Look. I was just thinking… How will be my life in a year? I may have already passed in some wicked vestibular, I may have a damned boyfriend, I may have so many things… And meanwhile, I’ve planned a whole life to be lived far away from here. It’s strange, you know. Tonight I was just looking at the street in front of my house and remembering of when I was six, seven… Was I happy, then? I don’t know, but I wish I knew, because at least I would have a note about something that IS able to make me happy. I remember when we were just playing out there, doing nothing special, but it was just this nothing special that I heard one philosopher talking about once, at TV. Kids develop themselves, it seems, at these nothing-doing times, according to her. Well, I don’t know if I had any good development at that age, but all I wanted was there. I almost can’t remember how it feels to have such a small world, a child’s world. All you care about is going out to play with your friends. It doesn’t matter if they will be by your side when you’ll need them, you don’t care if you like the same boy as your little friend does, all you care about is to have fun at that singular moment. Why does it sound so wrong to me now? Now I’m used to worry about big things – about wars, about men and their universal questions, and about Amazon and how people want to destroy it – and I also think now everything else is unimportant. Even I am unimportant, if you look at it with a general point of view. That’s when I wonder: to be dumb is to be happier? IS ignorance a good way to get happy, to have no worries? I am no longer a kid – I wish I were, however -, and I’m trying hard to remember exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to be seventeen, when I said I wanted to be an adult.
At that very moment, all I wanted was to play, and that’s my only wish for tonight, either. Although there was no child to play with me this time, I wanted. Perhaps there’s really something about kids and happiness, as so many say.