To my French FRIENDS.

You know, all these stupid sentences you see posted on facebook, or written in walls all around the world, or spoken like they are the holy truth. You know, those sentence which talk about the real meaning of life, or the real friends, or like the aim of life, or whatever. They are all bullshit, sometimes.
But sometimes, like today, like last Thursday, they mean something. And I am thinking of one sentence in particular: “The important thing is not the ending of the race itself but what you felt while you were running”. Well, that’s it.

And while I was running I felt so good, incredibly good. I was relieved, happy-go-lucky, careless and simply HAPPY. I tasted every single moments, every conversation, every gaze, every word, every not-spoken word, every note on that guitar, every sound,! I really tried to enjoy everything, and I succeeded. I knew it won’t have last forever, and here I am, crying for all this coming to an end. I already experienced that, and I promised to myself not to make new friend, I mean, new REAL friends, in a foreign country, because I knew how I hard it would have been to tear apart.
But then, you know what?
You cannot help it.
You cannot prevent yourself from having fun, from laughing, from crying, from LIVING. And I made new friends, in nearly a month. And I think I found people I cannot have at home. It is strange to explain, and to understand, I know. But believe me, the way I talked with these people is no way close to the way I usually talk to my friends. It’s like it’s a new me, a new person speaking, a person who has no fear of judgments, no fear of hugs, no fear of smile. A completely new person.

Sometimes I think we are the people we meet. I changed, since I am here in Cork. I changed a lot. And I think it’s not all thanks to me, but thanks to the people I met. Every one gave me something, and helped me to change a little, even if they are not aware of that. I feel it, I am really changed. And that’s why it’s so fucking difficult. It’s difficult to say goodbye, to say “maybe we will see in France”, because you know, you are certain that not only a new friend, a new person you cannot replace, a new trusted friend is leaving, but also a new part of you is going to France, is leaving with them.

I left so many parts of me behind, that I don’t know anymore where they are. I should start a trip. I should go back and collect them. But then I sit down, I breathe, I wipe my tears and I think.
It’s not the end of the race that matters, it’s not your heart aching that matters, nor your tears streaming down your face.

It’s the feeling you felt during the race. They were real, they were authentic, they were felt. And you have to be proud of yourself, of your achievements, of the people you’ve met.
Because you are lucky you’ve met such great people, they were there, they were there for you, to drink with you, to laugh with you, to learn Italian, to help you with French, to sing “Ça Ira”, to laugh (a lot, again), to play alcoholic cards games (in which I was always drinking), to go to Blarney Castle and enjoy the view, to try to kiss the Blarney Stone, to listen to Coldplay, to try to teach you something about computers, to have dinners together, to enjoy your cakes, to talk, to talk a lot..about everything. To hug, to hug a lot. They were there for you and with you.

You have to remember those moments, to feel these moments. And all the pain, all the sadness will go away.

You are lucky, you have lived. How many others can say the same thing?

I love you, my little French friends. And you’ve stolen a little part of my heart, that’s why you’ll be always with me.

I love you, B, because you’re shy, but your smile is open-hearted. And because we can talk hours, and hours, and hours and not even noticing the time passing by.

I love you, T, because you may not talk that much, but your guitar does it for you. Keep on playing, let your guitar speak for you and express your feeling. Keep on smiling and laughing.

I love you, B, because I can’t understand when you’re joking and when you’re not, and I really like it. You’re never banal, and you’re such an humble person, even if you can boast of your (amazing) life, you’re still modest.

Gros bisous, mes amis

Laurá (with French accent)