The Window

Once I visited a town, a northern town, where old brick houses could tell many horror stories of desperation.

One of them caught my eye. By the window I saw a figure through the white curtains. She was staring out, completely frozen, her gaze fixed on the children playing with a football in the street. I stopped looking for a fragment of a second as the football almost hit me, and when I stared back, the window was empty, just the white curtains retaining the smallest of movement as the figure left.

My job kept me occupied most of the time, but I tried to visit that window a few times a week, then everyday, and as I grew obsessed with the figure I couldn’t help to scape work to visit The Window. I was supposed to stay in that northern city for a couple of weeks, but I kept postponing my return, I just wanted to see the figure, the mysterious woman I saw everyday, always staring out The Window, inexpressive, through the curtains, hoping she would look at me at last.

Finally she looked back. She looked back!!! Her dark eyes focused on me as a smile run through her face, I felt a shiver as she smiled more and more, her pale hand touching the glass of The Window, her gaze upon me kept me frozen at the other side of the street. I even remember hearing an eerie piano music coming out of that brick house before it turned into a whistle, a high pitch that finally made me collapsed.

The next thing I remember is the bright light of what seemed a hospital, and me asking as from the most remote of places where was the woman I saw. “No one has lived there in the last century” I heard. But I knew I saw her, I saw her by The Window.

When in doubt, go to de library

Many people dream about big houses, great cars, awesome dressing rooms… But not me. Ever since I watched Disney’s “Belle and the Beast” my dream has been having a library of my own, a room just for the pleasure of the mind, with a comfy wing chair (upholstered in tweed, of course), maybe an old table and of course endless shelves with so many books I’d need several lives to read them all.

But for now, until my dream can come true (it will), I love to visit libraries, especially old ones just as this one: the Library of Trinity College Dublin.

The streets of Dublin

I came to Dublin a few years ago but it sure feels like decades. Here I’ve experienced love, hate, love again, disgust, happiness, drunkenness, disappointment… I’ve seen and grown and lived in many ways. I’ve not always felt good or in peace with the city, with the crowds, the traffic or the capricious weather, but in the end Dublin and I always came to terms. Every time I felt the urge to leave, I feel the weight of the world over my shoulders, every time I feel I can’t go on, I just walk through Dublin’s streets, sometimes solitary, sometimes full of people, with that magical light that makes me feel finally at ease. 

Molly Malone

In Dublin’s fair city,
Where the girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheeled her wheel-barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!”
“Alive, alive, oh,
Alive, alive, oh,”
Crying “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh”.
She was a fishmonger,
But sure ’twas no wonder,
For so were her father and mother before,
And they wheeled their barrows,
Through the streets broad and narrow,
Crying, “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!”

(chorus)

She died of a fever,
And no one could save her,
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.
But her ghost wheels her barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!”