Italian...

What a stupid thing.

Yesterday, I waited for Salomé in front of the languages school to go to the pool, as all Wednesdays. Obviously, at 21.30 is when people who is in the languages school yet, go out. Many of teachers go out from the car park, but some of then leave from the main door.

So, lately, I see my last Italian teacher, Fabio, and to some partners who come at the last hour to Italian, because they are repeating course (some of then, in their own free will) In that moments, malincholy approach me a little, and I miss the debates, the gossips, the hours fighting against the language, and angry because I didn't put up with some people, actually.

But, if I think about that, malincholy comes from time ago. Last years I missed the 2º year, which my teacher was Jose, a teacher who had fun with us the most he could. Of course, I was the youngest person of the class, as I was 18 years old. Then, I was from the "yogur era" and "pokemon era". (He didn't guess really...) And me, so shy, I didn't know what to say... So, Marco, a boy from Vasto-Marina (Abruzzo)who I really mind in that period, told me "Tell him he is a..." Well... What period... And it only was three years ago.

Anyway, now I need changes... Many changes.