The harbor of Ispra

On Saturday, I went to the harbor of the town, a rather peaceful place where only two boats pass each day, one in the morning and another returning at night. The rest of the time, you only see some ducks and swans fighting or looking for food.

I was waiting for my friend Francisco to go to dinner. It was already about ten minutes late, and for some reason, as I killed time, I thought about what my mother used to say: "My little one, in life, you always have to move forward." Watching the delicate waves hitting the rocks, I burst into laughter because I deduced that if I followed her advice at that moment, I would fall, drown, and die.

It's very strange to always go forward on a planet shaped like a ball. If a person goes forward and, let's say, goes far in life, they've actually just returned to the same point where they started. Of course, older, tired, and with a few anecdotes under their belt.

I prefer the idea of not going anywhere because it's impossible; we're always moving from here to there. Moreover, if we are strict with language, "nowhere" is a magical place that does not exist, a place you can never go to.

After about twenty minutes, Francisco finally appeared. I was expecting him to tell me some excuse for his delay, but he greeted me as if nothing had happened, "Hello, how's it going?" I still smile at my unconscious response, "How's it going where?"