Last Saturday (con’t):

Dona called us as we were driving away from Pavia. She couldn’t meet us earlier due to a very important thesis she had to finish to deliver to her professor on Monday. Feeling really bad for not meeting us, she kept apologising, but there was no need for apologies.

This was just another of life’s mess-ups, me coming at the worst time possible for her. Of course, it sucked not being able to meet, but we were certain that this would not be the last chance for us to meet.

In fact, we will meet again, as will others with us, whenever, wherever. That’s life.

Our trip back to Trento saw me more reflective than I have been in the past couple of weeks, which have been a blur, all too brief. Manuel and I talked about friendships and emails and how hard it was to connect sometimes. I observed that, no matter how busy we were, we must make time to make contact.

(Anyway, I could always count on Shannon for emails that could feed the entire population of a small African nation.)

Why should we even bother to keep contact, come to think of it? Deep down, many of us know that we’ll eventually lose touch and forget. You become busy and meet new people. Life does that, too. But I’m hoping this time things wil be different.

Personally, I’m a spectacular one for giving friendships up and starting all over. I’ve done that twice already; it’s not too hard to imagine me doing the same again. But maybe I’m tired of being a prick. We’ll see. Manuel has promised not to let me disappear again, but I think this time I’ll stay in touch.

For one, I’ve learned many things from each of you. Everyone has some inherent integrity and once you have worked hard enough to see that and learn to respect that, then it doesn’t matter that much that you’re different anymore. You learn from the differences.

I couldn’t have seen this when I was younger. For example, Blue Mike would have been exactly that – some weird American kid with dyed blue hair. Which is not to say that he isn’t that as well, just that he’s more.

(Blue, by the way, sent me an SMS earlier informing me he wasn’t making Berlin or Hamburg but definitely Prague. Manuel just shook his head and we kept our fingers crossed for the one guy who wanted the most to get out of Munich and seemed the most unable to.)

We got back to Trento a little after seven, well ahead of time. After cleaning up, we joined the rest of the family at the nearby chapel. Outside, in the parking lot, Manuel’s neighbours came out to say ciao and we marched into the church together. Manuel led me to the second pew from the front, where Alessandro was already fidgeting. Bad sign of the entertainment value of the sermon.

There were two girls and a guy with guitars sitting at the right (we were seated on the left), the music. They reminded me of all the Christian Fellowship kids I knew, most of whom I avoided with a vengeance. I don’t take kindly to evangelism.

Yet I’m also reminded of my Dhamma Sharing Group, back in my early university days in Malaysia. They still have a sharing of metta (merits and blessings) during my birthday every year. I don’t really know what I’m trying to say here, except that sitting in a Roman Catholic church made me think of my Buddhist brothers and sisters.

I followed the Mass as best as I could (the last time I attended one was five years ago, perhaps more), which meant that I basically kept silent and stood up when everyone else did. I refrained from singing, as did Manuel, a good idea really, given our lack of vocal talents.

There was one part of the service which I did not follow, which involved kneeling. I don’t really know why I did not do it, other than it would be hypocritical somewhat to show humility to a concept I did not believe in. Tough call.

But I was here as a sign of respect to the Famiglia Mazza and to commemorate Manuel’s father, and that is what matters.

Having said that, the holding of hands of everyone in the church and later, just shaking the hands of our neighbours and greeting them, was somehow beautiful and touching. I sat down on the pew again feeling much better about myself and the world. That is what customs and spiritual practices are for, after all, to give salve to the soul.

I don’t have to believe in God, just in goodness, and those were good people I was with.

Manuel, however, is a bit sketchy; he told me he wasn’t receiving communion cuz he hadn’t confessed his sins in over a year. Which in turn made me realise that I have not shared metta for the past year either. I don’t feel so much soiled as selfish. After all, the entire point of sharing metta is to think of others. I have been too absorbed in myself this past year.

Time to change that.

When the service was over (the priest turned out not to be that bad after all, not knowing a single thing he was saying helped), we went outside quickly, not to leave as I thought, but to gather with the family’s friends and neighbours and to mingle and gossip.

A weird boy, a neighbour, came over and wrapped his arms around Manuel. He asked if I was Italian. Manuel explained that I was Chinese. That would go prolly go down as the first and last time anyone mistook me for Italian …

Mamma Mazza introduced me to a friend of hers, an English teacher. I was much amused, and they were too, probably. An English-spouting Chinese person does stand out somewhat in a small Tretino suburb. But not a freakshow. No, more like a minor celebrity. On second thoughts: freakshow.

The neighbourhood teens had time to fool around with the smaller kids, giving them piggyback rides and everything. Manuel and I had our own turn with Alessandro, spinning him around in the air. I miss being an active uncle.

Dinner was up in the mountains, in a log cabin sorta pizzeria. Rather late by now and the kids were famished. Manuel and I found the first decent beer in Italy – they served Franziskaner Weißbier – imported, natürlich.

There were only three Weißbier glasses on the shelf, always a bad sign. Manuel was worried they wouldn’t know how to pour it properly and we would end up with two glasses full of foam. Fortunately, they arrived untouched (though the wedges of lemon on the tips of the glasses were beyond silly.) I’m happy to announce that we poured two perfect Weißbiers and they tasted mighty fine.

To entertain the moody, hungry kids, I played Mr. Faces and Mr. FingerTipToe. You had to be there, I guess. Serena’s gurgly chuckles reminded me of my own niece, Chanel. Sweet girl.

Just before we all expired from lack of sustenance, the pizzas came. Mamma Mazza insisted that I try a slice of her walnut pizza, which was superb. I miss the walnut cake my aunt used to bake, just for me, cuz no one else could even stand the smell of walnuts back home. Their loss. (I’m a walnut person, in case you haven’t figured that out already.)

Manuel and I had two tronchettos (pretty sure that is the wrong spelling), one with piccoli funghi and the other with noci (otherwise known as walnuts, yay). Amazing stuff. There’s nothing like having dinner with a family. And this was a good dinner with a great family.

(I can’t believe we barely spoke each other’s languages, we seemed to communicate so well, usually without Manuel’s inattentive translation services.)

I rituali della vita. The rituals of life. Whether it’s meeting up with friends or joining a small community attending a Mass or just an ordinary family going out for dinner. These are necessary things, good things.

By the end of the evening we were all beat and decided to head straight home. Well, Manuel and I did take slightly longer to get back, choosing the scenic route down the mountain, the stars spread across the sky and all over the city. Little lights, thousands of them; little houses, homes and lives. Call me sappy but don’t blame me for it.

This little detour was made all the more interesting by Manuel’s continued frotune of encountering all the strada chiusa (closed road) signs in the city of Trento. No mean feat and faithful fellow that I am, I laughed all the way home.

The day’s adventures almost over, but let me say just one more thing: Nothing beats buona notte kisses from children half-asleep.

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Copyright © 2002 Kenny Mah Ying Fye.