January 1st - The Diary (part 1)
January 1st, 2023. Here I am, standing in front of the mirror, contemplating my first 40 years of life. Tall. A proportionate build but not muscular. My hair is still black, thick, and often messy. A meticulously groomed goatee. Glasses, the “Harry Potter” style. A job as a cook in a restaurant in Turin, and the urge to tell the story of my life. Every year I have this desire, but now I’m sure of it: the time has come to write and capture everything that has happened in my earthly existence.
I leave the house in search of what will become my life’s diary. It can’t be just any diary. It has to be something special. It must be able to tell everything about me, leaving no doubt about who I was, who I am, and who I will be. There’s just one problem: finding a shop open on the first of January is practically impossible. Luckily, “Saint Internet” is open 24 hours a day.
I return to my tiny apartment on the fourth floor of an elegant building in Chivasso. As usual, I take the stairs because I have a certain aversion to elevators. I enter my room and sit at my desk. I slip on my elephant-shaped slippers. I log on to an online shopping platform and type the word “diary.” The search yields a myriad of purchase options, in any format, colour, or type: “Do you want a personal diary? A secret one? Or maybe a school journal?” My eyes and mouse land directly on a particular link: a “vintage” diary, with yellowed paper, due to years of exposure to the sun. The description reads: “Secret diary, dimensions 14 cm x 18 cm – 365 pages – no lock needed.” What? A secret diary that doesn’t need a lock? It’s not that secret if anyone can open it and read its contents. “Price: €3.65.” The price is tempting. I’m not going to waste money on something I’m sure I won’t finish. Every year when a new year starts, I think about writing a diary and then abandon the effort. I’ve never thought of buying a diary. But today… today is different! I feel like this diary is calling out to me. The cover fascinates me, and the quote intrigues me: “A dive into the past improves life.” I feel I must take this dive into my past. I feel the need to swim in the sea of memories of my life.
I’ve decided! Without even realizing it, the mouse “clicks” on the “Order now” button. Done! Estimated delivery: January 1st – 6:00 p.m. “Once again, I’ve been swindled. Good thing it only costs a few euros,” I say aloud. I shut down my computer, and the doorbell rings, startling me. I head to the intercom.
“Who is it?”
“Delivery for Mr. Giorgio De Giorgi.”
I check the time: it’s 6:00 p.m. I put on my robe since I’m still in my pyjamas. I open the door, and the courier climbs up to deliver the package.
“How much do I owe for the delivery?”
“Delivery is free. You only owe for the contents: €3.65.”
“Thanks for the speedy delivery. I didn’t expect such efficiency, especially on a holiday.”
“No need to thank me, and sorry for the delay. The package has been in our storage since last week, and we only managed to deliver it today. Happy New Year, and nice slippers.”
The courier smiles and leaves. I stand there, staring at the package on my desk.
“In storage for a week? But I just placed the order. There must be a mistake.” I sit down at my desk. I unwrap the package and find the very diary I had just ordered: A dive into the past improves life. There’s no doubt, it’s that diary. The yellowed colour of the pages matches the photos on the shopping site. The scent it emits is that classic smell of an old book, the kind that carries the scent of dust accumulated over time. I open the diary. Every page is waiting for me to write my story. All the pages are blank. All except one: the first. At the top, written in cursive, is the date: January 1st. I really must start today. “This time, I’m going to write something.” I examine the diary’s construction again. Indeed, there’s no lock, so it can’t be locked to protect secrets. “I’ll just hide it somewhere.” I look at the hardcover in light leather. Embossed on it is the quote that caught my attention. Below the quote, there’s a drawing of a smiling little man, like one of those fairytale elves. The only difference: he doesn’t have the typical pointy hat. “What a childish thing,” I think, looking at the diary and then at myself in the mirror, “Can I really be 40 and end up writing like a twelve-year-old?”
I flip to the last page and read: “You can only write on this paper with a quill and inkwell.” I laugh. I grab my pencil and start writing.
Dear
The pencil leaves no mark on the paper. I grab my trusty “Bic” pen from the desk and write.
Dear
Still nothing. Not even the “Bic” pen works on this paper. I try with a permanent marker, and again, nothing. “Where am I going to find a quill and an inkwell?” As I say this, I spot another small container inside the package, with a quill and an inkwell. I dip the quill in the ink and write.
Dear diary, today is January 1st, 2023, and my name is Giorgio.
This time, the words stay on the page, but immediately after, something strange happens. A red writing suddenly appears.
Hello Giorgio, I’m Joel!
“No way! How can writing appear on the page without ink?” I’m perplexed. The curiosity that this must be some kind of classic prank pushes me to write again to see if it’s all just a hoax.
Hello Joel, how old are you?
Again, below my sentence, a reply appears.
I don’t have a fixed age; it depends on the time I’m in. You, however, are 40 years old.
This isn’t possible. How does it know my age? Maybe it’s a joke from one of my friends. After all, the package was prepared over a week ago, according to the courier. But who? I think of something only I know and write in the diary.
Joel, how do you know I’m 40 years old? Here’s a tough question: where did I decide to go on vacation this summer?
For the third time, I get an answer.
Your questions, Giorgio, tell me you don’t trust me. You’re 40 because you were born on December 31st, 1982. This summer, you want to go to Norway, but after what you discover with me, you won’t just go to Norway—you’ll travel the world.
It’s true. I was born in 1982. I was born on December 31st. In fact, yesterday, I celebrated not just the New Year’s arrival but also my fortieth birthday with friends. It’s true that I’ve decided to go to Norway. No one knows that… except Joel!!! I write again.
Who are you? How do you know what I’ve asked? What’s the trick?
I start flipping through the diary to check the pages. They’re all yellowed, smelling of dust, blank… except for January 1st. The mysterious hand writes again.
I’m not a fortune teller. I’m Joel. You summoned me the moment you wrote in the diary. I will teach you how to investigate and become a world-renowned detective.
More and more astonished, I watch the red writing appear on the diary, and in disbelief at what’s happening, I run to the bathroom to wash my face with cold water. Maybe I’m dreaming. No! The water is freezing. I’m not dreaming. Everything I’m reading is real… or almost. I’ve only ever seen things like this in movies. It can’t happen to me. I return to the desk, pick up the diary, and find another sentence written.
Don’t doubt what you’re reading, Giorgio. Everything you see right now is real. If you want to know more, you’ll have to come with me inside this diary. We’ll hunt down thieves and murderers around the world. Are you ready, or do you want to abandon this extraordinary adventure? You only have a few hours left to decide before the day ends.
A few hours before “January 1st, 2023” ends. I check the time—it’s already 8:00 p.m. I hadn’t realized how much time had passed in front of a blank page. Or rather, a page strangely filled with the words of a certain Joel who calls himself a “champion of justice.” This is really happening to me. A book is asking me to follow it to track down criminals. How can I do something like that? Who am I to change the past to improve the present and the future? I’ve always been sure that you can’t change the past to alter the future. It’s pure madness. Is what I’m experiencing just a product of my imagination? Am I awake, or am I in a strange dream, convinced that I’m awake? Maybe the hangover from yesterday’s celebrations is playing a part, and when I recover, everything will go back to normal. I’ll return to my everyday life, just like it’s been for the past forty years. But curiosity takes hold of me, and my hand returns to write.
Joel, I’m ready!
A new red sentence immediately appears.
Excellent. If you’re ready, all you need to do is write the word THEATRE.
Like a child discovering something new, I dip the quill in the ink and write.
THEATRE.
As soon as the quill completes the circle of the letter “E,” the page of the diary begins to change colour. From yellowish to white. Whiter and whiter. A brilliant, intense light bursts from the page, blinding me. Suddenly, I’m no longer sitting at my desk. In front of me is an unfamiliar landscape. I find myself in a square full of people staring at me strangely. Perhaps because I’m wearing elephant-shaped slippers? I quickly hide in a narrow, dark alley, trying to figure out where I am, when I hear a voice behind me.
“There you are, Giorgio. Welcome to 1990.”
“Where am I? How do you know my name?”
The small man smiles at me.
“I’m Joel!"
