annoyinglyromantic

[annoyinglyromantic]

Dopo una stressante e interminabile giornata di lezioni universitarie, ho deciso di fare qualcosa di totalmente irresponsabile, visto che sentivo il malessere permeare il mio corpo. Ma per qualche ragione questo, assieme alla rievocazione di immagini lontane di nuvole e cieli della costa inglese, ha scatenato in me uno slancio vitale che si è tradotto in una lunga passeggiata in mezzo alla natura. Camminare tra gli alberi mi ha rilassata, mi ha riempita di ottimismo (cosa che di rado succede) e ricordato che, per quanto l'aerodinamica e la fisica possano essere complicate, il mondo che descrivono è meraviglioso. E sul far della sera mi sono persa ad ammirare la luce riflessa dalla distesa verde del prato che avevo attraversato prima, tuffandomi in un mare scintillante e dorato.

[annoyinglyromantic]

Sunday’s ennui

Sunday is the day in which you could do everything you want to, but you are forced by some kind of magic to stay home, staring at the ceiling, wondering how you spent the last 5 years of your life

[annoyinglyromantic]

Father’s hands

Mio padre, dopo anni di tentativi nel nascondere la realtà come se fosse polvere da ammucchiare sotto un tappeto, ha finalmente ammesso a se stesso che, sì, è proprio un fotografo. Di quelli che lo fanno più o meno per professione pur tenendo un certo taglio prettamente artistico (E bohémien, oserei dire)

Spesso mi chiede pareri su alcuni suoi scatti: “Che sensazione hai?”. E in genere è difficile rispondergli “felicità. Ma si sa, la gioia è poco artistica.

Mio fratello le ha sempre ritenute, in maniera piuttosto melodrammatica direi, soltanto “foto tristi in bianco e nero”. Effettivamente devo ammettere che la descrizione è calzante; ma lui quando scherza è sempre come una vignetta satirica: ridi, ma solo fino a quando non ti rendi conto che, in fin dei conti, ha ragione. 

Insomma, io non ho preso nulla da lui. A fare foto faccio pena. Non ho proprio occhio, sono di quelle classiche persone che scattano cartoline:

Tanti baci da Palermo!

Ci ho provato. Davvero, ho tentato il tutto per tutto, ma evidentemente è una cosa che non fa per me.

Papà ha provato ad insegnarmi i trucchi del mestiere: esposizione, otturatore e tutte quelle robe che servono a un fotografo per dare rilevanza a qualcosa rispetto ad altro. Quando un bel giorno ho scoperto la Lomografia.

Amore a prima vista. 

Quando dissi a mio padre che avevo intenzione di comprare il kit DIY per la lomo più stupida e plasticosa che l’azienda sia mai riuscita a partorire, lui disse solo “Ah! Interessante!”. Onestamente mi aspettavo una reazione più eclatante, ma tant’è. Mi spiegò che conosceva il brand, ma non ne aveva mai provata una. Lui era molto curioso, io ero quasi elettrica : mi piaceva il fatto di poterla “costruire” da sola; e poi era una macchina a pellicola, e questa cosa mi faceva impazzire: era così vintage che, una volta ultimata, mi resi conto che persino l’odore di plastica di infima scelta mi trasportava negli anni ‘90, quando per le gite scolastiche mio padre mi comprava una piccolissima kodak usa e getta da 36 scatti circa. 

Giusto per rendere l’idea di come era fatta; aveva due tempi di otturazione: uno preimpostato e l’altro “a come preferivi tu”, cioè tenendo premuto il bottone. Aveva una messa a fuoco infima e imprecisa, visto che dovevi tra l’altro guardare uno schermo reflex che faceva tanto hasselblad. 

Le foto? Mosse. Sono venute solo foto mosse. Non ho esattamente la mano ferma.

Ma c’è qualcosa in alcune foto che non mi stanca. E non solo per il fatto che sia stata io a farle. 

Ogni volta che le guardo provo una emozione diversa. Magari perché le ricollego a quell’estate, magari è semplicemente perché mi sono resa conto cosa significhi ogni singola volta che mio papà con le sue manone che odorano sempre di sigaretta, premendo il pulsante di scatto sulla Leica del secolo scorso: Sigilla emozioni. Emozioni che prova nell’istante in cui scatta e nell’istante in cui, dopo lo sviluppo, la guarderà.

Quell’estate rimarrà nel mio cuore e su pellicola, imbevuta di mille esperienze e ricordi. E il tutto grazie a mio papà e ad una macchina di plastica.

[annoyinglyromantic]

Elves’ King

I’ve always thought that something was hiding in the woods. I never really knew what or who, but something was there, and i could feel my heart heavy while watching the trees.

My parents bought this house, not so far from a village. We moved there so that my dad could work in the nearby wood factor. The house was next to a pinewood, which turned after a short climb into a deep dark forest, so forgotten that there was not even a track to follow; the grass was high, and mostly made up by brambles an thorns. It was very difficult to get through it, but I never cared about it though: i’ve always loved walking through the wild nature, so i got used to climb up the pinewood to explore the wild woods.

During my long walks i’ve learned to listen to the sounds of that abandoned land. The cracks of the leaves in autumn was now quite familiar to me, the gentle roaring of the nearby river which divided the woods perfectly in two, the breathe of the wind moving through the foliage: it was all part of my soul.

It was a very interesting and peaceful place, but there was something that couldn’t make me breathe: the moss covered all the trees and it was always cold among them, a cold that infiltrated my body and my bones.

It was October when i eard it for the first time: i was approaching a centenary oak in a little plain, when a whistled note made my heart stop. It was soft, but terribly penetrating the thick air, cracking into the silence and creeping in my mind. That sounf froze my blood. A whistle that wans’t surely animal: i knew every bird species in that zone, and that whistle wasn’t in their cords. I turned quickly, but there was no one, there was nothing. And suddenly came down an absolute silence, i could even hear my heart thumping in my chest frenetically. A part of me wanted to run away. My mind broke in two: while the ranger inside of me wanted to discover the origins of that sound, the survival instinct told me it wasn’t even human.

I was thinking to just look around me, in order to convince myself there was a reason, that the sound was physically explainable, but there was absolutely nothing, not even a cane or a hole in the trunk of the oak. Nothing but trees, moss and ivy. Even the grass seemed cut, which was odd because i knew for sure no one ever cut it in years. In few minutes i lost control of my eyes and turned into a state of dreaming; my muscles were totally frozen, and i found myself staring through the oaks in the distances. Why was I even looking that way, deep down in the woods? But then when i interrupted the look, i saw it, with the tail of the eye: A white figure in the long distance. I think my heart missed a beat.

My survival instinct told me it was time to run, so i turned my foot and a leaf cracked under my shoe making what in that silence seemed a fucking din, so i started running downhill, trying not to look behind me, right towards home. And then i started feeling my breathe becoming restless for the run, and then in the distance i heard my dad honking. And when I finally saw the windows of my house lighten up in the of the plumbeous evening. That’s when i finally looked at my back, just to find out that a thick fog had risen: when did that fog come out? Where did it came out?! It was pale and it glistened in the little light that was penetrating from the clouds. And in few seconds i saw all of them. Like twenty or more human figures where in the same line, few meters above in the climb. I couldn’t see them distinctly, but i heard that sound again. But now it had something different. It was seductive, it was gentle: a meloy which was  inviting me to enter the fog. I felt my chest heavy, and the humidity of that mist making its way through my lungs. I was starting to move into the haze, but then i heard my mom calling me: dinner was ready. So I magically woke up from what seemed a dream. Or better a nightmare, and i jumped through the pinewood, this time not looking back.

That day something changed in me. I couldn’t help but thinking of that odd music: it was in my everyday life, even in my dreams. I wanted to hear it again, no matter what.

So i walked up that hill again many times, and heard it again and again, but for some reasons the fog never came back. I was starting to think that day i had a dream, but it was too real to be just a dream.

After few days i started trying to reproduce that note with my own flute by ear, and when i succeeded I started being obsessed with it. I couldn’t go outside without my flute, I carried it even when i was hanging out with friends. They at first thought I was just acting like a fool, then something changed in their eyes: they started to treat me like i was sick. Mentally sick, so they slowly disappeared from my life.

I couldn’t just stop. That music became part of my life. Sometimes i woke up in the middle of the night staring at the ceiling mumbling that melody, like it was a prayer, an ancient riddle that could bring back weird memories. At some point i was no more able to make a difference between reality and dreams; nothing in my life was worth anymore, just those woods and that melody.

One day i was walking towards home through the pinewood, and i started playing the melody i heard that day, when someone ripped my flute off of my mouth, almost scaring me to death. It was an old man, with a white beard and grey hair. He was looking at me like I was a monster, or a ghost. He was big, like 6 feet tall, and covered in muscles.

“Are you insane, kid? Don’t play this shit here.”

I looked straight into his eyes, and I instantly understood he knew something. That’s when he cracked my plastic flute on his knee and turned away. But i followed him and took his big arm.

“I saw them” i said like in a trance. He glanced at me with his deep brown eyes, he sighed.

After few minutes I was sipping a nice hot cup of tea sit on the soft sofa, while he was trying to get order in the mess that was his living room. It was a cozy house with wooden roof, yellow walls and a lot of wool blankets, but of course it was obvious he lived alone: it was a mess of beer cans, newspaper and clothes all around the house. At the walls were hanging some pictures of his parents and some paintings of landscapes. I remember staring at the tea while that music still echoed in my head.

At some point he sat in the couch in front of me with worried eyes.

“So... you saw them?” he asked gently with his rude voice. Suddenly i felt my heart cold, like i was missing something i really wanted back. My hand ran over my bag to take my flute but i remembered it was broken, so i started rubbing my hands. He got i was thinking about that music so he turned on the radio, and it went away from my head, replaced by a country song that was quite bad. But for some reason it worked. I stopped only thinking about them and their music. But i didn’t know what exactly were “them”

“I-I don’t know” i mumbled.

He clenched his jaw. That country song started to be irritating, damn irritating.

“Have you been by the oak since then?” he asked with trembling voice, and i looked at him shocked. So he really knew something.

I nodded slowly. “I’ve been there, but i never saw them again. Not even a shadow”

“Listen, kiddo, stop walking into the woods alone”

I don’t know why  felt so angry back then: he couldn’t tell me what to do or not. And that fucking melody became creeping into my mind again and i had enough of that country music: i coulndn’t stand it anymore, i wanted to kill him, i wanted that music to stop, so i got up e gave a kick to the stereo and started kicking it until it shut. The adrenaline running through my veins, and i finally i was feeling better. A smile creeped on my lips. Then i turned towards him and saw him looking at me in shock.

“You listened to the music! They want me! They need me!” i screamed, and started to laugh, so hard i couldn’t see him getting up and slapping my face.

I had like a reset. Suddenly i felt like i’ve been sleeping for the last weeks and remembering all that i had done clenched my stomach in fear. I couldn’t remember that music anymore, and what was before a sense of wellness became in that instant an omen of death. I fell on my knees and started to cry, i was almost hyperventilating when he hugged me. And slowly i kept breathing normally again. And when my eyes were clear  i saw them waiting me at the edge of the woods, through the window. I felt my heart frozen again and fear immobilized me. I saw them clearly: they were pale as moon in the foggy day, wearing white dresses. At the centre what seemed a young man was wearing a crown and playing a pan flute. But for some reasons i couldn’t hear the whistle.

The old man turned the head and sighed.

“Are they going to hurt me?” i asked with trembling voice, and then i felt again tears running down my cheeks.

“If you let them, they will”

In minutes he accompanied me home, telling me not to look at the woods in the way. We got there by car, and i forced myself to look at the dashboard, trying to think about good things like going to swim with friends in summer, or whistling some Britney Spears’ songs. God why Britney Spears. But even if i tried to remember that melody, it seemed like i totally forgot it. Everything but that single note, that i promised myself i would not play anymore. Sometimes I found myself looking that old man. He was very kind and gentle, despite his rude look.

“Why did you help me?”

He took a deep breathe and brought his left hand to his head.

“My wife.” he answered and his voice cracked, so i understood question time had ended.

When we arrived home i glanced at the woods up the climb, and i couldn’t see anything odd, so i felt lighter. When i saw mom and dad I hugged them and then i went straight to fireplace in the living room. I heard them talking with the old man in the kitchen, but for some reasons i felt like i’ve never slept in months, so i fell watching the crackling flame.

I never knew what the old man, whose name was Tobias, told my parents, but when I told them i didn’t want to see that woods in my life the just nodded with worried eyes. They sold the house and we moved in the village.

Since then I took again my life, but I never walked into the woods alone again. Sometimes i went visiting Tobias but only with my father.

Tobias was a kind man and gave me a lot of animal wooden statues made by him. Sometimes i still looked out from the window, but never saw them again.

I never wanted to ask him about his wife, so i started a little investigation on my own. I knew the bartender of the only pub in the village knew Tobias very well, so i asked him what happened to him. He tried to evade the question, but i was persisting. He said nothing, just told me to search in the archive a newspaper of the 1st January 1987, so the next morning i took my bicycle and went to the archive of the town hall and asked the newspaper. The blonde old woman glanced at me with an interrogative look, but i pretended nothing. When she came back and i took the journal i almost fell. I reached a near chair and sit like my whole body was made of brass. She was found hung at the oak. The same oak i’ve been visiting so often. I found hard to breathe. And the most creepy thing was that she was dressed like them: a long white dress, and of course her skin was pale. The article was explaining that she had manifestated signs of mental illness during christmas and for the new year’s eve she ran away into the forest. Then i turned the page and i found a little picture taken that day. Her exile figure hanging from the branch, lifeless. And then i noticed it: the figure with the crown was staring from the exact point i was looking the first time i went to the oak. I nearly fell off the chair. With trembling hand i turned the picture and saw, hand written, “The Elves’ king”. I jumped off the chair and headed towards the exit and I realized Tobias was looking me from the entrance.

He brought me to the pub and offered me an hot chocolate.

“She started whistling that song one day, after she went to the oak for a walk. At first I found it tender, but then after few days it became an obsession. I coulnd’t even talk to her. She told me the elves’ king wanted her to be her spouse, that she would be so happy into the woods with him. I told her to not go to the oak again, but she did. I don’t know for how long she kept going , but at some point i knew it was a point of non return. So i tied her to bed, but she managed to flee. And the next day they found her dead”

After a year I moved to college, so i came back few times, but when i had my christmas break, and i was relaxing watching TV i could feel he was more powerful. Like mesmerized i got up and  went to the edge of the woods, near tobias’ house and then i saw him. Waiting for me , trying to whistle his flute. my heart stopped when i saw his pale skin, bue eyes and glimmering crown. He was about to start playing when i pressed play on my shitty country song and walked away. I knew something will always pull me to him, but i won’t fall to the call