I am holding in my arms a postcard that Jelena brought me from Hvar this summer. On my desk there is an old metal frame with a picture of my parents and inside of it, I put two postcards. The one from Hvar, Croatia, and the other one is from Mostar, Bosnia and Hercegovina. This summer my dear friend Piermario and his lovely wife Francesca went to Mostar for a wedding of our friend Daniele, I was supposed to go too but my passport was expired, and they were so kind, as usual, to give a contribution to my collection. I really don't know why I put them in that odd place. Probably because I wanted to feel near me my dear friends. Yes, I know. I am too nostalgic. I need to have dear people around but the fact is that all my friends live abroad, far away from me, and sometimes we even don't see each other for more than one year. I must admit that I hate this, but I had to get used to it. There is one Serbian song which goes like this: "Moji su drugovi biseri rasuti po celom svetu. I ja sam selica al' ih ponekad sretnem u letu." It says that "my friends are like perls, spread all around the world. I am also a migratory bird but sometimes I meet them during my flight." Ok, maybe the translation is not that perfect. But important is the sense of this verse, right?
Where were we? Ah, yes, postcards. When I was a kid, my hobby was collecting napkins. The paper one and in different colours and with different designs. I had more than 300 napkins. But, when I moved to Italy, I discovered postcards! Ok, maybe there was this necessity to decorate my room at the catholic dorm which was so depressing, but after some time, I noticed that I really was so thrilled everytime someone decided to surprise me with a postcard. So I said to myself: Why not collecting them? My Italian friends were traveling quite often, and I was all the time asking them to send me or bring one. Ok, maybe that was unpolite, but it was important that my collection grow up.
In 2003, I decided to spend a summer holiday in Serbia. While I was there, one day my dad phoned me. He was very angry. "Who the hell is Piermario?" He asked me shouting. "My friend from university. Why?" I asked. "Why? He must be crazy. He sent you four postcards!" "Oh, really? Great. Dad, you know, I am collecting postcards." I said while laughing. The situation was so funny for me but not for my dad. "Since when you collect postcards? I don't know nothing about it!" "Well, there's been three years almost." I was so happy and at the same time proud of my big collection. That summer Piermario was in an Interail trip and from every place he visited, he sent me a postcard. I believe that for now, he is one of the most significant contributors of my postcard collection and I am so grateful to him. By the way, I would appreciate a postcard from Houston. My adress is still the same.
It's late. Yes, yes. I know, as usual. I'll put Jelena's postcard at its place and I'll go to bed now. and tomorrow... Tomorrow is another day and another story. I already have an idea for it. Actually, it was Piermario's idea. It seems to me that he got too serious the role of participant in my stories. I do not care about it. Memories don't ask about actors but about emotions and emotions would not be the same without my friends. We are all passengers of the same boat, the boat simply called life. And my life has this sense thanks to them.
Good night dear friends, where ever are you now....