Although it was Sunday and I
usually go to the beach on weekends, with each passing hour the morning had
become gradually somber and rainy. After walking the dog under the trees in
order not get too wet, I came back home knowing that the rest of the day would
be spent at home. After five months of coronavirus and aloneness, some memories
had become ever more frequent. Like for instance the memory of the friends I
had left behind when coming to the United States in 1977. Those are the friends
of youth that I usually meet once a year when I travel to Patagonia, in the
south of Argentina. Those are people that I met when I was twenty something and
with whom I had a deeper intimacy than with my own parents. Those are the
friends I have sometimes called in the middle of the night when things in my
life did not go well and I felt desperately vulnerable. But going back to that
Sunday afternoon, I felt a deep nostalgia of that circle of people who were no
longer part of my life. With no doubts, immigration has to do with loss and one
of the worst losses is leaving behind the first friends of our life. That day,
with a long day ahead of me, I decided to finish reading the book I had just
started. The book dealt with Jung’s meaning of synchronistic events, which in a
few words are “meaningful coincidences” with no causal relationship. If a
causal relationship answers to the laws of cause and effect, a synchronistic
event has no cause to be detected. While I was pondering on the lines I was
reading, my cellular phone rang. It was one of my dearest friends from
Argentina who, feeling as lonely as I, had decided to give me a call. By all
means, a synchronistic event generated by the mind because the mind is
limitless. I needed a friend and my mind had contacted one of them, the result
being that I finally grasped the fact that distance does not mean forever gone.
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