me much, because at least in Taiwan we would have been in the same city, that is Taipei.

He had started working and our times had become a little misaligned due to the time zone. Nonetheless, perhaps a little less, we continued to chat, to update each other on our lives.

Then one day I was in Malta. I love Malta, but every time I think of its sea, of the ferry that connects Sliema to Valletta, he comes to mind. And the message that I received. Not by him, by that mutual friend. Without her, I wouldn't know anything today, I would think that R. simply stopped contacting me because he got tired of talking to a boring person like me. And I would not have known how else I could reach him, if not by phone, email or chat.

But our mutual friend existed and while I'm on the ferry she writes to me. She communicates it to me in a difficult Chinese, which I struggle to decode. I read. Two, three times, and I think I misunderstood. Then I give up and ask my wife for confirmation, hoping she would tell me: "Your Chinese still sucks, you don't understand anything." But I got it instead, unfortunately. There's me on the ferry, R. died two days ago, no matter how. R. died on my birthday. I don't think he knew, but so I had confirmation that he had certainly not forgotten about it. R., Malta and my birthday: these three elements are now inseparable for me.

In Malta it is drizzling, I'm not imagining it. But inside me, it's a deluge. The ferry docks. Somehow I recover and start visiting the city. Thought, however, takes a completely different direction and attempts refuge in selfishness. It finds it. I take my smartphone and check the chat history. I already know what I would read, but I compulsively do it to be even more confident. I had spoken to him the last time, perhaps a week, ten days before. R. was delighted, because he was satisfied with the result of an election that he cared a lot about. "I'm going to celebrate with friends." he told me.

And I couldn't have wished for better. The last sentence, the last message of a happy person, who tells you he's going out, confident that he would do it again in the future. I will never know if he really celebrated that evening, but I want to believe that he did it, that he envisioned a great future for himself, for those around him, perhaps as an acquired Italian. That in his mind he imagined a thousand times the big meal that we promised ourselves in Taipei. This is what my selfishness dictates to me, this is how a loss should be: sudden, immaculate, with nothing pending, if not the expectation of good future moments.

I raise my head, the wonderful Malta awaits me. It has even stopped raining now. And the mountain north of Taiwan, all moistened and caressed by the spring wind, is greener than ever.