The open suitcase in the middle of the room, as the infinitely small leads in the eyes of those about to pull a penalty, it reminds me each time that the three months to an end, and that this experience will conclude tomorrow a plane. While makeshift laundry, packed items of all kinds, and I collect things I had forgotten, many other memories crowd in the head, not yet sorted. Occasionally I pass the mirror and I take this opportunity to look at me, and once again confronted with what was on the day of departure, with the result of not riconoscermici and see once more that in these three months I have experienced the most radical change since the time of puberty. In the end I just lived for a summer in a town not too far from home, people with habits more or less similar to our own, working in a study of normal people, and experiencing what many of my peers live for a year. So why are so sure to be changed?
Perhaps because for the first time I could only count on me, I met dozens of people speaking another language and yet are managed to establish ties, to understand their thoughts, to share emotions with them. Maybe because I lived for three months immersed in the diversity of race, religion, thought, way of life, yet I've always appreciated what the result of this mixture was pleasant. Maybe because I saw how you can feel at home in another city, another street in another house and another bed. Maybe because I managed, not without effort, to lose my habits and adapt to those who surrounded me, by the way they dress, what to eat, to their ways of thinking. Perhaps the ease of one accustomed to consider the diversity value is attached to me somehow, and now more than ever I see my changes and my aspect as a pride to show off. Perhaps because I spent so much time with myself and nobody else, and as much time in the middle of a lot of people. Maybe because I studied all my time for the first time in 25 years. Perhaps because I spent wonderful moments with people who have done 1600 km to come and see me. Maybe because I was able to find something enviable in each of the people I met, so now I feel different because I keep to myself something of them all.
Yes, it must be so, they are my changes, I carry them along in memories, and so now are not just Lawrence, are also a bit 'Marcel, Chris, Willemijn, Fleur, Frank, Daniel, Harrie, the waiter at the Bazaar, Peter, Isaac, and Philip, Mirte, Nils, a singer in the Nieuwe Binnenweg and his guitar out of tune, mr. Kampman, Jamie, Lotte, Nikki, the bartender and the Iez turkish kapsalon of the biclettaio who sold me the bike, and the worker who has fitted me when I'm stuck in the rods of the tram, the boys study Mangrove and those of Rotown, the Helena, and all those who came to see me. I'm all that, and if I had time to think about now, we discover that even more.
In case, therefore, together the layer of dirty socks, worn clothes and clothes bought here, settle down tomorrow also a wealth of memories are impossible to erase, ranging from the Albert Hein taste of mango, the smell of the park and that of coffeeshops, since taste of Belgian beer to the sound of the dynamo driving home at night by lamplight Schouwburgsplein of the taste of toast to the study, from the rain the sun at nine o'clock in the morning at nine o'clock on skyscrapers, from music to deafening dell'Herr Zimmermann improbable hair of his patrons, from the piercing that I carry him from one month to the smell of fried fish market on Saturday morning. All of these things, and their kit other memories associated with them, accumulate in my suitcase without taking up space in a huge image that is blurred and indistinguishable in the eyes of anyone, but my parents that instead are perfectly clear. I will take all day to reorder, and perhaps even the will, or risk losing a nemeno.