Two times in my life, two times I remember, I remained speechless while hugging a person; two times that literally changed my way of waiting.
The first unforgettable hug – it was early 2008 – happened to be somewhat maddening, or at least it was what I felt at the beginning. Since then, my sense of time suffered an absurd shock. I could no longer be a child in my father’s arms, no longer a little girl in my little friend’s arms, I just wanted to be myself (a girl, a woman, it doesn’t really matter) in the arms of my Chosen One. Was he, is he the Chosen One? Nobody knows – nor do I. I know who he is, I’ve selected him among a thousand other Chosen Ones, because everybody here has an exact task to apply to which makes him a Chosen One. Now I know who he is, now I know he was the Chosen One for that hug, he was born for it. There’s no other explanation. Who is he to turn off the lights of the whole universe? Who is he to give me such questions to answer to? And who I am to answer? Am I the Chosen One for answering?
The second impossible and unforgettable hug – the day of my 18th birthday – was something I had foreseen, inevitable and liberating. A friend, the best one, the last one to arrive that evening, the most awaited friend of mine. I hugged her. She’d been away at university for just a week, seven September days. It was the first time I had really missed someone apart from the Chosen One. And then suddenly I knew who I was, and why I was condemned to questions and answers, I understood why I had never paid too much attention to the time I spent waiting – because I had never really waited before.
