the balcony

I'm here, sitting on the balcony. It's 9:11 pm and I'm just wearing my sweater but I'm fine. The air is just a little fresh but still comfortable and it caresses my legs, my ankles crossed, wearing only fuzzy socks. I'm listening to the Best Chillout Playlist Ever because I was angry, and this always manages to clam me down someway, but I know I'm gonna take my earphones off very soon and just remain with the sound of the city that's quietly resting after dinner and my fingers on the keyboard.

I love doing that.

I spent a lot of time on this balcony. When I was younger my room was the one my younger siblings are sharing now, but it still had a window facing this same balcony. Nobody ever comes here, not in the evening anyway. I can be alone even if I see the light coming out of my siblings room. It doesn't matter, they're gonna be asleep very soon anyway.

I remember clearly coming out here when I was thirteen and texting a boy I liked. I remember sending something that was too soppy and regretting it straight away, because we were still just flirting and I knew I ruined everything. I don't know if it was that text, but we didn't got together anyway. Now he's one  my classmates and I can't even think about dating him, how weird is life sometimes.

I remember coming out here all last Summer, at night, when I could hardly breathe as the heat was just too much. I remember putting my earphones in and listening to music and crying. I cried a lot last Summer and the Summer before, always on this balcony, when it was very late at night. I get very sad in the Summer.

I think I should say I cried a lot on this balcony, period. It calms me down, just like music, just like writing.

I don't know what's up with the first, why this balcony is so important, I never really thought about that, it's just all coming up right now. Maybe it's because I can feel the air, maybe because it is silent. Every time I come out at least it is. It's not very quiet in my home. We are six people, and there is always someone fighting with someone else I feel suffocated, I feel stressed, I wanna runaway. Maybe it's because I'm growing up, I'm graduating this year. But I won't be leaving this house for at least the next three years, and I feel trapped. I need to have my own space. I need to be alone. I really like being alone, I'm pretty good at that. When I was younger I thought it was weird, but now I kinda came to terms with it. Sometimes, I need to have an empty space, all for myself and sometimes a room is not enough. I want to be alone first thing in the morning, I want to get to the kitchen and make myslef some breakfast without having someone talking to me. I want to make coffee and sip it, maybe on this balcony, when the sky is not fully awake yet. I want to get ready in a bathroom that is just my own, and be able to blast music and sing to it. I want to be able to leave the house without having to say 'Bye' and waiting at the door for a response, screamed from the other part of the house, careless, but needed, like a spell to set me free.

I like walking, I like driving, I like running. I like all the occasions I can be alone. I need it because my mood is very fragile, and living in house when at least one person is always angry makes me angry.

I was working out a lot recently, I was proud of myself, I was happy. Endorphins are no joke, and my mood was so much better, I was so much more positive. But every time I had to get back home, it would feel like a death march. I knew someone was going to be screaming, even to be screaming at me maybe. I knew I had to wait before getting a shower, I knew I had to dry my hair while someone else was brushing their teeth or peeing. I have my room, that's obvious. But the walls are thin and the door is just a piece of wood. They can't keep out the sounds, the rage, the resentment. I have a urge to wander, and this balcony gives me a piece of that. I don't want to go to places, I just don't want to say still. I need to watch people, to learn them. I need to get my feet in the sand and look at the sea stretching lazily. I need to walk through the woods concentrating on the light changing. And I need to do this all alone.

I've always liked music, a lot. But I'm not musical. I can't sing, I tried to learn how to play the guitar but it didn't work out. It took me a bit to understand that I could still appreciate something with all of myself without having to be able to make it.

I don't get people who don't like music, who don't feel the urge to listen to it. Who don't need it to set the mood, who won't spend their money on it, who don't sometimes feel like they have to sit with the back to the door, earphones in, just listening, doing nothing else.

I do like the world sounds, don't get me wrong. I like them right now for example. Distant cars turning on, doors being shut, trains passing, people talking. The sound of the city, even when it is silent, which can't be described but just lets you know it's there, you're surrounded. But music is something else. Music breaks me and puts me back together. It makes me feel cool, or a loser. I can sing a heartbreak song with all the rage of someone who's just been dumped, dance to a lovestruck jam with all the happiness of a newly in love teenager, even if my heart still doesn't belong to anyone. Some songs make me cry, some songs give me hope. Some songs are electric and send that electricity through my whole body and I feel made of pure lightening. Some songs are soothing.

I like hearing the singer breathe in before a verse. It means that you've listened to that song a lot, because you don't notice at first. I like matching my breathing with theirs, as I whisper the words emitting no sound.

I like concerts, but they rip me apart. It always takes me ages to recover, to brush off the energy of a crowd coming together to scream the same words at the same time, the emotion of seeing a face and hearing a voice you know by heart, but never met. But then, when I finally come back to reality, I know it's all gone, I can't take hold of those feelings anymore. And it's sad, and I want to do it again, even if then another piece of me will be chewed by bright lights and quick heart beats.

Sometimes the guy who lives beneath us plays music. I think he plays it on the piano, but he could as well be using a computer or a stereo. It's usually classical music and it comes soft through the floor, muffled. It makes me happy. I sometimes lay on the floor with my ear on the cold stone, trying to get a better grip of that sound, but usually I just enjoy it while I keep doing my stuff, whether it is studying, being on the computer, just laying in bed.

In the Summer music comes from a hotel near us as well. They play jazz music, and if I'm home I can hear it only from the balcony. It's a fancy hotel, so I imagine people dancing on the terrace, sun kissed skin, flowy dresses. I imagine the happiness of that single moment, the clinking glasses, the wine stained towels. Flashy red cheeks and Summer air.

Finally, writing. I can't remember a time when I wasn't writing, even if it was just making up stories in my mind. I used to narrate them, to imagine periods and commas. I think I tried to write my first book when I was nine, always kept a diary. I never thought about it as a special thing, not even a thing to be honest. I think it was so natural to me I never really paid attention to it. It took me years, lots of 'What do you want to be when you grow up?' questions and teachers and papers before realizing it wasn't only a thing, it was my thing. The problem with writing is that it takes ages, you forget about time and I don't know if have the privilege to be doing that, just now. Maybe after graduation, maybe after retirement. Look at that, I've been writing for a solid hour now and it's not even my native language. I wish I could do this more often.

Another thing with writing is that every one always claims to be interested in what you're doing, but no one really wants to read it. It is not a painting, not something you could glance blandly at and smile and say 'That's cool'. It's not even something you can listen to, with the other person doing that in front of you, with a set time it is not going to valicate. You have to keep those pages and read them, alone. It takes time and it will take your time, so nobody really does that. At first, when you're young it hurts a little. You see kids with their drawings hanged on the fridge and you don't get why your parents say 'No' when you ask them to read your essay. But then again there are teachers, God bless them, and they have to read your work and give you a feedback, that you know it's not gonna be based on the amount of blood you share with them. And even if they don't read your stories, it still means there is someone in this world who listens to your voice, your real voice, the one that's black and white and it's permanent. Up until this point it worked for me. With people who were paid to read my ramblings about a topic I couldn't care less of and the metaphors I was so proud I got up with. And then there were my stories, but the less time I had the less they have been written down and I was fine being the only reader anyway. Because the truth is that I enjoy my writing, I enjoy reading it and the sounds of the words I chose echoing in my mind. Every writer does, that's why we're so cocky. But soon enough no one will be reading my words at all. I know my relatives won't, my friends won't and I'm choosing to have teachers that won't. I think regarding the latter I kinda wanted to preserve myself. I didn't want to be contaminated by classes and books, though I know it is not a really good idea, since it was only going to make me better. But that's my voice and I think I like it as it is, scruffy and imperfect and crooked. I think I like that.

There is no point in this post and I know no one will even read it because it is long and probably boring and it's not about a lipstick or a moisturizer. I was pretty upset when I came out here, and I was feeling itchy and I needed to write down something. I didn't have a post for this Monday so I thought, what the hell. The sky is black and I can see a few stars, I can hear someone talking on the phone. It's getting chiller but I'm still not cold. I know the moment I'm posting this and turning off my computer I'm going back to my life. A life with no wandering, at least for now.