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Germanwings crash: the land without destination

Stories and News No. 735

"What are the origins of the pilots???"
That is what an Italian politician asked on twitter.
Despite the tragic event, hard to stay serious before such question.
Nevertheless, overlooking the umpteenth unkempt as clumsy manipulation would be a mistake.
There is something rotten in the words and that is not Denmark, because we are not in Hamlet, here.
We are in the land without destination...

Once upon a time there was the land without destination.
Travelers, yes, everyone were so.
With or without a valid ticket.
With visible or hidden hand luggage.
In first class, of course.
And all the lower ones, that never end.
Because there is always someone behind you.
To envy your place.

In the land without destination people go each day.
In every moment of common living there was someone who exclaimed proudly: I'm going away.
Because I can, because this is my land, because I sanctify its boundaries and feeling protected I am the king of my whims.
Everything I can, until somebody will arrest me.
But he should stop and that is hard for the inhabitants of the land without destination.

Here we are, take a look at us.
We are in a row, we live in the queue, one behind the other, waiting to arrive.
While time goes, it slips away on the treadmill of our forgetfulness, but no one is shocked.
There is no reason.
We left a day, but it does not matter which one.
What is certain is that we all come from there.
From the fertile womb of a confused mother, face shaped like a boot, always ready to smile to the prince, as to kick the vassal.

There is no discrimination, but consistency.
With a half-life.
Of myopic explorers, who do not distinguish the past from the present.
As long as they stay with their galley fellows.
Having drank and ate together, this makes us brothers and sisters.

So the enemy appears.
Suddenly he is on board, daring too much.
He even claims to travel sitting.
With ticket or not.
With luggage or just a dream.
In hand.
But the most shocking story is written in the eyes of those illegal immigrants.
Because they know exactly where they come from and is never the same for any of them.
Because they have got heart and soul fixed on what really matters in a trip.
Even if everyone you meet will have it forgotten.
The fundamental destination…

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