Is this making sense? I don't remember this picture. The last hill before Vama Veche, just when the sun is setting, when you feel that beneath it there's nothing left and all that remains is flying…
What am I doing here? Why do I feel like the stripes on the asphalt just keep getting away from me, instead of coming closer? How familiar is the scenery! Familiar for me and probably for us all. You come down the hill, you make it to the left and pass by the first pub - the pub in front of which last summer a longhaired painter drew you portrait in charcoal - and then head to the beach.
Before stepping on the sand, the last place you notice is "Bibi", but you leave it behind and stop, because it is March and you have not seen the sea for … well, an eternity!
If the weather were just a little bit hotter, you would do what you normally do when you arrive in Vama Veche that is you would get undressed and you would take your first dip into the sea. However, it is not, and so you add an extra sweater and head to the shore. You lay down on your belly, facing the sea, and you dip your hands in the first wave that is coming and then you wash you face.
How long has it been and still it seems like you were here yesterday. There were so many sand storms here on the beach!
Two people are on your left; on your right are two buildings. You feel like screaming: on my left are two people, on my right, just two buildings! That is it! Where are the tents? Where are the cigarettes? Where are the boats and windsurfs? Where are the girls? Where are the boys? There is no one here but you. Even those two on your left are missing and the sun is setting above the road upon which you came. This alley is so familiar to many people, from here you can buy bracelets and rings and earrings from Alinutza… The alley…
You forgot to turn off the music and there is Tanita playing… The CD is playing it all over again and you think about a change. A Twist in your goddamn sobriety. However, it does not seem to have that much importance.
In a space of a few minutes, all that remains from you is this cigarette bud and the distance between you and the other end of the sea, the one you are still searching.
You can shut your eyes and hear the noise coming from the tents behind you. You almost feel like turning back.
Here's your tallest shadow, so tall it almost reaches that ship on the horizon, where soon they are going to turn up the lights.
This cigarette is making you feel strange. In fact, this was the idea, to make you feel something! Now you can hear all the waves or better said: every wave. They are all yours; the beach is yours and the sea also.
And since this summer is your universe, you could decide that the universe is now yours.
And it is. Maybe a bit too big, for how small you are now, for how hard you have shut down inside, but that's life!
With whom could you share it? Not even the seagulls are here now, not even the ants. There was though a second car on the beach, when you arrived. Only one. And the fact that you knew and have not seen them in ages tells so much about you. The only people who came to Vama Veche were your friends. But they left, you're here on your own, and that tells even more about you. You came to spend the night. I made up my mind.
When the wind blows and raises the wet sand, you remember that stormy day.
You remember of a day when you had to stay on the beach and keep the tent on the ground, because otherwise it could have been blown away by the wind.
It was such morning full of sun and wind and water drops were flying towards you from within the waves. You always stood too close to the water. You always stood to far from the water.
How many of your thoughts are relevant for somebody else? How many? Two? Three? Ten? Out of how many?
It is just as if you'd try counting the grains of sand or the waves…
Here is what we are going to do. You go to sleep now and tomorrow, with no trace of sun left, you will try to hate Vama Veche.