“I’m thanking my pain, and my loneliness; thanks to that, I always found a way to go on. In Germany, I found myself without a penny. I didn’t have any money, even to buy bread. I had to sleep at the railway station in Koln, together with beggars, in winter, covering myself within an empty trash sack I found on my way. There, I learned.”
“And weren’t you scared, daddy? I tell you – amidst the beggars, in a railway station, at cold. What did you do? Tell me, because I can’t see you in such a situation.”
“I learned price of living. I learned to look at the world from a single point of view – all men, being all the same. I learned that even the stronger man can fall down. And now I can tell you: I’m proud of it.”
“Proud about what? About risking your life?”
“Yes. Even if it sounds weird. I am proud of it, because I saw myself being such low – at the peak of my dreams. If all of that wouldn’t have been happening, now I wouldn’t be the man you adore, wouldn’t be able to love your mother that much. Wouldn’t be able to build a family for you, our family. I wouldn’t have been able to understand how much had to be changed, in me. I learned to look deep into people’s eyes, to dig out. I learned what being humble means. And this, Checa, is priceless.”
This is not written by me, but by Francesca (translation is mine). Francesca is a young writer (I think she wouldn’t call herself a ‘writer’ … but I have the strong feeling that someone who writes, is a … writer. Then I forget I do not call myself a ‘writer’ too). At first glance I didn’t consider her writings in the proper way and I went fast over it; this confirmed me how wrong is to look at things without paying the attention they deserve. When we meet I felt great strenght in her; I went over everything again, from the right angle, giving it time – and well, I think she has a lot to give. She’s a good writer. I’m telling her to continue; every day.