memories

This afternoon, I saw a bus full of kids on a school trip. Some were singing, others were sleeping, some were reading. Tired but happy. And it made me smile, brought on by a distant memory. It was 1998, the last year of high school, and we were on a school trip to Greece. That April evening, we were in Athens, staying in a huge hotel that also hosted groups from other countries.

In our room, there were four of us – friends, classmates. That evening, the last one, we had planned to meet in our room at midnight, in preparation for the journey the next day. No cell phones, roaming charges were outrageous, and we were used to managing without them. We couldn't leave the hotel, but inside we’d meet other friends and just hang out together.

One of us and I left the room and went towards the room of some other friends. On the way, we bumped into a group of Spanish boys and girls. We’d seen them earlier. They asked us (in Spanish – they didn’t speak English, but Italians and Spaniards can understand each other) if we wanted to join them at a party in their friends' room. We thought for a moment and decided to follow them.

There were about fifteen people. They welcomed us with the typical Spanish warmth – friendly and hospitable. As soon as they found out we were Italian, they immediately asked us to sing Eros Ramazzotti’s songs with them. Then we saw a big pot and they hinted they were making sangria. As soon as it was ready, they offered us some. I’ve never been much of a drinker, so I mostly accepted to not offend them.

We started singing together. They got the Italian lyrics of Eros Ramazzotti wrong, and we messed up the Spanish lyrics of Hijo de la luna, but it didn’t matter: the laughter, the fun, the carefree moments in a shabby Greek hotel room with a group of Spaniards we had just met. Two girls were especially friendly, trying to speak some sort of pseudo-Italian with us. We understood a bit, guessed the rest, and had a good laugh.

We returned to our room at 5 a.m. The girls, by the way, had rooms next door to ours. Our roommates were worried at first, then shocked, when they saw us come back at 5 with these girls, who gave us an innocent kiss goodbye and went to their room. That night, for the first time in my life, I felt free. I had been myself, sharing wonderful moments with people I had just met and would never see again. Out of my world, out of my comfort zone, away from what others expected of me. That night, I understood what I wanted to be, how I wanted to live, what living truly means. I’ll never forget that night for the feelings I experienced, for the first time. That night laid the foundation for who I am today.

We exchanged phone numbers with everyone in the group for a few text messages, promising to keep in touch. A promise we all knew we wouldn’t keep, except maybe a few days after returning home just to say we made it back.

#Memories