“Thirty – the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning briefcase of enthusiasm, thinning hair. But there was Jordan beside me, who, unlike Daisy, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age.” – The great Gatsby


Thirty. A turning point, of course it is, but it went just like every other days, full of trivial things. Used to write “loneliness ? how many miles that I’ve walked past its meaning ?”. It seems that many miles past, there is peace. Begin to find it, in simple things, in complex things. In a hot tea cup in the mornings, in watching a chess tournament, or in the homelessness feelings about staying in this country, a bad thing could not be avoided. I belong here. 

Thirty. Have I defeated the demons of the past ? Oh yes. Not absolutely, came out with a lot of wounds, but yes. Proudly says : worth it, worth everything. Not one to share this glorious joy inside me.. it’s fine. It appears to them the opposite, so what ? Men can’t have everything.

Thirty. My old classmate also turned thirty few weeks ago. Then he chose to leave his road. An unfortunate thing. I’m sad and strangely not very sad cause seeing the lives of many “past 30” peoples, I hardly think that’s “live”. He doesn’t miss much. A man does things he needs to do to become a man he needs to become. Pain is as neccessary as happiness, or even more so. Life is sad.

Thirty. The light needed for a novel worth written hasn’t come yet. Maybe peace is also enough. Rabbit lives on and so does Zavalita, without hope. Yes, maybe Sartre is right – “life is not worth living”. Nevertheless, since we already are in it, lets do the best we can. My soul intact, M. beside me. I’m lonely. And free. It seems that I could welcome this age with a faint smile.


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