My grandmother had a music box.
was a subject altogether trivial, whose shape looked like maybe a cart or a simple box, the metal was gold and had a lever to load by hand .
The carillon was playing the saddest music I've ever heard. hypnotize you, but heartbreaking. a child every time he could evade the surveillance of adults in the room escaped grandparents and I used to listen to the music box.
I remember my aunt hated him, the sound that was deeply resented, and had repeatedly tried to get rid of it. I do not know why, maybe that was related to chime images or feelings that she did not like to remember. Or maybe they just could not stand the oppressive melancholy in which I wallowed in pleasure and her grandmother, squinting and focusing on the music enough to exclude the people around. But there was never to convince my grandmother to put away the music box.
Looking back, I reflect the essence of that object as if it had been created on purpose, maybe by a sorcerer who wants to imprison his soul in a new form, just as dull and linear objects can be. Even my grandmother was, in his own way of course, stupid and decided to stubbornness more irritating.
For those years that I met her, I know that my grandmother was a sad person . Not depressed, or paranoid, or desperate ... sad, only infinitely sad. A lesser form of melancholy throbbing in his every gesture, even the most loving, crossed his eyes and gave a bitter turn sharply to the facial features. Do not laugh often, and when he did, his gaze always there to remind us of another reality.
Appariva così fragile e indifesa, eppure nemmeno un terremoto era in grado di smuoverla dalle sue posizioni. Il suo modo di essere era morbosamente contagioso. In fondo credo che la sostanziale differenza tra infelicità e felicità sia proprio questa: la prima si trasmette con facilità a chi ci sta accanto, la seconda no. E così stando accanto alla mia amata nonnina percepivo che era triste ma non capivo il perché, cosa che mi faceva sentire estremamente in colpa. In fondo i bambini, nel loro ingenuo e commuovente egocentrismo, sono convinti che tutto ciò che accade sia in qualche modo riconducibile a loro.
Merito loro o colpa loro, a seconda dei casi. E il senso di Guilt is a brand to life from which no one is exempt, regardless of how if it is procured. I grew up and did not understand, but I stopped a moment to feel responsible.
Psychologists say guilt stems from the unconscious conflict between love and hate ... and it is true, my mother and my grandmother was absolutely the most people I loved and I love most in my life.
Lately, I often think, I always kept her picture on the bedside table and always I implore you to intercede for me with our top there.
In the end, after his death, removal and handling of its effetti materiali, non so come sono riuscita a recuperare il tanto amato carillon. Fa sempre quella stessa musica, e io provo sempre le stesse sensazioni di allora.
Vien da chiedersi perché, perché ci si ostina a tornare sempre dove fa più male: da un'immagine, una foto, una musica, un ricordo.
Forse perché la tristezza è così dolce, è uno sciroppo caldo, una coperta di lana e un'abbraccio comprensivo... quando siamo con lei siamo certi che poco o nulla abbiamo da perdere, perché quel che c'era è già irrimediabilmente perso. C'è sempre un masochistico, irresponsabile piacere nell'abbandonare la battaglia e arrendersi alla vita per ciò che è.
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