In women's day

Nine years have passed by. On the 7th of March 2003 I finally defended my BSc project, after two years and a half of nonsense and oddities. It was not a wasted period, but an evil one. The battle was hardly fought but lost -and still needs to be won! Nine years already. I have fragmented impressions from that day in particular, scattered impressions and memories. The circumstances have twisted since then, or deformed or stretched quite a lot but, basically, I have not moved myself: am still right here. I am better in some terms, worse in others, but essentially the same. The wind sounds alike to my ears. On that day, someone gave me a CD with Ismael Lo's songs as a present. Written on the top of the CD was this message: "7th of March of 2003: today, you got your degree; on the 7th of March of 1988, I got my PhD. The 7th of March, the eve of Women's Day. Congratulations!".

Using a Johnny Depp expression -Ricky Gervais told about to the magazine of The Guardian after the Globe awards 2011-, 'I give not a jot' about the premises of Women's Day, not now, not then, nine years ago. This has not changed. Almost everything else, however, mainly the people, most horrible, is gone; and, certainly, I do care about. Mainly, it is a feeling of nostalgia and the uneasy sense of having been ungrateful... Somehow. What has M. been up to since then? It was 2006 last time we spoke... Why, how we stopped I don't recall... . What about the road L. or R. or C. or -I don't even remember the names!- have rolled through once we separated, yesterday that close? Perhaps, the memories are not fair but distorted, perhaps... Oh! Those times before I had to glue the pieces of my heart, every night, the heart C. broke apart. Where is the dust of V.'s tail after that stupid conversation on the phone that set us a thousand ages away? Or where are the eyes of L., each of one different color, looking at now? Is E., the girl I treated that bad, happy these days?... I can think, however, of two good friends next to me today. Two. Time brings the tidal waves of life, come and go, I guess. Come and go, soaking the shore and lapping away. Once, twice, ever. And the question that comes back and forth along with the tidals of time is 'who I am?'.

Let us remember.

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