Today I watched a remarkable film by Woody Allen and afterwards I was left truly stunned and breath-taken. It has everything that I personally find beautiful and inspirational: Paris, French cafés, Montmarte, 20’s, Pablo Picasso, Salvador Dali, drop-waist dresses, this song, rain, great writers of the decade, just everything…
Consequently, I felt an urge to go outside, as I was feeling much healthier and I just had to get some books with the plots based in the lovely twenties. So, I did and that walk was perfect!
As I was walking down the street everything seemed different and much brighter than before. It seemed as if had never walked past those houses or canals and had never noticed how magical they looked in the sunshine. Every single part of the city was shining, from the rooftops to bicycles, from the people to the bird flocks in the water. It all might have been only an illusion, a result of illness and the medications I had taken earlier, but yet, I enjoyed all of it. I could feel the wind blowing through my clothes and making me shiver, I could feel the sun shining on me, I could feel the headache disappearing with each step and my heart pumping more and more blood. As if I was one with my body, less feeble than yesterday, but still weaker than tomorrow.
After around twenty minutes of walking I arrived at the central library – a white coloured paradise of mine. I strolled between the bookshelves full of English literature, surrounded by familiar and unknown names of talented people. I stopped three times and picked out three medium sized books, all written in the twenties: The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway, The Beautiful and Damned by Scott Fitzgerald and Manhattan Transfer by John Dos Passos.
Subsequently, I had to officially borrow this treasure by scanning a library card and pressing a few buttons on a computer screen. However, before I could proceed, I had to wait for an elderly lady to do the same thing. Usually, I would be irritated and make a face of an impatient person, but not this time, because an enlightening idea came into my mind. Why should I be annoyed or angry with a woman who probably had spent her youth in the era I adore myself. At that moment, I imagined her swinging to the songs by Louis Armstrong in the 50’s or savoring the art of Andy Warhol or Roy Lichtenstein in the 60’s. I should be envying her and letting her take as much time as she needed.
Eventually, I did leave the library and paced back home following the old path. I spent those twenty minutes by secretly peeking at the people around me, glancing at their faces and figures. This time I was not sitting by my window and watching the life go by, this time I was a part of the crowd, I was living not just observing.