I woke up because the phone had been flashing for an hour, and I was curious to know what it wanted. It was the “BBC” news, illuminating my room, as it does every morning, and that I systematically forget to turn off the night before going to sleep.

I read the news, nothing extraordinary. I opened my online bank account and made some payments before forgetting about it.

The documentary from last night is still on my mind; I must say it wasn’t the documentary itself that struck me, but the guitar used for the soundtrack. I still haven’t figured out what it was, but it was a guitar with an almost sickly sound, reminiscent of certain languid tones of Robert Fripp, but it wasn’t him. No, it wasn’t.

I’ll probably do further online research today to find out what I’ve missed musically in the last few months, overwhelmed by an unpleasant job to which I’ve nonetheless devoted my commitment, as always.

Who knows how today will go; yesterday I met a girl at the bar who was passionately reading a book, talking about injustices and feminist struggles. She must have been 18, maybe 19 at most, and I don’t know why I smiled at her, and she did the same.

Perhaps she understood that I was proud to see such a young and pretty girl interested in significant things and not just in how to dress or put on makeup in the morning or where to spend Friday evenings. A girl who didn’t waste time just chatting on Instagram or Facebook. And that’s why I was happy to have witnessed this scene in front of me. It was a breath of fresh air in a city that only has a chilly morning for freshness, but only because it’s January, nothing else.

Maybe I was more interested in these things once, in social and political issues. Then I wondered what really mattered to me or if others truly needed my interest, and in the end, I answered myself that the combination of various elements and events advised me to take care of myself first. So, I follow politics, for example, but I’m no longer as active as I used to be.

My dear ones, take photos, listen to music, make new acquaintances, go to dinners where you meet new people, exchange opinions, experiences, meet people from various parts of the world. Very rich or very poor people, people in general… people, breaths, glances, different accents, multiple religions, marvel at seeing certainties or beliefs crumble. All personal things, direct experiences that I found more exciting and more political than the time when I was in politics and engaged in social issues.

I should have noticed it earlier when I had more time.

I love reading, listening to music, and even writing, even if poorly, even if not correctly, and I do it in two languages, trying to write in both Italian and English: madness.

But I like to express myself, open up, and, I’ve always told myself, one doesn’t have to be a virtuoso of the instrument to make good records. So I hope my writing isn’t bad in the end. My dream is to write a book one day when I stop worrying about how to pay the bills every month or hurting myself by doing useless and harmful jobs for my morale. Perhaps one of the three books I started but never brought to print will see the light.

For a long time, I enjoyed walking in the city, in my former neighborhood, and seeing men and women walking side by side in harmony. I wanted to see this harmony forever, and I hope no one ever reaches the point of destroying this great thing that is living together.

And then I liked coming home tired, sitting on the subway or bus, and seeing other men and women sitting in harmony, next to each other, so different but so united.

I continue to see movies or read stories where this harmony has been interrupted, and when that happens, pain takes over, and life is no longer as bright as it should be. Is it possible that only I and a few others feel this? Today I walk and see separation between the streets of my new neighborhood, fewer differences than the one I used to cross in the past but more separation. Some here, others there. Zero contact.

There’s a beautiful English word, “rekindle,” which means “revive,” “regain momentum,” “revitalize.” It’s a lovely word in Italian too, with positive meanings that give hope and open horizons. Again, in English, it also has a sweet, almost musical sound, indeed, definitely “musical.” Perfect for the beginning of a new love story. This word is used when resuming a relationship, for example.

I’ve had this word in my head for days, ever since I heard it sung in a song, and since that day, I’ve had this post in my head.

And it’s right at this point that my post for today ends… probably without a real meaning, generally without a fact related to a murder, a robbery, a car accident, a rant that will have little follow-up and interest. But I felt the need, and as it began, the time has come to put a period at the end and butter the bread before putting orange marmalade on it, hoping that today will be different, that today will be better. I still have that word playing in my head, and I don’t want to let it go: Rekindle.