iulia nonu came, and there wasn’t much to do, so we hung out on the steps leading to the roof. tudor had gone, gabi had pretty much gone, deedee was working, no one knew who was going to be around much. iulia had a white sweater that i loved, one of those high necks. soft. clean.
before it started raining and i locked myself in for days, eating and reading bernard mclaverty, the grapes on the vine in the britania house were still there and ripe as i waited in the corridor some evenings, thinking that i was just doing something nice, something out of the usual.
i had my hair long and i was writing long emails. some days the only reason i had to get out of the house was to enter a net cafe and read julian barnes interviews. that semester i went to church every sunday morning, and bought bunches of chrysanthemums from the market lest i go crazy. i was still trying to get things right on my own.
mid-october, there was „A.I.”, and i saw a projected world of 50 years from now that still had the twin towers in it. the audience at ‘arta’ aaaahh-ed, it was so sad to witness this perfect lack of foresight, this confidence in emblems and in how things ought to be.
just because today is today: if i could turn back to a point in time and choose a different adventure, i’d take that autumn 2001. they say all the cells in one’s body renew over 7 years – i feel like there’s just this little time left, and then nothing in me will be the girl who ran gasping that night from ‘arta’, to complain to a friend about how unfair the world is; actually expecting instant relief.
i want time back, expectations in people, distinctions unblurred, thrills for the future. maybe i also want to not be able to predict where my next 7 years will take me.