We begin by reminiscing about past experiences and memories that are getting older by the day. We come to the eternal subject of Colchester, where we have shared our only times together so far. Frank becomes poetical, and I quickly get carried away in his Homeric spirit, as will be seen.
Frank: I miss Colchester. To be fair. A lot. Please enjoy. Your last months there. Go for walks when you can. Appreciate each moment. You will miss it.
Ossídio: I will. But I think it is a place that can only be really appreciated retrospectively… As you do appreciate it now. It lacks presence, actuality: things don’t really happen in Colchester, they only happen to Colchester. If you see what I mean.
Frank: I know what you mean.
Ossídio: Because I believe you, I can imagine how you must be missing it.
Frank: The best walk ever: Essex Uni campus – Wivenhoe.
Frank: Yes. Do this.
Ossídio: I will.
Frank: I would say that path is a big part of me. I always remember our walk there with warmest feelings.
Ossídio: That path is a very important path: I would say that it is beyond Colchester: it represents something greater, something about the world, itself. If I don’t get caught up in too much exaggeration.
Frank: It became symbolic to me. I agree.
Ossídio: Does it symbolise something in particular for you?
Frank: Path to Wivenhoe and path in Budapest. Yes. It means to me the opportunity and the freedom of thought as well as possibility to improve. And also it makes me understand that I exist and don’t understand anything.
Ossídio: I like that. It opens up a different perspective: one that is always losing itself, getting lost in itself, in an essential way, in that it cannot understand what it is seeing, what it is coming to, and this resembles a form of happiness. (My thought on what you have just said.)
The fact that being lost is not necessarily a negative thing: it is a clearing of the view over one’s existence: it helps you to see your individuality in a way that is both comforting and escaping that very vision of it. (Another thought, I am getting inspired by your description.)
Yes, I will take that walk again. In fact, I simulate it sometimes: I sometimes take the route via the path to get to the University from my house: it is always a much nicer walk than the other one to the University.
Late summer evenings before the sunset. Those were good times.
And funnily enough, not so good times too: you were agonising over the future. But there was still something coherent, continual about it: despite the fact that we did not know what that end would be, it was still happening and we could enjoy it for the fact that it was happening. Indeed, I think we can sometimes take a perverse pleasure out of our own disappointments: it is possible to stand back and live the situation as a narrative, as a film almost, at times, and see it for the epic it really is. I am speculating at this point, and getting quite drunk. Haha. But the epic, I think, is important: that we are always still alive, still living even in the hardship: that there is something of us left that is not entirely absorbed in the situation: a space in us that either resists or simply cannot be overwritten by despair or desolation: that there is still the part of us that is going to fall asleep at some point and wake-up the next day, beyond torture, beyond damage, beyond doubt.
Frank went to sleep by this point. He lives two hours ahead of me. I will let that be the satisfactory explanation for his retirement from the conversation.